Page 50 of The Ember and the Emerald

“I’ve never seen you concentrate so hard,” Jasher said.

Ignore him.

My precious daughter,

Queen Elowen granted me the rare honor of reading a letter penned by her ancestor, Andrea. It was meant for Morris alone and proves beyond all doubt that the husband and wife loved each other with a devotion history could not quantify.

Allow me to share what I now believe happened.

Morris once worked in the mines of Emerald, chasing a treasure from his wife’s world. The Ember, brought with Andrea in a storm. The two were separated, and Morris wanted, more than anything, to find it for her. To quell her fear of what might happen if other beings from her world ever arrived. But only a few weeks into his search for the Ember, the cave collapsed. Soon after, the monstra came.

Hmm. The monstra came from beneath the mountains, but only after its collapse. Had they been trapped inside, but freed in the aftermath?

And what were the odds that Morris could face two collapses? First the mountain, then the catacombs.

“Moooriiiiahhhh,” Jasher called, drawing out the syllables in my name, all enticement and suggestion, hoping to lure me back into conversation.

Heat spilled across my cheeks. I rubbed the aching spot in the center of my chest and forced my focus on the pages before me.

Andrea felt in her bones that Morris still lived. That’s why she wrote the letters. To tell him she would fight her fear without the Ember. How she longed for the future they had imagined for their family. How, if she failed to find him, she wanted him to know she never stopped searching. Then she set out for the mountain where he had mined, determined to save him or die trying.

That’s where her letters ended. As Morris’s journals prove, she did find him. But I’ve discovered no reference to their child, who must have survived. Otherwise, there would be no water maidens here today. Unless others came as Andrea did. Elowen says either option is possible.

I believe Andrea found the Ember on her journey. I just wish I knew where she left it. Or how she and Morris wielded its power.

Did it truly come from another world, swept in through a storm? What is it, in truth? What does it do? Elowen doesn’t know or won’t say.

All excellent questions. Did it come from another world? How many worlds were out there? For most of my life, I’d thought one. Now I knew there were at least two.

“Moriah.”

So little remains recorded. I would swear someone deliberately stripped our chronicles of every clue that mattered. But why do that and condemn us all?

I’m still missing something. A truth just beyond my reach. But I have searched every corner of this kingdom, from mountain to sea, temple to ruin. Even the water maidens have scoured the ocean floor and found nothing.

Now I wonder. Have we searched amiss? Asked the wrong questions? If only I could go back and talk to them. King Morris and his Andrea. Though they are but dust and memory now, they hold the answers I seek.

Part of me wants to go back. Perhaps I can. I’m told there is a water maiden able to bend time. But no. You keep my eyes fixed firmly on the future.

If ever the day comes and you are standing where I am now, drowning in mysteries with no lantern to guide you, remember that you are not alone. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow, I walk beside you. Beyond death, beyond time, beyond eternity.

All my love,

Your father

I hugged the journal to my chest and closed my eyes. Wow. Such devotion to his unborn child. But shocker: Ahav himself had considered time-travel. With the help of a water maiden, no less.

I called forth the mental image of Elowen. The one where she had gripped my hand, smiled, and helped me stand. As I studied it, ribbons of affection unfurled. At some point, I had trusted and loved her.

But could she bend time? Digging…

A sudden commotion shattered my bubble of concentration. Startled, I searched for the source of the disruption.

Breath lashed at my lungs. Jasher. He moaned in pain and writhed on the floor, eyes squeezed tight, jaw clenched, wings rippling. His chain clinked as he moved.

With a leap, I dropped the journal on the bed and rushed over. At his side, I sank to my knees and pressed my hand against his brow. No fever. No signs of shifting or poisoning⁠—

A hard hand gripped my wrist. His eyelids popped open, and he yanked me to the floor. A humiliating squeak burst from me as cold, hard stone met my back…and a sizzling hot man rose above me.