Chapter Twenty-Seven
“This is the library?” My mouth hangs as my eyes rake over the lush conservatory, alive with mossy trees and weeping vines. Countless lanterns cast a moody glow despite the afternoon sun streaming in from the glass dome above. A stream trickles along next to our stone path, providing just enough space for a few iridescent fish to pass.
“The aisles for books are around the outside,” Elisaf explains in a whisper, pointing out the multiple levels above us. “The core is where people come to read, and sometimes to talk.”
Several people look up from their books and turn from hushed conversations. A few rise to bow as I pass, their seats in alcoves cocooned by vines and in stylish high-backed chairs that remind me more of a club lounge. They gape as if the last place they expect the soon-to-be queen is in a library.
Four ornate black-iron spiral staircases lead up, one to each floor.
“All these books, and you guys couldn’t bring me even one when I was locked up and begging?” I offer Elisaf a flat look.
“Evil Romeria did not deserve entertainment,” he whispers, humor lacing his voice. “Was there something in particular you are looking for?”
“Yes.” If I’m stuck here, I need to arm myself with as much information as I can, rather than waiting for everyone else to feed it to me. “Anything on the history of Islor and the fates.”
Elisaf bows and gestures toward the tallest staircase. “I believe we can find something that way.”
Nearly an hour later, my arms are laden with books, and he leads me to an elegant chaise beneath a pergola draped in lavender blooms. “I assume this will do?”
I sigh dramatically as I set my stack on a small, round table. “I suppose.” The bold flowers cascading down are vibrant shades of fuchsia and sapphire, enormous, and like nothing I’ve ever seen before anywhere, let alone inside a library. I gingerly reach for a tendril to measure it in my palm, and the petals suddenly snap closed over my finger. I jump back in alarm.
A deep cackle sounds nearby.
“That’s one of her favorite games,” Elisaf says as we watch Annika stroll past, her arm hooked in a young, attractive man’s. A lantern flame glints off the man’s cuff.
He’s a tributary.
She winks and continues. I guess not all of them have the same qualms as Zander.
“Is there anything else you might need, Your Highness?”
I sink into the seat. “No, this is perfect. Eli.”
He pulls his own book from beneath his arm and settles into a nearby chair, a playful smile curling his lips.
Princess Isla of Cirilea was known for her difficulties harnessing her elemental affinity. As a gift to his betrothed, Caster Ailill forged a ring using a token from Aoife, designed with the sentient ability to amplify the wielder’s affinity based on need. While wearing the ring, Queen Isla could manipulate water with a thought, making her use of her affinity effortless and effective.
Known to be a devout student of Mordain’s scribes during his tenure in Nyos, Ailill forged the ring in the likeness of the one that graces the hand of Aoife, Fate of Water, as seen in the visions from the seers. While never confirmed, scholars believe the undetermined white stone has ties to the ancient nymph.
I smooth my thumb over the odd, dull white stone. The ring matches the one in the illustration. Is that how it came to life the night I searched for Annika in the water? Did its sentient abilities answer my desperate plea for help with the drowning woman at the bottom of the river?
Sometimes the urge calls to me to slide off the ring and see what happens. Now that Wendeline has told me what Sofie did, that urge is stronger. But while I’m wearing Ailill’s cuffs, I guess there is no point.
“Filling that devious mind of yours with information?”
I startle at the sound of Atticus’s voice. My heart hammers in my chest as he strolls up the path to the pergola. He’s cleaned up and changed since I last saw him, lying in the dirt in the sparring court.
Princess Romeria slept with this man.
Was she genuinely attracted to him, or was she simply stirring up trouble?
He is striking, and they spent weeks traveling from the rift to Cirilea before she ever laid eyes on Zander, so I guess it’s not the most unbelievable thing to happen, and yet she was heading here to marry his brother, the king. Though, I suppose the plan wasn’t for a lengthy marriage. It was only supposed to last hours, if that.
But for the two of them to share whatever they did during that journey, for him to then learn she was planning on killing him …
Atticus must hate me.
And I can’t let on that I know any of this.