I stop, realizing my walk has taken me back past the huge library I saw yesterday. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m alone for the first time in weeks, maybe it’s the haunting melodies in the air, but I have a sudden clarity I’ve been missing for a while.
If I want answers, why don’t I go get them? No need to keep relying on everyone else to give them to me. Besides, the more I understand what I can do without relying on the fae to dripfeed it to me, the quicker I can use my power to escape Leon’s control.
Once I’m through the library doors, however, the doubt sets in again. This place is so massive. I have no idea where to start. I glance across the nearest bookshelf, but none of the names mean anything to me, and there doesn’t seem to be any mention of celestial magic or solari. Of course not; that would be too easy, especially when my magic isn’t exactly common.
I’ve caught the attention of a few of the students, their eyes sliding curiously toward me and back to their books. Beyond them I notice a raised desk—much grander than the study tables—with a fae seated behind it.
He must be ancient; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fae before with such snowy white hair. His thin, gold spectacles balance on theend of his nose as he flicks through a book, stamps it with a seal, and adds it to a teetering pile by his elbow.
I suspect I’ve found the librarian.
“Excuse me, sir.”
The fae has to lean over his desk to get a proper look at me. Under the scrutiny of his dark eyes, I find myself clearing my throat. “I was wondering if you could help me.”
“You’re not a student or a mage,” he croaks.
“No sir, just a guest of the proctor.”
It’s basically true.
He blinks at me slowly, buying it for now. “Very well. Yes?”
I weigh up how to phrase my request. Could it possibly be as simple as asking? The thought is so foreign to me. I imagine the Temple seized all the books about solari in Trova and burned them many decades ago.
“Where might I find the books on celestial magic?”
The librarian sniffs. “Most of our books on that subject are in the proctor’s private collection, given she is our resident expert.” He fixes me with a knowing stare. “However, our mages are welcome to borrow from it, and if you’re a guest of the proctor, you could also ask her personally for access.”
Of courseit isn’t that easy. I don’t want it getting back to Leon that I’m looking for my own answers, so this suggestion doesn’t help me, but at least the librarian hasn’t kicked me out. I rock on my heels, thinking. If I can’t learn more about my magic yet—and I suspect Gallis won’t tell me what I want without clearing it with Leon first—whatdoI want to know more about?
The answer is obvious: Leon. He’s the barrier between me and freedom. If I’m going to get strong enough to beat him, then I need to know as much about his power as he does about mine. So what if I evened the playing field? I bet there’s all sorts of interesting details about the Claerwyn family in here. Leon’s over a hundred years old; that’s plenty of time for books to be written about him.
Besides, I’m so sick of people keeping things from me—and it’s always secretsaboutme, just to make it that bit worse. It will be so satisfying to turn the tables a little.
“Do you have anything on the War of Laurels instead? Particularly, um, the involvement of the Filusian forces?”
The librarian isn’t enthused by my question, but he jabs a long finger toward a spiral staircase in the corner.
“Second floor. Modern History. The bookshelf on the third right.”
Of course, to the fae it would be modern, I think as I climb the steps.
The librarian’s instructions are simple to follow. It takes me no time at all to locate a shelf of books about Filusia’s role in the Trovian civil war. I flick through them, pulling out a few that look promising, though they’re mostly dry analyses of the two factions’ military strategies and resources. I consider skimming through them anyway. Leon has kept so much from me, I’d like to surprise himonceby knowing something about him he’d rather I didn’t.
My hand drops to an alcove below the shelf stuffed full of scrolls. At first, I think they’re just maps, but then I see some are unbound letters and diary pages—firsthand accounts of the war.
I unfold one with a subtitle that makes me freeze.
The Massacre of Mistwell.
I know that name. It’s the name of the town where the war ended. Where something terrible and bloody—something my history books refused to describe in much detail—happened to bring the Ethiran forces to their knees.
Something involving the Ethirans’ champion, Herrydan…and Leon, the Nightmare Prince.
There are lots of wild rumors flying around about Leon and the various places he attacked in the war, but from what I can tell, Mistwell is the source—the reason why his name still strikes fear into people’s hearts in Trova. The story has devolved into exaggerations and distortions since then. But this seems to be an actual account. Maybe today, I’ll finally get some answers after all.
Heart thudding, I read on.
