Lyr watched me with a curious expression as the librarian scanned my requests.
“Eye witness reports and histories of Shiviel,” she said, frowning. “I haven’t been given leave to offer these titles to you.”
“I’m Heir to the Arkasva and Imperator,” I said, my stomach turning. “I have permission to use the library.”
“I—Yes, you do.”
“There’s no notice that I’m forbidden from such things, is there?
“No, Your Grace,” she said.
“Then please,” I said. “Any accounts. Anything related to Shiviel.”
She bit her lip, tapping the table, assessing the request.
“And,” I continued, “texts on ancient, forbidden magic, magic of the Gods. This in particular, please.”I pointed to my note on the scroll, my finger right beside the wordRakashonim.The power Lyr was drawing on when she called on Asherah.
“I’ll pull some titles for you, Your Grace, they should be ready tomorrow.”
But I didn’t want Lyr to see them. Not yet. “Can you have the scrolls delivered to my room at Seathorne?” I asked. “Please.”
The librarian’s mouth tightened. “I—yes. It will be done, Your Grace.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Truly.” Then feeling the glare of my escorts, I moved back to join them in their wait for the lift.
“What was that about?” Lyr asked, her shoulder dangerously close to my arm.
“Research,” I whispered. “On Shiviel.”
“You’re trying to find out what we did to him?” she asked.
My hand found hers beneath our cloaks, and our fingers threaded together. “I’m going to find out everything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TRISTAN
“Galen, take it,” I said, shoving the bag of coins at him.
“No. I don’t need it.” Galen looked away, staring out at the arena of the Nutavian Katurium. His arms were folded across his chest. He wore no tunic or armor, enjoying the early whisperings of spring and the bright sun.
“Please,” I said. “You should at least accept me as your sponsor.”
“The Palace is my sponsor,” he said coolly.
I sighed. Sure, the Palace was housing him, giving him the arena to train in every day and providing basic meals. But not enough. He needed more, and at the very least I wanted to give him that. But he was so fucking stubborn.
“Why are you offering me this anyway?” Galen pulled on his arms, stretching them side to side before lifting them over his head. A habibellum was happening in the field. Every day there was one as all of the potential soturi for the Valabellum auditioned and fought to earn their roles in the arena. Every day, soturi were being cut and sent home. But Galen kept making it to the next level. “You know that I don’t need it. Nor have I ever asked for anything like this from you.” His face tightened. And underneath, I detected the smallest bit of resentment.
I sometimes forgot just how much money my Ka had. And how vastly different that level of wealth was from the other nobility. Ka Scholar was on the cusp of such noble status. Since his people mostly stayed in Scholar’s Harbor, and most took up posts there in the Library or in the temples, they were not always included amongst the nobility. Nor invited to most events. But I’d never paid attention. Never thought twice about Galen’s status. Not until my grandmother pointed it out.
Apparently, Galen had noticed. More than he’d willingly let on in our long years of friendship.
His dark eyebrows furrowed, and he reached at last for his tunic on the bench. Once the next hour was called, he’d be in the next set of trials. These were for the roles of the Guardians. Under no circumstances could Galen be cast. These games were deadly. And the last thing I wanted was to see him harmed. He risked enough as a soturion as it was.
“Last I heard,” he muttered, pulling his tunic down past his waist, “you were giving your coin to my enemies.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”
