It was a dream, she insisted while readying herself for the day. But nothing seemed to be able to calm the nerves upsetting her stomach, not even the familiar scratch of her rough spun woolen clothing. She had worn the same clothes for years, though Vhalla was suddenly tugging at her robe’s sleeves uncomfortably.
She had a similar dream the next night, and the night after that, each time more vivid than the last. She ignored the shakes the dreams left in their wake. Vhalla blamed it on the black-clad figures who seemed to stalk her every movement—just beyond the edge of her vision. She did not go a day without seeing a sorcerer swathed in black, but only out of the corners of her eyes.
They stood at the edge of a bookshelf, the junction of a hall; sometimes they passed through doors that would be locked when she tried the knob. No one else ever saw them. Not Roan, who sorted books with her. Not Sareem when he walked her back to her room after dinner, meals that sat too heavy in her stomach.
The feel of eyes upon her became as common as breathing. What they wanted from her—they did not say. What they were waiting for they did not reveal.
Vhalla ignored her suspicion that she already knew what they sought.
One day, she was working alone in the library when the hairs at the nape of her neck raised on end.
At the end of the row stood a woman. She wore a variation of the Tower’s apprentice robes that Vhalla had only seen once or twice before. The black jacket still ended at her waist, but the sleeves were capped over the shoulders. Vhalla could not guess the significance of having different styled robes. Library apprentices all wore the same.
The woman did not move, she did not even seem to breathe. Dark brown eyes, almost black, were set upon deep tan Western skin. Black hair fell straight around her face with horizontal fringe cut right below the woman’s brow. Her hair was longer in the front and shorter in the back, exposing her neck.
It was the first time Vhalla had seen one of her watchers long enough to examine their appearance. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the woman looked like any other Westerner. Wasn’t she always told that sorcerers were different from normal people?
“What do you want?” Vhalla whispered. Her eyes watered, she did not even allow herself to blink for fear the woman would vanish.
“Have you ever read any of these?” The woman had a thick accent, holding heraandylike those of the West. Vhalla had heard traces of it in Sareem, even though he had been born and raised in the South.
“These?” Vhalla repeated carefully.
“These books,” the woman clarified. “Have you ever read any of them?”
“Of course I have,” Vhalla retorted defensively. People did not often question her knowledge of the library, especially when it came to her reading.
“And you still fear us?” The woman squinted slightly, tilting her head.
Vhalla subconsciously took a step away. “I-I don’t fear—” the woman’s approach stilled her words. What would this person do to her? Vhalla looked over her shoulder to make sure Sareem or Roan weren’t nearby. She jumped when she looked back—the sorcerer stood right before her.
“This one.” Pulling a manuscript from the shelf the woman passed it to her. “Read this.”
“Why?” Vhalla accepted the manuscript from the woman with hesitant fingers. She read the title quickly:An Introduction to Sorcery.
“Because you are too smart to be so afraid of what you are,” the dark-haired woman replied simply, turning to walk away.
Vhalla blinked, reeling from the strange interaction. “Wait,” she called a little too loudly. “What’s your name?”
The woman stopped. Vhalla clutched the book with white knuckles, holding her breath. Dark eyes assessed her, silently thoughtful.
“Larel.” With that, she vanished down the rows. Vhalla did not even try to pursue.
By the time the closing bells rang out across the library, Vhalla’s neck ached from being hunched over reading for so long. She had acquired additional manuscripts on magic to aide her on the more complex points. One was on magical Affinities, the other on sorcerers’ history.
Retrieving her worn bookmark from the powder blue sash holding her robes closed, Vhalla put it delicately between the pages. She returned the manuscript to its place, stacking her references on either side, out of order. No one else would be reading in the section of mysteries.
The next morning she trailed behind Roan as they walked through the palace. War was still being fought in Shaldan, and they had received a shipment of books to process from a conquered city. The guards had refused to carry the heavy crates up to the Imperial Library. Why two of the smallest girls in the palace were sent instead was a mystery to Vhalla.
As they descended through the outer wall, she began to wipe sweat from her brow. The library opened into the town at one of the palace’s highest access points and was always cooler, even in summer. The stables were further down along the capital’s main road.
“Did you know that when we first began to worship the Mother, all the Crones were Firebearers?” Vhalla blurted out suddenly, recalling the prior day’s reading.
“What?” Roan blinked, turning. “What’s a Firebearer?”
“I...” Vhalla opened and closed her mouth like a fish, formulating words. The last thing she wanted to do was admit to reading books on magic by explaining Firebearers. Ignoring Roan’s question she continued on. “Well, I didn’t know this, since the Empire invaded Cyven to spread the word of the Mother.”
“I know the history of the Empire’s expansion,” Roan laughed lightly. “It’s not that long.”
