I gritted my teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
“I was under the impression they paid you to guard the palace, not talk to me.”
Horace scrubbed his face with exasperation, and I thought I heard a grumbled “Emperor’s tits,” before he leveled me with a stare. “Fine. But whatever he did to you back there, you can bet your little bag of charms he’ll do it again. Would be a shame if you ended up dead because you couldn’t set your pride aside and figure it out.”
I held his gaze, a silent battle of wills taking place between us. He was right, of course—if this happened in the middle of a trial and someone like Horace wasn’t there to help, it was possible I’d end up far worse than at the bottom of the rankings.
Dropping my eyes, I said, “He showed me a vision of you. Dead. Outside my room.”
This took Horace by surprise. He leaned back on his heels, one bushy eyebrow raised slightly. “Didn’t know you cared about me so much, Wolff.”
I stifled my sudden smile, the tension clearing as his eyes twinkled. That light vanished a second later, replaced by his somber expression. “Is that all you saw?”
I opened my mouth, but a cold wave of panic filled me like an icy river, making every inch of my skin tingle. I’d never talked about this with anyone. The words clawed up my throat and stopped, as if an invisible force had weaved around my neck, my lips dry and raw. I was back on that living room floor, screaming.I can’t I can’t I can’t?—
“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” Horace said, patting my shoulder awkwardly. “Sorry I pushed. But you need to be careful.” He lookedaround us, then lowered his voice. “Has anyone ever told you how to stop an Illusionist from using their magic?”
I blinked and cleared my throat, the panic once again subsiding. “Go—go for the eyes,” I breathed out, recalling the townsperson who shouted the advice at my uncle on our way out of Feywood.
Horace tapped his nose, then backed away and held out an arm, motioning me forward.
“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to be telling me how to fight the other challengers,” I said.
“There’re a lot of things I’m not supposed to do. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
My lips raised into a grudging half-smile before a realization struck with a groan. “I have to go,” I said, cursing. This was still the middle of a trial. Fates, I’d wasted so much time. The others were probably figuring out their clues and trying to find their artifacts.
Maps. I needed a map.
“Horace, does this palace have a library?” I asked hurriedly, looking around for a clock to check the time. We’d left the corridor with my room and descended a floor, surrounded now by a high stone ceiling with beautiful portraits of the landscapes of Veridia City lining the wall, and a thick, forest green rug beneath our feet. Sounds of palace life waking surrounded us. Servants rushed by with fresh towels and trays of food; sharp heels and heavy boots clicked against wood floors; the creaking of doors and chattering of guests and chirping of birds came in from a nearby open courtyard.
Ten o’clock, an ornate clock down the hall read. An entire hour had already passed.
Horace raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. He led me down several more hallways, each as lush and opulent as the last, eventually stopping in front of dark oak double doors, nearly twice my height and inlaid with carvings of delicate swirls and loops. The bronze handle gleamed in the light from the sconces framingeither side of the door. Horace pulled on one and threw it open, welcoming me inside with a jerk of his head.
It was the most magnificent room I’d ever seen.
No, calling it aroomdidn’t do it justice. The entire chamber was the shape of an enormous circle, with three stories of floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves full of books. A grand staircase with a gold railing sat to the left, leading to the upper levels. I spotted a handful of men and women meandering through shelves or drifting up the stairs with stacks of books and parchment, the quiet ease with which everyone flowed through the library settling my mind.
My gaze wandered over the thousands andthousandsof leather spines and sturdy bindings, noting the occasional potted plant in between shelves or hanging portrait dotting the cream walls. If I wasn’t in such a rush, I could have spent hours exploring this place.
A cough sounded in front of me, coming from an elderly man standing behind a desk at the entrance, almost unnoticeable amidst piles of books scattered around him. One pencil was tucked in his ear and another held in his hand.
“May I help you?” he asked in a frail voice, peering at us over thin spectacles.
I glanced at Horace, but he was already halfway out the door. “Thank you,” I called out, to which he threw his hand up in a half-hearted wave.
Turning my attention to the man behind the desk, I said, “I’m looking for maps of the city. Anything that might tell me where the major sites in the capital are.”
“Taking a tour?” he asked with a kind smile.
“Something like that.”
He tapped his wrinkled nose. “I’ll be right back.”
I fiddled with my herb pouch as I waited for him to return, my lips twisting back and forth as nerves and restlessness rose. The urge toact, to do something, to take off running itched under my skin, my competitive nature bursting forth.
