My head bobbed like an enthusiastic dog. “I can’t even imagine all the people who must have poured their hearts into making so many books… and the building too.”
With an anxious glance at the ceiling, he started walking away from me. “Come.” He paused and waved toward himself. “Please.”
My heart fluttered all over again at the way he’d corrected his request, and I followed him. He turned inside a huge alcove created by two giant shelves and gestured at the books inside. “The history of Hemlit. You’re welcome to any of them. And…”
His excited demeanor changed when he noticed the tears I was trying to keep back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I brushed my eyes with my fingertips.
“Callista.” He closed the gap between us, blocking the exit to the alcove. “Please tell me. I will do everything I can to help.”
I blinked faster. “Truly. I just… I seem to cry every time I feel any emotion lately, and this is all so… grand.”
His green eyes flashed uncertainty. “What… emotion is so grand?”
“I… I’m not sure.” What emotion was it? I’d never had a hard time thinking of words to describe anything, but this… this was new. “I think it started with being overwhelmed by the books. I’ve always loved them, and my father loved them, so they made me think of him. But then you shared these—”
I gestured at the history books and sniffed back another set of tears. “Koan said you wouldn’t let me have history booksbecause you thought I wanted to study them to find a way to destroy you. But now you’ve just offered me the whole collection.” My heart lurched at the words. That was what had brought the tears. This piece of evidence that he did not think I was trying to destroy him any more.
“Oh, Callista.” His voice dropped into a hoarse, emotional tone. “You would not need any history book to destroy me. You’ve had that power for weeks.”
I searched his green eyes for any sign of deception or jest, but there was only sincerity. He extended his hand. “Come, please.”
I set my hand in his and smiled. His fingers wrapped around mine, and heat enveloped my hand, flowed up my arm, into my heart, and made my head light. I squeezed his hand, trying to make sense of all the sensations, while he led me to an outer wall on the far side of the library.
He let go of my hand, pulling all his wonderful, heady heat away with him. He pointed at a palm-sized flame carved into the stone on the wall. “I’d like to share this with you also.”
I raised a brow. “The flame?”
His wild smile grew across his face and lit up his eyes. “Yes. I want to give a flame to my favorite firehawk… and watch her set the world ablaze.”
My heart! Those words! And that fierce grin! As my lips turned to match it, he raised a hand to the flame, covering it with his palm.
For a few seconds, the entire wall glowed. Then, the light gathered into a door-sized spot right in front of me, and faded into a stone-lined corridor. Aedan kept his hand on the wall, but gestured inside with his other hand.
I stepped into the new hall. One step, then two—then I saw an entrance to another entire room. I backtrackeduntil I stood next to Aedan again and studied what I thought had been an exterior stone wall. “It’s a secret room,” I breathed.
His smile broke free, and it took over his face, transforming him into an entirely different person. “Yes. It’s bigger inside. Come.” He tipped his head. “Please.” He waved inside again, and I scurried ahead of him.
I turned into the room. A wave of heat washed over me from behind, alerting me to his presence. This room was still big—at least as big as my parent’s kitchen, living room, and bedroom put together—but not nearly as overwhelming as the large library.
A dozen bookshelves lined this room, but most of the space in the middle was open. Two large, cushioned chairs sat at one end in front of a big desk. A few pieces of other furniture gave the room a cozy feel, despite it being more than half the size of the cabin I’d grown up in.
Aedan stepped up next to me. “This is my private library. The magic ties the entrance to my hand, so nobody else can come in… unless I allow it.”
He walked to a shelf behind the desk, and I followed. “These are the private chronicles written by the hands of kings—myself, my father, his father—for millennia. Histories that you will not find anywhere else. You…” His voice hitched before continuing in a lower tone. “You are welcome to read anything here.”
The enormity of such a gift took my breath away. But he wasn’t done.
He ran a hand tenderly along a shelf at his chest’s height, and stopped on a volume as thick as my palm. He pulled it out, and I gasped.
His surprisingly tender expression lifted from the book to me. “You can see magic on it?”
I nodded. “A lot.”
“Fae?” he asked.
I nodded again.
