“What about it?”
“Read it.” He held it toward me.
I read the title aloud. “A Biography of Everton Dale.” That sounded innocuous enough. I thumbed the pages. Nothing out of the ordinary struck me. “Who is Everton Dale?”
Without answering, he held the emerald against the cover and I blinked, rubbing my eyes as the wordsshifted.
“Now read the title.”
I yanked the shelled book toward me, but as he let go, the words reverted to the title I’d read first. He stepped forward and placed the emerald against the cover once more. The cover now readA Biography of Evelyn Rook. Our eyes met. “The secrets are in the spines,” I whispered. “But why change the name of this biography?”
He took the book cover gingerly from my hands, set it aside, then gathered up the sewn pages that flopped limply in his grip. Holding the emerald in his palm, he thumbed through several pages. Nothing groundbreaking. Then he set the emerald down and again flipped through the pages. A quiet scoff drew my eyes toward a single heading. I reached out and clutched Rush’s arm. The heading readThe Care of Flamebred Dragons.
“Whoever Evelyn Rook was, she was effectively erased from history with this.” He held up the tiny emerald. “With magic.”
“They erased the part about raising dragons with flame.” My heart surged. “Interesting that the Empire didn’t destroy the book instead.”
Rush nodded, moving back toward the desk and leaning against it. “This way, they preserve the truth but they keep it hidden. They can access it when they want it, but no one else knows what’s at play. The secrets can be passed along only to the people they choose.”
“Because otherwise, if it was truly erased, they’d run the risk of forgetting the truth themselves over the centuries.” I looked at the wall of books. “Is there a stone in all of these, do you think?”
Rush drummed his fingers on the desk. “These are my father’s most private books. He never lets me in here, never lets anyone in here.” There were hundreds of books in here. If each of them had a gemstone in the spine, there was also a small fortune sewn into the bindings in this room.
“He’ll know now.” I glanced at the destroyed book and back at Rush.
“Not if I get the book rebound before he ever knows it’s missing,” he said, gathering up the cover.
“Don’t you think whoever rebinds that will notice thatthe title changes?”
“I’m not going to have it rebound with the stone.”
I tilted my head. “Oh, and what do you plan to do with the stone?”
His gaze was distant, as if looking at something only he could see, a memory, perhaps. He didn’t even blink as I moved toward him. “As a child, I was rough on books,” he said, as if beginning a story. The skin around his eyes tightened and his throat bobbed. “My brother and I wouldn’t have a book a month before the cover was torn off. My father warned us never to damage any of his precious books. My brother listened. I didn’t.” His expression hardened, but he still wasn’t looking at me, gaze fixed far away. “After…when he…the day my other brother was shot, I went on a bit of a rampage. I destroyed everything I could get my hands on before they got to me. After the beating I got that day, I decided to destroy things in a more…subtle way.”
My lips parted.
“First it was lighting rugs on fire.”
“That’s subtle?”
His hard eyes silenced me. “Then it was unraveling tapestries. I eventually turned back to the books. We weren’t allowed to touch them. So, one night, he found me ripping pages out of a book I’d found on his desk.” Both hands flattened against his face, then mussed his hair, leaving it a rumpled mess. “He told me that if he ever caught me destroying his property again, he’d kill me.” Rush gripped the desk on either side of him, his head hanging low.
I wasn’t sure what this had to do with his answer to my question, but I didn’t think it was right to interrupt him now.
“When my mother died, she left me the journal.” He flicked his thumb at it. “Read what it says on the inside cover.”
Slowly, gingerly, I leaned over the desk and took the journal. The pages were filled with handwritten notes, sketches. On the inside cover, beautiful penmanship had left a simple note:To my son, I could not keep you safe from him. Maybe this will help.
“It contains everything she could uncover about magic, though she never did confirm it was really magic. It’s theories and speculation, mostly, but I knew she was on to something,” Rush said, watching me. “You asked what I plan to do with this stone?” He held it up. “We’re one step closer to figuring out what my father does with magic. We just learned he uses magic to cover up the existence of magic, for one, and I think my father uses magic to win races.” Ignoring my small gasp, he continued, “I don’t know how, but I know he does.” His eyes roved over my face, pausing briefly at my mouth. “The first time he saw me fly on Azeron, he told me I’d never lose a race. At first I thought it was a compliment.” His shoulders drooped. “Then I realized he was telling me he was planning to use me as one of his many players in his racing empire.” He let out a sharp breath.
“He’s going to use magic to ensure you win the year-end race,” I said, voicing the thing I’d been after since starting at Cardan Lott. The answer Fairfax wanted.
Rush nodded. “So now you know what you’re up against, Arivelle Miro.”
Suddenly, my false name sounded wrong, even though the pronunciation was minutely different from the real thing. It was wrong that he didn’t even know who I was after all I now knew about him.
“My name is Mireaux,” I said, giving it the correct Resean pronunciation. His brow furrowed as he scooted himself toward me, half-perched on the desk. “Not Miro.” To most Cavarians,the two words sounded identical. “I’m not even related to Fairfax.”
