She licks her lips and sighs. “Very well.”
She drapes an arm over my shoulder while I brace her around her back and beneath her thighs, carrying her close across my chest. I know there will never be a moment when I’m not thrilled by our proximity. I used to dream of holding my Fated One in my arms, though I never could have predicted it would be several li underground with the threat of death hanging over us. Not exactly romantic, but alas.
We continue down the steps, making it as far as ten floors before I am thoroughly winded.
“If I’m so heavy, just put me down,” Jyn says with a huff.
I shake my head. I want to hold her forever. “You’re as light asa feather, sunshine. That’s not the problem. How many floors have we to go?”
“The legends say that the Lost Library of the Albeion Monks boasted a thousand levels filled with a millennia’s worth of knowledge. If I had to guess, nine hundred and ninety remain.”
I groan. “For the love of the nine suns—”
“Let’s stop here for the night,” she says. “We could both use the rest, and my ankle should be healed by morning.”
I arch a curious brow. “So quickly?”
“I heal faster than most.”
“Because of your magic?”
Jyn nods. “Set me down. We can sleep a few hours and continue our trek.”
As luck would have it, there’s a seating area in the very center of the library floor, complete with a few low tables, cushions—now rock-hard with centuries of dust buildup—and a few wooden chairs. I help Jyn take a seat before making my way through the bookshelves.
Wisps float around me, still very much attempting to lead me astray. I ignore them, figuring that we can at least use them for a bit of illumination. I peruse the stacks, intrigued by what I discover. Forgotten histories of kingdoms long since vanquished. Detailed accounts of scientific experiments in the fields of medicine, astronomy, and agriculture. There’s a treasure trove of stories, too, myths and legends from times gone by and lands well beyond our own.
“Perhaps we can use those over there for blankets?” Jyn suggests, pointing toward the far wall. It’s covered with several large, intricately woven tapestries.
I make my way over. They’re beautifully crafted, the colored threads woven to form stories with their shapes. Some of thethreads are dyed in colors I have never seen before, the methods behind their creation likely lost to time. I run my hand over the surface, brushing away a thinner layer of dust, intrigued to find the image of ten suns and an archer pointing his arrow toward them in the sky.
“The legend of Houyi,” I tell Jyn over my shoulder. “They say there were once ten suns in the sky. It was too hot for humanity to bear. Crops shriveled and died, the rivers and oceans dried. So Houyi expertly shot nine out of the sky and was forever hailed a hero. The Gods rewarded him with an elixir of immortality, but his wife… Well, we all know how that one goes.”
“Yes, I know,” Jyn mumbles quietly. “Poor woman.”
I pull the tapestry down, gathering the heavy fabric in my arms, before I move on to the next one. I’m fascinated by all the glorious, painstaking details. It’s clearly the work of a master weaver. “And this one…” I say, looking over the thread-woven story. “It’s the legend of the nine-tailed fox. This was another one of my father’s favorites.”
“Why would that be?” Jyn asks.
“He liked the moral of the tale, I think. That even the most unexpected of us can be heroes.” I smile at her. “Have you ever seen a nine-tailed fox?”
Jyn takes a moment to think. “Once. Nearly five thousand years ago, but we gave each other a wide berth.”
“Why?”
“Out of respect. Kings may clash over territory, but queens know better. Besides, I remember her having her family close by. Her Fated One and a handful of humans under her care. I didn’t feel like intruding, so I kept on my way.”
The third tapestry is far more abstract than the others, the patterns simplistic and difficult to decipher. I gently dust it off as well and stare at the images long and hard, doing my best to discern thestory it is trying to convey. There are delicate flowers woven into the border, billowing clouds of blue and white at the very top, and what appears to be the figure of a man in the middle, staring longingly not at the skies above, but at the vibrant world below.
“One of the Albeion monks’ most famous teachings,” I realize. “It’s said that at the Steps of Heaven, the soul is given a choice. They may either ascend as they are or choose to return to the mortal realm—reborn—in the hopes of reaching greater achievements for a higher seat in Heaven.”
The final tapestry on the wall intrigues me most. Stitched into the fabric in winding patterns are three dragons; one red, one green, and one blue. For some reason, it calls to me, tugging at something deep within my soul. My gaze lingers on the little blue dragon, a terrible familiarity stewing in the pit of my stomach. The little prince from my dreams…
An inexplicable grief consumes me.
Who is he? Why does he haunt me so?
Behind me, I hear Jyn shifting. “Sai. Come and rest.” There’s an edge to her tone.
