Page 18 of The Book of Heartbreak
For a moment his eyes betray a hint of longing, the kind that dwells in someone who carries a burden. Perhaps, I think, if we find the courage to show each other our scars and secrets, we may find solace. But I avert my gaze, frightened, and he responds only with a subtle clearing of his throat.
‘Silverbirch.’ His voice is smooth as thick hot chocolate, his beauty makes it difficult to concentrate.
‘I’ve been searching for this journal for the last eighteen months.
I scanned every corner of this island. I tried sleeping here, alone in this cold dungeon of an office.
I tried hunger and thirst, I tried bathing in the sea in the moonlight, and I even drank nothing but salt water till I vomited up my guts.
I’ve tried every form of suffering. But nothing brought me the book until you did. ’
I’m caught off guard at this confession, but I resist the urge to ask how drinking salt water or fasting would help to locate the book. ‘You really couldn’t find it?’
‘Obviously not,’ he replies with frustration.
‘Do you think I live here in this chaos and endure this hopeless job for no reason? This book is the key to solving the mystery of the curse linked to this tower, and if I become the person to uncover it, especially at this young age, then I’ll make a name for myself. I’ll earn success. Respect. Power.’
‘Right.’ Recalling Munu’s words about seers and their plans, it dawns on me that Leon’s obsession with me – or rather with Munu – may be because he considers us rivals in his quest for this journal. ‘And this tome consists of three sections, did you say?’
He nods. ‘The first book is rumoured to be named The Book of Revenge and it’s a case Sufi Chelebi documented in a village called Tirnava.’
I flick through until we see the title, The Book of Revenge: The Plight of the Tirnava Villagers . There are illustrations between handwritten pages. Some depict crying people, a cemetery with an open grave. I keep flicking through without daring to read the text.
‘The second part is The Book of Betrayal .’
‘Or, The Creeping Curse of the Serpent Queen ,’ I say, running my fingertips over the heading.
Leon shifts closer for a clearer glimpse of the section.
As he reaches to turn the page, my hand edges against his again, sending a tremor through me.
We both recoil and I rush through the pages, seeking distraction from the whirlwind of emotions flooding through my chest by focusing instead on the ominous illustrations.
‘The last part is the one that cost the great Sufi Chelebi his skills,’ Leon says, his voice hoarse with ambition. ‘The one that drove him to madness. It’s called The —’
‘ The Book of Heartbreak ,’ I utter the words just as they form on Leon’s lips. My heart tightens upon the final word. Heartbreak .
‘Or A Convergence with the Cursed Maiden of Konstantiniyye ,’ Leon finishes.
The next page, adorned with an illustration of the maiden, absorbs him.
‘No way,’ he exhales in disbelief. His shock startles me and at first glance, I don’t understand the significance of what he’s seeing. It’s only a hand-drawn portrait, with Sufi Chelebi’s neat handwriting declaring her to be ‘Theodora of the House Doukas, the Cursed Maiden of Konstantiniyye’.
A vibrant figure, standing beneath a sky of gold, overlooking the azure sea, her hair flowing freely on her shoulders. Behind her is the Maiden’s Tower.
A pendant dangles delicately above the neckline of her dark green dress, an evil eye in a gold circle.
An exact replica of my own necklace. I barely stop myself from clutching it.
A coincidence , I tell myself. Evil eyes are a common symbol in history.
But then my gaze travels further up, tracing the image to a face I know too well.
Fuck. I gasp, breathless.
Because the maiden, Theodora, bears an uncanny resemblance to me.
Communication is classified as Top Secret.
Circulation strictly limited to correspondents.
This email will destroy itself once read without minding if you read it carefully or not.
Subject: Re: Old friends Make the Worst Enemies
Date: 23 July 2025
From : Five the Fifth, Angel of Death, Field Operations, Mortal Termination and Transition, Mortal Affairs Commission
To : Nine the Ninth, Senior Angel of Fate, Fate Adjustment Bureau, Mortal Affairs Commission
My old friend Nine,
I took the liberty of changing the subject line – your original wasn’t to my liking. Unlike yours, this email is not a warning, but a gentle reminder from a caring friend.
Last I checked, Prayer Response and Fulfilment fell under the Fate Adjustment Bureau.
Didn’t we all undergo the same comprehensive training on the mechanics of the Mortal Affairs Commission?
It’s your responsibility to receive the prayers, deal with them, and prevent curses from taking root.
It’s your neglect that allows them to fester like fallen fruit.
So my dearest, forsaken mortals, consumed by vengeance and fragility, cast curses because of you .
Yet there I was, entangled in your fiasco all those years ago in Konstantiniyye, in my supreme mercy and preventive measures, saving you from the archangels’ wrath when you were just an inexperienced Curse Remediation Officer.
It’s devastating enough that I never received so much as a thank you card for my help, but now, reading your baseless threats dims the light of my halo.
Tell me, Nine: why should I shoulder the blame because you chose to follow my ‘suggestion’ to alter the records?
Or, if you hadn’t, would you have preferred the disgrace of your department’s worst Centennial Performance Report for failing to prevent such a malicious curse?
Surely, that would have cost you those cherished promotions.
And about that mortal girl. I’ve granted her a few resurrections. So what? You are of Fate. I am of Death. It’s my prerogative to decide when and how to terminate her. So calm your trembling wings and stop scheming against my strategies .
As for my little ‘illegal helper’ . . . I searched my inbox but can’t find a trace of complaint about her from your department.
She recently assisted you in places like Lawang Sewu, the Kusovnikov House and Himachal Pradesh.
Need I remind you of the countless other places she’s lent a hand?
I can gladly send a detailed report if you’re feeling nostalgic.
You seem to be confused about who owes whom, but let’s be clear, dear friend: it’s you who is indebted.
So – the ethereal is mine . I am her boss. I decide her fate, not you or some busybody cherub who should be wiping the dust off the divine archives instead of writing emails.
Last but not the least: stop being paranoid.
Have your new duties worn down your courage?
Use logic if you have any left. The archangels couldn’t care less about the Mortal Affairs Commission as long as the rock keeps rotating.
Do you honestly believe they’d read a cherub’s email?
And if you’re afraid of Our Boss Almighty .
. . Ask yourself: how would a cherub ever warrant the attention of They Whom Should Not Be Concerned, when our divine organisation is drowning in its own busyness?
Remember, no one has ever seen Them. No emails, no meetings — not even the archangels have the privilege.
All their orders arrive through the fax machine.
If you’re really worried about that nuisance, offer him a back-office role within the Bureau where you can keep him under your thumb; being a creature of the lowest rank, he’ll surely accept.
If that doesn’t stop him from hitting the keyboard, you can send him on a mission to Hell, where – Our Boss Almighty forbid – something fatal might befall him.
Be good, old friend. Be creative. And, above all, be grateful to have me as an ally.
Five the Fifth