My gaze drifted to the horizon behind the Academy grounds, where the Wilds stood quietly, hiding paths older than the town itself. Orcs and boar were symptoms. Tools. Whatever was coming wasn’t about brute force alone.
It was about direction.
And that was when Celeste’s question resurfaced, gentle and devastating in its simplicity.
What does the Priestess want?
What.
The answer mattered more than all the rest because you could repel an army, you could strengthen Wards and callin allies and stand your ground with teeth bared and magic blazing, but you couldn’t defend against something you didn’t understand.
I pressed my hand to my hip, feeling the warmth there pulse softly, like a reminder ticking beneath my skin. The Priestess hadn’t moved all these pieces for chaos’s sake. She wasn’t the kind of woman who wasted energy on spectacle.
She wanted something specific, tied to Stonewick.
Something tied to me.
And until I knew what that was, no number of vampires, no thickness of stone, no strength of Wards would truly be enough.
The wind stirred again, carrying the scent of fall and iron and something distant but approaching, and I knew deep in my bones that answering my daughter’s question was the only way forward.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The pull came on gently, guiding me somewhere I already wanted to go.
The library.
I didn’t announce it or explain myself. I turned and let my feet carry me down familiar corridors until I found my way there. The library greeted me with its usual layered calm, ink and old paper, polished wood, and the faint spark of magic that lived between the shelves rather than on them.
My shoulders dropped the moment I crossed the threshold.
“Thank you,” I murmured, not sure who I was thanking exactly. The Academy. The room. The version of myself that always knew where to go when everything felt too loud. The book sprites?
The lights brightened just enough to see by, lanterns glowing warmly as if they understood I wasn’t here to rush. Tall shelves curved overhead, impossibly high and yet intimate, packed with books that leaned and whispered and pretended they didn’t care who passed by.
And then the sprites noticed me.
They emerged one by one from between spines and ledges. They were small, quick, and made of ink-smudged fingers that loved fluttering pages. Their eyes were bright with purpose. One zipped past my ear with a pleased chirping sound. Another tugged gently at my sleeve.
“I know,” I said softly. “I know. I need help.”
That was all it took.
They scattered like sparks, darting up shelves, heaving volumes free with extraordinary teamwork. Books thumped softly onto the long table at the center of the room, stacking themselves into neat, eager piles.
Orcs of the Old Marches.
Boar-Bound Warbands and Their Habits.
Woodland Creatures: Allies and Adversaries.
Forest Kin and Feral Armies.
“All right,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
I spent the next while reading.
And reading.
