“All right,” he concedes. “It is true that I already had the scroll in my possession, but that’s because someone else was looking for the same information you were.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Who?”
“Prince Balior of Um Salim.”
My eyes close on a wave of apprehension. Notus swears softly. Here I thought we were steps ahead of the prince, when really, we were trailing at his heels. “Did you inform Prince Balior we were interested in the same information?” I ask the jeweler.
“No.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I met with the prince before Notus wrote to me.”
The South Wind and I exchange a heartfelt look. Then we’re in the clear—so far.
Amad pulls a box of polished wood from beneath the counter. “The prince wasn’t too happy with the information I offered him. You may find some interest in it, however.”
The wood is quite old, bleached white and full of cracks, its face carved with dark whirls. When I brush a finger against the fine grain, my ears pulse from the low vibration running through the room. Neither Notus nor the jeweler appear to be affected.
The top opens with a soft creak. Inside lies a scroll tied with a strip of leather. Gently, I lift it from the box. A piece of parchment flakes off as I untie the binding and open the scroll.
My stomach hollows out. Lifting a trembling hand, I trace the musical notation arranged on the staff, quarter notes and eighth notes, accidentals and beats of rest gathered to create the whole of a melody I recognize immediately. It was one of Fahim’s favorite pieces. Somehow, this connects to the labyrinth, though I haven’t the slightest idea how. Notus is equally perplexed.
“The client you traded with to acquire this scroll,” I say, lifting my eyes to the jeweler. “Do you have a name?” There must be somethingwe’re missing, some loophole. It is all eerily familiar, yet just beyond the threshold of comprehension.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t. He was a trader passing through.”
The heat and breadth of Notus at my side momentarily draws my attention from the notation. “May I?” he asks. I nod and pass it to him.
His brow creases as he scans the scroll. I allow myself a small smile. Many do not know that music is a language, and few are fluent in it.
He then peers closer at one of the corners. “Did you see this?”
“What?” I gaze over his shoulder to where he points. There is a simple sketch in black ink I hadn’t noticed before. It showcases what I believe is a winged man. “Do you recognize it?”
“I can’t be sure, I—” He shakes his head, skims a brown fingertip across the illustration. Amber light from the nearby candle ripples across the parchment. “I think I need to send a message to my brother.”
“Boreas?”
“Eurus,” he replies.
Interesting. This is one of only a handful of times he has mentioned his family. In the past, any attempt at learning more of his relatives was met with stony silence. It frustrated me to no end. “You think he has something to do with the labyrinth?”
“I’m not sure.” The creases lining his mouth deepen. “Possibly.”
I’d hoped we might discover a possible weakness the beast has, or a clue concerning whatever power it may possess once it’s freed from the labyrinth. What are we to do with a scrap of musical notation?
Then I think deeper on the matter. There is something here. Something I’m not seeing. “Could this be related to my curse?”
Notus’ head whips in my direction. “Curse?”
My eyes widen. I didn’t intend to speak that aloud. “Ah—”
There comes a knock on the door.
The jeweler stiffens. The South Wind falls motionless, as do I.
A voice calls, “Princess Sarai?” The door rattles as whoever stands on the other side attempts to open it.
Notus draws his sword in one fluid motion. “You told me none knew of our arrival,” he growls at Amad. The tension emanating fromhis body is a physical thing. It crawls beneath his skin, crests to pool in those dark-pupiled eyes. At last, rage cracks open that stony facade, and it is a glorious sight to behold.
Amad yelps as Notus prowls forward, and he scrambles to put distance between himself and the South Wind, using the counter as a shield. “It wasn’t a lie!” he cries. “I swear it!”
