When they reached the point in history when the Ashen rose from the dead, Kestrel was struck with an even more fervent hunger to learn.
“They floated up from the Ghostlight Gulf and claimed to be the fallen Sky-Blessed from the War of Destruction some thousands of years prior.”
“But that means—” Kestrel tried doing the math, but it was too much. “Elora mentioned her resurrection, but I hadn’t realized how long she’d been dead before then. That must’ve been so disorienting, to wake up—or come back around, or whatever—so many years later.”
“Probably not as much as you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they don’t remember much from their lives before. Just their deaths.”
“That’s horrible,” Kestrel said, the end of her braid dropping from her aghast mouth. “And that’s all they remember? Nothing about their lives before or anything?”
Barnabus nodded. “At least as far as we know.”
Kestrel tried to imagine what it would be like to be dying one second and then to suddenly appear in a lake the other, to swim to the surface among people who looked like you but whom you didn’t recognize. And then to be forced to learn about your own history from books written by the very people who killed you—the very people who would then turn around and decideyouwere the unsafe ones. The ones too deadly to trust.
“It sounds so…disorienting. So frustrating.”
Barnabus nodded his agreement, as he dragged his finger along the book in search of anything else he might want to share. But Kestrel was stuck on something else he had said.
“What did you mean by,as far as we know?”
He lifted his head, auburn curls shifting by his ears. “Well, the thing about history is that it’s told from one viewpoint. These books were written by Ironblood and Caeloran scholars mostly, maybe a few by Vallondeans. But there have been centuries of strife and distrust between many of the kingdoms, as I’m sure you’ve gleaned from everything we’ve covered so far. And that means that our access to certain perspectives in history has been limited. Take for example the Skogaran’s rebellion from Irongate—everything we’ve read is about the devastating impact their rebellion had on our kingdom, and not the brave and tumultuous fight for freedom that your people endured.”
The wordsyour peoplemade her stomach flutter. She had been so removed from the realm, from any of itfor so long now that it was easy to forget her connections to these stories. Her own mother had been Skogaran. According to the history Barnabus had shared, this rebellion—or rather, theiruprising—could’ve happened during her mother’s lifetime.
What Kestrel wouldn’t give to talk to her about it, to hear her side of the story.
Barnabus closed the book, and they sat in silence for a long moment.
Kestrel’s mind was anything but silent though. Her thoughts were a churning mess, ricocheting from Elora and her tragic life, to her mother’s, then to Thom, all the while stewing on what history had taught her could happen to prisoners of war, or anyone caught on the losing side.
The more she thought about Thom and the violent history surrounding Grimtol, the more she worried about her training with Queen Signe.
Kestrel didn’t want to be part of the dark history that surrounded this place, and she feared if she practiced this dark magic, she would be. But she was conflicted because currently it seemed like her only chance at saving Thom, the only leverage she could offer the queen. Giving up on that seemed unbearable; a world without Thom was unbearable.
But was that how so many people throughout history had excused their own violent choices? Had it all been to save their loved ones?
By the time Marion returned, Kestrel’s stomach was a tight knot. All she wanted to do was retire to her bedchamber and curl up by the fire for hours. Not that she could though. The queen would be waiting.
But to Kestrel’s great relief, once they bid Prince Barnabus farewell and were heading down the hall, Marion informed her that Queen Signe had given her the day off.
“Not feeling well, I’m afraid.” And if by way of explanation,she added, “The curse, and all that.” Kestrel wanted to know what she meant exactly, but was too relieved to ask. They were just coming upon the dining hall doors. “So, it looks like you’ll have the afternoon to yourself. Would you like me to come fetch you once you’ve finished your lunch?”
“No, I’ll be alright,” Kestrel said, confident that Micah or the others would have plenty ideas of how they could spend the afternoon. Maybe she could convince him to try to teach her how to swim, like he’d promised on their march up here.
Marion bid Kestrel farewell and left her to it.
Kestrel burst into the dining hall, eager to see her friends. But the room was empty. Well, empty of the princes she had hoped to find inside. The table, however, was yet again stacked high with a variety of pastries and potatoes and stews.
Maybe the princes would be coming by shortly, Kestrel reasoned. After all, according to Barnabus, they had gotten an untimely start to their day, so maybe she was just early for lunch.
Kestrel sat quietly in one of the chairs and began picking at a small plate of food. She wasn’t very hungry considering she had spent most of the first-hours worrying about what her time with Queen Signe would entail. But she also wasn’t one to let good food go to waste.
Kestrel forced a few bites of bread and cheese down while she waited.
And waited.
