The jingling of her boots’ zippers was the only sound ringing through the library. There wasn’t the hum of Pricilla or the deafening flip of pages. She skidded to a halt as the moon passed over the frosted glass overhead in the mezzanine.
A large shelf in the back was filled with scrolls of parchment. She began pulling them from their nooks and crannies, rolling them open and peering at the contents. Most were ledgers with various amounts of silver and gold listed beside names. Moving down the line, her eyes caught a thicker scroll tucked into the bottom shelf. She dragged it out, but it was at least two feet long. As she rolled it out, it expanded to five feet.
It was a map, at least—a map of all of Magoria. She grabbed a few books left on the table behind her and began laying them along the edges. Mosfelkov and the city Lungvik near the southern part of the continent drew her attention. How long had Theodoric been stationed there? Did they engage in battles on a constant basis? Amaris grabbed the journal and a quill and ink from a nearby desk. It didn’t matter where he’d been stationed or what happened to him. She was leaving and would never see him again.
Her hand moved, tracing the outline of the continent. In the case she couldn’t find the tree in Luana, she needed a backup plan. She wouldn’t be coming back. Luana was in the northwest. She scavenged the map for Charibert, finding it on the west coast, south of the Scarlet Mountains. Of course, it was miles away, but at least it was on the same land mass. Based on what she’d gathered, it took about five days to get to Duncaster. She eyed the distance between Luana Bay and Duncaster, measuring with her finger and attempting to gauge how far it would be to travel by land.
“That’s a lot of fingers,” she groaned.
It would take weeks, maybe months. She had no food or money. She rolled the scroll back up and shoved it on the shelf, fighting the defeat sinking into her shoulders. There was still the possibility a tree grew in Luana’s woods. She wouldn’t let herself be discouraged yet.
She pulled her hair out of her eyes, braiding it down her back. She had to try. Already, she felt the burden of leaving. If she stayed any longer, something could happen, and the duke would have her head. She was sure Bennet was waiting for her to slip up.And Derek. Her chest ached. Theyhadn’t been apart for this long since the academy.
She hid any traces of her perusing and made for the door, slipping into the hall. Rounding the corner, she stopped dead. Adelaide whipped to face her, her eyes growing in alarm. Both remained frozen in place, but Adelaide wrapped her hand around something at her side. A sword. She pulled it closer, her hand trembling as she slid it further under her jacket.
“Are you alright?” Amaris asked, taking a step toward her to break the stalemate.
Sweat dripped past Adelaide’s temple. Her knuckles were white against the hilt of her blade. “Fine,” she blurted out. “What are you doing out here?”
“Moonlight stroll?” Amaris offered, but Adelaide narrowed her gaze, eyeing Amaris’s satchel. Nothing got past her, but Amaris had her own tricks. She knew Adelaide wasn’t a soldier, but she hid a dagger or two. Never a sword though. “What are you doing out here with a sword?”
Adelaide stiffened. “Nothing, I was—”
“Training?” Amaris asked.
Adelaide’s green eyes, once lined with flakes of silver, faded to darkness. It didn’t matter to Amaris what she did in her free time. As the duke’s only daughter, she imagined Adelaide was allowed to do about anything she pleased.
Amaris clung tighter to the strap of her satchel. “I won’t say a word.” She knew what Adelaide thought of her, but she was also a wild card. Adelaide rarely frequented dinner, slept past lunch, and often had Amaris questioning what she did when no one saw her for hours at a time.
Before either of them could run or get another word in, footsteps announced they were no longer alone. Adelaide shoved Amaris into a curtain. She waited for the blunt hit of the wall but instead slipped through and crashed into a hidden alcove. She slid back and forced herself into the dark corner. The footsteps grew louder, and their owner’s shadow cast itself under the edge of the curtain.
Chapter 22
Theo
Theo screamed, jumpingup, his dagger’s hilt embedding into his palm. His chest heaved, his pulse throbbing against his skin, waiting for the enemy to strike. He turned in the darkness, listening for the crunch of snow, the clink of metal, or the click of a rifle.
He placed his hand over his mouth, knowing he had to silence his ragged breaths. It only intensified the sound. He bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood. If he got them caught and his squad killed, he deserved a fate worse than a swift death.
No, my squad is dead. I failed them.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness around him as he rapidly tried to blink and remember where he was. Flashes of white snow. The snowflakes burned as they settled against his skin, like an iron rod branding his flesh. He screamed.
“Theo!” Esaias shouted, but Theo couldn’t see him. He tried to call for him, but it was a gargle of lost letters in his mouth. “Damn it!” The splintering of wood rang in the distance. That was it, they were spotted, and it was all because of him.
Arms barreled around him, holding him tight. “Theo, it’s me!” Esaias pinned Theo’s arms to his chest and pried the dagger from his fingers. It clanked against solid ground.
Theo opened his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. Wine-red hair loomed over him.
“You’re home.”
“Home,” Theo coughed.
“Yes, home,” Esaias said, holding him on the bed.
He swallowed a breath, turning his head in the darkness as the furniture of his room formed around him. He made out the shape of the wingback chair beside the cold hearth and the outline of his wardrobe. His breaths were loud and quick.
“Esaias.” Theo’s voice was hoarse.
