As the door closed, she removed the arrow from under her pillow. She ran her fingers along the shaft, tracing the carved runes while wondering at their meanings. Everything about it was unlike anything she’d seen before, from the carvings to the dabbled feathers of the fletching. It seemed to weigh almost nothing, but it seemed to have been much heavier when she first grasped hold of it. Dragging her thumb across the arrow tip, a jolt coursed down her arm, and she dropped it with a yelp.
She eyed it dubiously. For all she knew, it was imbued with corruption, and no amount of studying was going to reveal any of its secrets. Perhaps taking the arrow was a mistake. Climbing out of bed, she carried it over to a refuse bin but hesitated to throw it away. What if one of the acolytes found it and was stricken with the withering like that man? His crazed eyes and mottled skin flashed before her eyes, and Liane shook her head to dispel the image.
Arrow grasped in her hand, she climbed back in bed and shoved it beneath her pillow once more. She’d dispose of it when she was out of the temple. Liane pulled the blankets up to her chin and tried to go to sleep—the sooner she did, the sooner she could leave the temple—but sleep evaded her. As she closed her eyes, the starless void filled the space behind her eyelids, and her restless thoughts returned to the stag, the pool, glowing runes, and the elves that moved like shadows. All of it forbidden, treacherous, and alluring. She had to know more to make sense of these half-forgotten memories the ruins had evoked.
The temple held an archive of many tomes of corruption magic, including the language of runes. If she could decipher the runes on the arrow’s shaft, perhaps she could make sense of the would-be killer’s motives. Tossing off her covers, she leapt out of bed and retrieved it once more, and headed for the door, where she stopped short. Books about corruption and runes were forbidden to everyone but senior librarians. They’d never let her stroll in and read their books, and if she dared to ask questions, they’d simply wave her off, saying it was better not to meddle with corruption.
No one would be in the library at night, however. And if she snuck in unnoticed, then she might find answers under the cover of night. Decision made, she crept to the door and peered outside; two guards stood watch. After the attack, Mother had doubled Liane’s guard. Without asking, she knew they’d refuse to escort her to the library. The Vice Premier would have given orders to keep her in bed. Instead, she’d have to sneak past them.
Tip-toeing back to her bed, she arranged her pillows to look like she was still sleeping. Satisfied it served at a casual glance, she padded back, picking up a clay cup on her way. Their backs were to her, more concerned with keeping people from getting in than what might come out. One guard’s head bobbed, as if he were about to fall asleep. The second guard was pacing at the opposite end of the hall, presumably trying to keep himself awake. When the closer guard stretched and yawned, Liane tossed the cup out into the hall, where it shattered on the ground.
Both men jumped to attention, rushing over to investigate the broken cup, and while they weren’t looking, she darted out of her room and around the corner. Then with her back against the wall, she held her breath and waited.If she moved too quickly, they’d hear her footsteps and come looking.
“Did something come out of the infirmary?” the further guard asked.
“I’ll check,” replied the closer.
Heart in her throat, she listened as the door creaked.
“Princess is sleeping,” the guard whispered.
“Don’t know where this cup came from, though.”
“You must have kicked it over while you were pacing; they leave trays all over.”
Which was what Liane had been counting on. During the midnight change over, acolytes collected various vessels for washing, which were left out by the previous shift in the hallway. She waited for a few more breaths before moving silently down the hall and toward the library.
Pale light from a quarter moon illuminated the vacant hallway, giving it an eerie glow, and without the bustle of priests and priestesses filling it, each breath echoed off the cold marble walls. At the end of the hall, marble columns arched over a pair of double spruce doors. Testing the doorknob, she discovered it was unlocked, and thanked the stars for that. It swung open with a small groan, and she froze on the threshold, fearing the sound would alert the guards. But when no one came to investigate, she stepped inside.
Silver beams of moonlight illuminated an unlit oil lamp sitting atop a tidy desk where the chief librarian typically sat. Opening drawers, she sought a match to light the lamp.After a short search, she found one, and she struck it. Its meager flame flickered against her palm as she led it to the wick. It caught, and while she fumbled with the glass cover, she accidentally spilled oil onto the desk. Using her sleeve, she wiped up the mess the best she could. But by the time she’d finished, her heart was pounding against her ribcage. The librarians would be horrified to see her now.
Liane headed down a nearby row and wandered the aisles, scanning the shelves of leather-bound tomes, unsure where to start. As a girl, she’d spent hours in the library reading through illuminated manuscripts about all manner of things. One kind archivist once let her peek at a very old book, said to be one of the few that remained from before The Corruption. It was that book she sought.
As she remembered, there was a door in the far back corner of the library, but when she tested it, it was locked. This had to be where it was, and so she returned to the desk and hunted for a key. She rummaged through drawers, finding quills, ink, and loose pieces of parchment with splotches of ink. Just as she was about to give up, a tingle raced up her spine, and instinct told her to press the ornate molding placed between two drawers. If this worked to reveal secret passages in the palace, why not hidden drawers in the temple? She pushed hard against it and felt the click of a hidden mechanism. The molding jutted out like a handle, and when she turned it, she heard another metallic click as a second thin drawer slid out. Inside, a pewter key rested on the velvet interior.
Liane rushed back over to jam the key into the lock, and when it swung open, the smell of old paper and ink overwhelmed her with pleasant memories. Being bedbound in her youth wasn’t all bad; at least it had given her plenty of time to read.
There were no windows into the room, as to better preserve the ancient books, but she feared accidentally setting the thousand-year-old tomes on fire, so she left her lamp at the entry before moving on to peruse the shelves. As she scanned titles written in dead languages, a prickle raced up her spine. Instinct told her to take a left, and she always trusted her gut.
At the end of the row, she discovered a book lying open upon a pedestal, its illuminated pages seemingly glowing in the dark. Though it was difficult to see, she recognized the scrawled runes running across the page. Hands shaking, she turned one brittle page slowly. If she moved too fast, the entire thing might crumble. Eyes devouring the unfamiliar characters, she compared them to the markings on the arrow but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Though she didn’t understand the words written, she recognized the creatures illustrated along the margins: mermaids flapping their fishy tales, unicorns rearing, and dragons soaring. They reminded her of picture books she’d read as a girl, but though they were the same creatures, they were markedly different. They lacked menace, she realized. Now they called them chimera, as they’d been so horrifically changed by corruption, and were said to be dangerous. The illustrator had captured their likeness in such exquisite detail it seemed they might leap off the page, and stranger yet, they looked friendly, beautiful even.
Liane turned to the next page, and her heart stopped.
Agolden sun cut in half by the moon hung in a twilight sky, and beneath it, staring out at the viewer, was the two-toned stag. A shiver ran down her spine. She’d never seen such a creature before in any book, and thought it was a product of her hallucinations.
“Have you come seeking as well, child of light?” the Avatheos said in his sonorous voice.
Spinning, Liane turned to face him. “I couldn’t sleep.” Liane stammered the first thing she could think of.
“Something troubling you?” he asked, standing unnervingly still, back lit by her lantern, which cast him in sharp relief.
There were many things troubling her, but somehow she thought confessing to the Avatheos would condemn her to an afterlife wandering the void. Especially considering just that morning, she’d dared to gaze upon his veiled face. But was lying to him any better?
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she stepped aside to reveal the page with the two-toned stag. Though the Avatheos terrified her, he was best qualified to answer her questions.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked, pointing to the illustration.
