Red silken skirt in hand, I curled up the spiral mezzanine stairs and made my way to the bookshelf that held the glowing light. With each step closer, that strange light shone brighter and brighter. What could it possibly be?
With each careful step, I watched for any movement from Morvyn, having no clue what I would do even if he caught me. Then, Arlo looked up, his eyes wide in fear.
Shit.
I shook my head no at him, willing him to understand.
Do not say anything.
Please, do not say anything!
I felt it in my bones. This, whatever it was, would help us get out of here.
“Aren’t you meant to be toiling away at that instrument, Tiny Toes?” Morvyn sneered at Arlo.
I froze. I couldn’t see where Morvyn was from my angle. If he walked toward Arlo to bother him, he would see the light reacting to me.
Arlo quickly turned back around to the instrument, pretending to work at it.
“Good little human.”
Arlo bit his bottom lip, holding back whatever slew of curses he had running through his mind to ensure Morvyn stayed put.
Perfect. Then Arlo looked at me briefly and gave me a small, affirmative nod.
I was in the clear.
Heart lodged in my throat, I took one steady step at a time. The spine of a book was coming into view at the center of that light, almost too bright to look at. I lifted a hand to shield my eyes and stretched out to reach it.
I just barely touched the grainy, worn, sky-blue canvas that bound the text when a song like a birdcall tolled through the library in a cheery twittering. Then the light vanished.
Arlo coughed loudly to cover the noise.
“What’s wrong with you? Do you have the plague or whatever you puny humans get?” Morvyn said.
“Just something caught in my throat,” he said, hitting his chest hard.
“Humans are so bizarre,” Morvyn muttered.
Arlo looked back up at me, raising his eyebrows. I gave him a smile and a nod. I had whateveritwas in my clutches. He turned back to the instrument.
My heart steadied as I peeled back the hard cover, the pages stuck together, unopened for some time. I flitted through the pages, greeted by rows of neat handwriting in precise lines, in my language. But the pages weren’t water-stained like the other texts Lumina had left at my bedside, just well used.
The first page, in a different handwriting from the rest, read, To my one and only. May this journal hold your mind as you hold my heart.
A journal? But whose was it? I turned to the next page. It was dated in the top right corner:Spring 5339 AT. That was only twenty-seven years ago. How did it end up here?
“Elowyn,” Morvyn said.
I shut the book quickly.
“Yes?” I looked over the marble half-wall, down to Morvyn, who was standing and staring up at me, hands on his bony hips.
“What are you doing up there?” he asked, pale brow raised.
“Are you going to watch my every breath? I wasn’t aware I was even in danger here among all of this ferocious …” I looked around. “Literature.”
Morvyn nervously rubbed at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, you were just being soquietand—”
