Her quill paused mid-note but she didn’t look up. “I don’t hide from her. She just dislikes questions.”
“She’s a librarian.” Lexie raised an eyebrow. “You’d think she’d deal with questions all day long.”
“Hence her disliking them.”
A faint whisper brushed my ear, a rustle of pages though therewasn’t anyone else near. Another rustle, and the spine of one of the books in the ancient section slid forward on its own.
“Did you see?—”
“Yes,” Lexie said, her eyes wide. “It moved.”
Derren stepped closer. “Maybe it’s enchanted in some way?”
Kerralyn clicked her tongue. “Don’t touch it.”
The book slid forward a bit more, stopped, then shuffled backward, stilling as if nothing had happened. The air tingled with static.
“Well,” Derren said, “that’s not unsettling at all.”
Lexie’s lip thinned. “Truly.”
We resumed working, but I caught Kerralyn glancing toward the lower floor, her expression distant. After a while, she closed her journal. “Do we have enough? We need to leave before the librarian closes, which is promptly at the dinner hour.”
I glanced at the clock mounted on the lower level wall. About ten minutes.
“I think so.” Derren snapped his book shut. “If I read one more description of troop geometry, I’ll defect for real.”
We returned the books to their proper shelves and descended the stairs, our footsteps echoing in the hushed room. The statues loomed, their marble eyes empty and watchful. I couldn’t shake the impression that they were watching.
Kerralyn led us a roundabout way that didn’t pass the librarian’s desk. Outside, the heavy doors closed behind us with a soft boom.
I glanced sideways at Kerralyn. Her knuckles were white around her journal, her mouth pressed tight.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
She forced a smile. “Of course. Perfectly fine.”
We ate dinner together, Trew’s place on the dais noticeably empty. So was Kira’s, but I wasn’t going to speculate about where they might be.
Back in my room after, I went through some moves, though it wasn’t like I needed the exercise. Then I searched the room again,even upending the bed and prying at the floorboards, hoping to find some clue about Addie.
I found nothing.
Slumping on the bed, I tugged Addie’s pendant out from beneath my tunic, exposing it to the light. Since it would fall out, I’d placed the stone in a small pouch and hid it behind books in the case.
I stared at the pendant for a very long time.
This was why I was here. Not him. Not his hands. Not the way my name sounded on his lips.
This.The truth. The mystery. The wrongs done to my sister and every missing girl and boy whose names I hadn’t yet learned. The ache that had hollowed my family from the inside out.
I curled my fingers around the pendant, letting it dig an impression into my palm, holding tight until my knuckles whitened.
The room felt too quiet now, that aching, heavy kind of silence that let every suppressed emotion crawl out of the shadows and poke you.
So I listened instead. To the soft creak of timber beams shifting overhead. The dull moan of the wind brushing the glass. Somewhere far off, a door thudded closed. Faint footsteps retreated into silence.
The castle had started to sink into sleep.
