Seeking information about the Order of the Lustrate might not have been one of my better ideas. How easily I forgot the misery of trying to readMagic of Primoria—but my brain remembers it well, already lurching with pain as I look down at the cover forThe Reign of Queen Eveline the First and Societal Cultures During Her Time.
Merciful snow above.
Rares claps his hands. “When you’re finished, dear heart, feel free to leave the books on the table, as disorganized as you possibly can.” He motions to a table behind me, situated in a break in the rows of books. “The librarian in residence in charge of the Library of Clarisse is an offensively irritable man, and I would like nothing better than to make unnecessary work for him. Do let me know if any of these books help, or if you need more!”
“Wait.” Ceridwen dumps her burdens on the table after Lekan and pauses, cheek caught between her teeth. “Lustrate,” she says again, rolling the word around her tongue. “That sounds like a word Ventrallans would favor.”
Rares’s eternal smile cracks wider, like he can see what she’s getting at, but I’m lost.
“Why?” I ask.
Ceridwen presses her hand just below her collarbone, eyes averted, and I can’t help but think she’s looking away more to avoid revealing something than to think. “Because of what it means—to purify by sacrifice. Ventrallan culture is full of words like that—luscious words for dark acts, dark words for luscious acts. Artistic, extravagant meanings.” She turns to Rares. “Where are your books on Ventralli? And not censuses.” Her nose curls and I smile. At least I’m not the only one who cringes at the thought of reading all this. If Theron were here, he’d dive in without hesitation.
My gut twists, but I brace myself against thoughts of him.
Books on Ventralli might be a good place to look,actually—the final clue in the chasm entrance was a mask, pointing to the Ventrallan culture of wearing elaborate ones. Maybe Ceridwen is on the right path.
Rares taps a finger to his lips. “Quite deductive of you, Princess. We’ll make a Yakimian out of you yet.”
Ceridwen’s lips twitch in a snarl. “Don’t insult me.”
Lekan grunts and slaps her in the shoulder. Ceridwen glares at him, and he unabashedly returns her glare, an exchange that makes little sense to me. But after half a breath Ceridwen relents.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, but while it would seem like the apology should be directed at Rares, Lekan is the one who nods and accepts it.
Rares overlooks this interaction and points to the back left corner of the library. “Last row, shelves labeled 273 through 492. You no doubt noticed the markers on the ends of the rows? Lovely, aren’t they? Mighty helpful, you’ll find. Anything else?”
“Not if life is at all kind,” I groan, realize how ungrateful that sounded, and straighten. “I mean, thank you.”
Rares winks at me. “Enjoy Yakim, Your Highness.”
He leaves, angling back through the library in the opposite direction Ceridwen and Lekan head, toward the Ventrallan books. Since my only options are to stay and start sorting through Rares’s choices or follow them, I unload the books from my arms and dart off into the shelves without hesitation.
The orbs of light flash off the mirrored plates, the numbers dancing in the reflective surfaces until Ceridwen stops before a row labeled with an oval that proclaims “273–492.”
“Order of the Lustrate, you said?” she asks as she starts surveying book spines.
“Yes—”
My attention sticks on the marker at the end of this row.
Did it . . . change?
I step closer to it, head angling. The light from the nearest orb catches on it and—
I chirp surprise and hop up onto the chair that stands guard over this row, providing an easy lift to get close to the marker. Ceridwen turns to me while Lekan shrugs and goes back to watching the empty rows.
“What is it?” she asks, voice low in the stillness of the library.
I brace my hands on the bookshelf and tip my head to the side. Normal, just the oval with the numbers etched, nothing of importance. But as I ease to the other side, the light shifts, and a luminescent picture reveals itself. A beam of light hitting a mountain.
The Order of the Lustrate’s seal, hidden in the reflective surface of the metal oval.
“It’s here,” I say, though I still don’t know whatitis. Something is here, though, in this shelf, or in a book on this shelf.
My pulse accelerates, trampling my lungs as I run myhand over the oval. My fingers glide down the edge and I spit unexpected laughter.
The ovalmoved.
