He moved then, stepping away, creating distance between us. The moment—whatever it had been—was broken, replaced by the familiar, careful formality that was his default.
“Read the book, Isara,” he said, his tone lighter now, almost dismissive. “Then find me.”
I watched him retreat. Just before he reached the library door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Dinner is at sundown,” he reminded me. “Don’t be late.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the weight of his words and the book in my hands.
I waited. Listened.
The sound of Varyth’s footsteps faded down the corridor. He wasn’t coming back. Still, I hesitated, glancing toward the library door with a wariness I couldn’t quite shake.
Then I moved. Idartedacross the room, my fingers brushing against the polished wood of the long table where he had left his book.
I picked it up, flipping it over. The cover was dark, the spineworn, pages frayed.
And the title?—
Written in a language that meant nothing to me. Except for one word.
Braerlith.
My heartstopped. A coincidence. It had to be. The truth rose like bile, but I kept it down. Just barely. He had spoken of wars, of strategy, ofhistory—there werea thousand reasons why Braerlith might be in the book.
It didn’t have to beabout me. But as I flipped through the pages, my stomachsank. Maps. Bloodlines. Dates. My throat tightened.
This was ahistory of Braerlith. He was reading about my home.
What was he looking for? What had he found?
Iscanned the pages, trying to make sense of the foreign words, of the diagrams, of thelines connecting names and houses and monarchs together in intricate webs.
I didn’t think. I acted.
Ishovedthe book between the others on the shelf, wedging it deep behind volumesthicker, heavier, older. A haphazard hiding place, but it would do.
Iexhaled and pressed a hand to my chest, trying tocalm the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat.
Then I stepped back, taking one last glance at the shelf.
The book wasgone from sight, hidden among the others. But the weight of it remained.
I forced myself to take a slow breath, squaring my shoulders.
Read the book, Isara. Then find me.
His voice lingered in my mind, but now,I wondered if I truly wanted to know what else he had already learned.
The hum started again as I stood there, staring at the shelf where I’d hidden his book. That low, vibrating pull that seemed to rise from the very bones of the castle, threading through stone and mortar.
I’d learned to tune it out, background noise, like the whisper of wind through leaves. But now, with my heart hammering from what I’d discovered, the melody pressed against my consciousness like a living thing.
What was he looking for in that book? What had he already found?
The questions clawed at me, sharp and insistent. Braerlith. My home. The place I’d fled from, the life I’d left behind, all of it mapped out in diagrams and foreign script on Varyth’s reading table.
The hum grew stronger, more insistent. It wound through my ribs, settled beneath my sternum like a second heartbeat. And for the first time since crossing the Veil, I didn’t fight it.
I hummed back.
