As Allaster removed the last of the linen, the cloth began squirming in his hand. He released it in surprise, and it instantly rewrapped itself about the hilt, pulling taut, save for a scant foot that fluttered of its own accord.
Kasira’s eyes widened with delight. “Well, might as well see what it does.”
Allaster straightened with a frown. “This sword is a highly dangerous magical artifact and should not be—”
She teleported to the arena.
It was empty, the other mages already in the dining hall for dinner, which was probably for the best, considering Iylis had treated the sword like an Ayadese volcano about to erupt. The relic made her uneasy too, but it also fascinated her, and she didn’t know what to make of no longer needing to hide her curiosity.
At the Library, she could be herself—and yet not at all.
Allaster arrived a second later, looking distinctly displeased, which was to say, like his normal self. He crouched to inspect the blade, his own interest clearly getting the better of him. “I’m starting to wonder if the linen is the actual artifact. It’s the only part acting strangely.”
“This entire thing is strange, even by Library standards.” Kasirasettled her hand around the grip, stepping away from Allaster to take a few experimental swings. The sword was far lighter than it should have been for a blade of its size, and yet she still felt a heft behind it when she struck. She had the sudden impression that it would cut through anything.
“Do you hear that?” Allaster asked, causing her to nearly fumble the sword. “It makes a trilling noise when you swing.”
A noise that thankfully sounded nothing like “Kasira.” It was only his inability to hear her real name that made her comfortable even exploring the relic. She swung it again, and sure enough, a faint sound trailed it, as if the blade were singing.
“There’s something else about it,” she said. “It’s like what I feel when I use magic.”
“That’s because itismagic.” Allaster summoned his bow and quiver, setting the latter down as he nocked an arrow. “I can assign a purpose to these arrows when I shoot them, like you saw with the Zeras. Simple commands work best, say, fire.” He released the arrow, and it zipped into the near wall. Upon impact, the head burst into a flash of flame and burned out, leaving a familiar scorch mark in its wake.
She thrust a finger at it. “You burned the wall in my room!”
Scarlet tinted his olive skin, and he muttered, “Mora didn’t think I was ready to wield a relic yet and I disagreed, so I practiced in the back rooms.”
She eyed him, trying to discern the emotion that had entered his voice at Mora’s name. “You don’t talk about her much,” she noted. “Your Librarian.”
“She wasn’tmyLibrarian.” He said it almost defensively, the flush in his cheeks remaining, but it was the ring he spun around his finger that really piqued her interest. Allaster only did that when he wasn’t telling her everything, and whenever she mentioned Mora’s name, his reaction was always severe.
Kasira didn’t know what to make of the emotion that wedged beneath her ribs each time the previous Librarian came up, the way her questions died like salt dissolving on her tongue. Asking them wouldopen doors she wasn’t prepared to walk through. Besides, Allaster might trust her now, but she still had much to learn about him as a person, and understanding that would only make him all the easier to manipulate. But if there was one thing she did know without a doubt, it was that no amount of pressing would get him to do something he didn’t want to.
Allaster cleared his throat. “Anyway, try accessing the relic’s magic the same way you would the Library’s. It should intuitively tell you what it’s capable of.”
Kasira reached into the magic thrumming from the sword, finding it quicker and more frantic than Amorlin’s lazy-river feel. The same way Gievra’s name had materialized in her mind, so too did a distinct knowledge, an urge to simply lift the blade and swing.
So she did.
An arc of sizzling energy spun off the blade, slamming into the far wall in a crunch of crumbling stone. Neither of them moved. Kasira gaped at the blade, which was still emitting a low, whining keen like a struck bell. The edge glowed faintly, then faded back to normal, the song dying with it.
There was a drawn-out moment of silence before Allaster said, “No. No way. Absolutely not. Give that to me.”
Kasira danced away from him. “It’s mine!”
“It belongs to the Library and therefore to me.” He lunged, one arm circling her waist.
She spun in his grasp and leaned back, the sword pinned between them. “You couldn’t even see it for a hundred years!”
At that, he faltered. His arm fell back to his side, the heat of his body going with it. She didn’t know whether it was the simple truth that the Library had chosen her over him for something, or merely that this was a puzzle he couldn’t solve that contorted his face into a grimace, but she felt a spike of pity for him.
“You’re far too good at all of this,” he said at last. “It’s like you were born for it.”
She could have laughed at that. The only thing she had been born for was survival. Her presence here was sheer happenstance, asequence of events so far out of her control, she no longer knew what it was to hold her life in her own hands.
“A Kal born to wield magic?” She gave him a wry smile. “You might as well say I was born to be damned.”
A cloud of consternation crept across his face. “You still believe that?”
