I Woke Up Married to the Cursed King

Chapter 12: Chapter 12: No Way Back

The order went out before breakfast.

Elian didn’t frame it as his order — he framed it as the king’s, which technically required Caelian’s seal, which Elian obtained by placing the document in front of him at the breakfast table and saying "sign here" in a tone that didn’t invite questions.

Caelian signed it without looking up from his coffee.

Good, Elian thought. We’re learning.

By midday the riders had gone out. By the following morning they came back with sacks of seeds — more than he’d asked for, because apparently when the request came under the royal seal people added extra to be safe.

He brought them to the shrine.

The divine being was in a good mood. freewebnoveℓ.com

It had been in a good mood since the maids started leaving fruit. It had developed a particular fondness for a small yellow variety that came from the southern provinces and Elian had made sure the kitchen kept it stocked, which he told himself was purely practical and not at all because a happy divine being was easier to work with.

"Which ones," Elian said, spreading the seeds across the offering table. "Which have the most ritual strength."

The divine being moved along the table slowly. Touching some. Passing over others. It had a focused quality when it worked that was completely different from its usual lightness.

"These," it said finally, separating a smaller pile. "And these, if you need volume over precision."

"Both," Elian said.

He began sorting them.

They worked in silence for a while. The shrine was warm. Outside, the palace grounds were going about their afternoon.

"Why are you helping him," the divine being said.

Elian’s hands didn’t stop moving. "Helping who."

"The king."

He sorted another seed. "I’ve explained this. If he dies—"

"You explained the practical reason," the divine being said. "I’m asking the actual reason."

Elian was quiet for a moment.

"I don’t know," he said.

"You don’t know."

"No." He set a seed down. Picked up another. "Is it sympathy? I don’t know. Is it— do I feel bad for him? I don’t know that either. Do I feel bad that he’s always alone?" He paused. "I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know why."

The divine being looked at him.

It had a way of looking at things that made Elian feel like he was being read from a direction he couldn’t see.

"You’re not from this world," it said.

Elian looked up.

"Congratulations," he said. "You’ve worked that out."

"I worked it out some time ago," the divine being said. "I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t relevant." It tilted its head. "It’s relevant now."

"Why."

"Because when a soul comes from another world, there’s usually an attachment. A pull. Something left behind that keeps calling." It paused. "You don’t have that."

Elian’s hands had stopped moving.

"What does that mean," he said.

"It means," the divine being said carefully, "that wherever you came from — your body was attended to properly. The rituals for the deceased were performed. Correctly. Completely." A pause. "You were given a proper send-off."

Elian stared at the seeds on the table.

My grandma, he thought. She would have done that. Of course she would have done that.

He could see it without trying to. Her hands. The specific efficiency of her grief, the way she’d always moved through hard things by doing the next necessary thing. She would have made sure everything was right. She would have sat with him. She would have said the words.

She would have let me go properly.

Something sat in the center of his chest that he hadn’t felt since he woke up in this body.

"So that means," he said. His voice came out even. He was proud of that. "I can’t go back."

The divine being was quiet.

"You’re a god," Elian said. "If you can’t see a way back, then there isn’t one. Is there."

Silence.

The shrine was very warm.

Elian looked at the seeds on the table. At his own hands, pale and soft, Elian’s hands, not his. He’d gotten used to them. When had he gotten used to them.

"Okay," he said.

Just that. Just okay.

He picked up the next seed.

"The thing in the corridor," the divine being said, after a while.

Changing the subject, Elian noted. Even gods change the subject when they don’t have an answer.

"What about it," he said.

"The face. You need the face."

"I know I need the face. I can’t get it on paper." fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

"You’re thinking about it wrong." The divine being settled on the edge of the offering table. "People who do what was done to that man — bury someone alive for ritual purposes — it’s not something they invent alone. There are practitioners. Traditions. People who know these workings the way you know yours."

Elian looked at it.

"You think someone in the capital knows about this."

"I think someone in any city of sufficient size knows about most things, if you know where to ask." It paused. "But you should understand something before you go looking."

"What."

"Everything comes with a price. Never look at anything as less than that." Its voice had shifted — still the same tone, but something underneath it that was older, weightier. "If someone offers you information, they want something in return. And the something they want will be equal to what they’re giving you. Or they’ll make it appear equal while it isn’t."

"They’ll lowball me," Elian said.

"They might offer you exactly what you want and ask for your life in return. And make it sound reasonable."

Elian thought about this.

"So go in knowing what I’m willing to pay," he said.

"Go in knowing what you’re not willing to pay," the divine being said. "That list is more important."

Elian nodded slowly.

He looked at the divine being — at the bright, ancient eyes in the familiar face — and felt something move through him that was almost fond.

"You sound like my master," he said. He held up a hand before it could respond. "That’s a compliment. Please don’t say anything. Thank you."

The divine being closed its mouth.

Elian went back to sorting seeds.

Outside the shrine, the afternoon was going gold. Somewhere in the palace, Caelian was probably in a meeting. The bracelet on his wrist had one darkened bead.

The capital, Elian thought. Someone in the capital knows.

I need to find them before that bead has company.

He set his pen down.

Three pages of notes. Eastern contacts for steage root, coastal suppliers for the salt, the specific incense varieties he needed and which trade routes they came through.

It was, he thought, a deeply strange afternoon’s work.

He was sitting in a palace in a kingdom he hadn’t known existed three months ago, drafting import orders for ritual materials using authority he’d been given by accident, in service of protecting a man he’d been married to against his will.

And the food was still extraordinary.

He looked at the signed letters in front of him.

When I had a client base, he thought, none of this was this complicated. Someone had a haunted house. I went in, I cleared it, I charged them too much, I left.

Simple.

He looked at the wall where the nearest symbol was drawn in turmeric paste.

This is not simple.

He gathered the letters, sealed them, set them by the door for Edmund to collect.

Then he sat back and thought about the child spirit from that morning. The relieved face. The finally, someone sees me expression that he’d seen a hundred times and never quite gotten used to.

One down, he thought. Thirty-odd to go.

He went to check on the salt bundles.