My stomach turns to lead. Alix angles her head, her long braid falling over her back as she takes an intimidating step closer.
“Just between you and me, Zadyn’s not the type to stay. Even if—” She breaks off.
“Even if what?”
“Oh, wow. You really don’t know, do you?” She looks at me with sardonic pity and brushes past, knocking my shoulder in the process. “Clueless.”
“I’m sorry,what?” I call after her, but she’s already halfway down the hall with her annoyingly long legs. I heave a frustrated groan and continue my quest.
“…not telling her.”
I follow the faint sound of Zadyn’s voice, feeling a bit of relief as I step into my version of heaven.
The library is stunning—dark, warm, and full of rich texture. It’s even bigger than the one in Aegar, with hanging tapestries, lacquered wood and leather furniture, and a blazing fire beneath a stony mantle to offset the snow and mist swirling outside the arching windows. It smells just right—like old parchment and endless wisdom.
“Not telling who what?”
Zadyn twists around in his seat, his cheeks flushing pink when he sees me. He waves a hand, and my hair is suddenly dry. I love it when he does that.
“Nothing,” he says quickly. I’m about to push for an actual answer when I notice the thick, dusty tome on the table between him and Eaton, and I can’t look away.
“What’s that?”
“This is a grimoire. It belonged to one of the original Blackblood witches.”
“We were hoping you might be able to help crack it.”
“How?”
Eaton grabs my hand and presses it to the worn cover. A jolt of electricity zaps through me, wracking me with violent tremors.
“What’s wrong?” Zadyn grabs my arm, and jerks back with a loud hiss.
I rip my trembling hands from the book, stumbling out of my seat. “You felt it too?”
Zadyn nods, revealing two singed palms.
The grimoire flies open. Words in another language flood my vision, swirling around the room like a tornado—so fast and dizzying that I reel back into the table. Zadyn is calling my name, but I can’trespond. Even closed, the writing remains pasted behind my eyes in vivid script.
I turn and slam the book shut.
The room stops spinning. With measured slowness, I pull back the cover.
“What the hell?”
The faded words on the page are gradually replaced by perfectly inked text. The volume is fully restored—its weathered binding now a sharp coal-black with gold foil running down the crisp edges.
“You and old books,” I say to Zadyn. “Bad combination.”
“I knew it. It must be keyed to black blood.” Eaton sounds as awestruck as I feel.
A shimmering aura coils around the grimoire, calling to me.
Hello, my Queen.
I recoil at the words—the same ones whispered to me by the traveling mirror in Kylian’s collection.
“Oh, I’m not?—”
