“A miraculous invention, the typewriter. My grandmother brought that one to the fortress. She told my grandfather she was willing to give up the rest of the world to come and live with the fairies, but not that.” He gave a thin smile. “She brought a dozen travel cases of ink and paper and never looked back.”
“I suppose in retrospect I should have detoured back to our luggage before we jumped ship.” She laid the pages out on the desk. Before she could even ask Julian to increase the light, the stones around her glowed more brightly.
“I don’t intend to trap you here.”
Head still bent over the pages, she looked up and met his eyes. “I didn’t think you would,” she said lightly.
Because I think you’re still planning on dying here if we don’t find something in these records to save both our hides. And that means you’ll need me to leave, first, before you send this place tumbling down around the invaders’ ears.
He frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“That you’d be better off with a fated mate who’d majored in languages,” she said without missing a beat. “Or a librarian.”
His mouth twisted ruefully. “I’m no scholar. My parents were aware of how much we’d lost of our own history, even having it all written down here—but they always told me to enjoy my youth. That there would be time to lose myself in books later. Now it is later, and I’m … lost.”
“My skills don’t exactly lie in that direction either. Or should I try threatening the records’ lives until they reveal their secrets?” She shook her head. “We won’t find anything if we don’t look.”
“I know.” His eyes shadowed. “If only there wasn’t quite so much to look through.”
36
Julian
Julian stared unseeing at the sheaf of papers in his hand.
When he sent Francine away, should he send these records with her?
The tiny golden hatchling, his niece—would she want to know her people’s history when she was grown?
Could he actually send Francine off with even a selection of these records without alerting her to his plans?
He was certain she already suspected him. Her fire simmered too dangerously. Her eyes were too sharp.
But if their research came to nothing … he couldn’t see any other way out.
The Soul-Eater must remain imprisoned. Francine must remain safe. And the only way to ensure both was to sacrifice himself. With his death, his stolen scales would fade into the beyond. No intruders would be able to enter the fortress.
Any that were already inside would perish as they fell out of the shadows into the solid rock and ice outside the enchantment.
He swallowed hard. This was pointless. They weren’t going to find anything. And they had been here for hours. Hours they may not have to spare.
Francine broke the silence. “How far does this library go?” she asked, pushing aside the latest stack of records. “There’s nothing here about your magic. It’s all—stories.”
The stories of his people. All useless to them, now.
He avoided the question. “As I said, I would scarcely call it a library.”
“Oh.” Francine frowned as something caught her eye. “And some of these seem … very private.”
She pushed a leather-bound sheaf of papers away, then snatched it back. “Wait—”
“What is it?”
Her mouth twisted—not quite a smile, not quitenota smile. “An account of one of your ancestors’ soulmate’s first night here.”
“Does it mention the enchantment that maintains the fortress?”
“She mentionsmagic.I’m just not sure whether she’s being metaphorical or not.” She read further, and a hint of red rose on her cheeks.
