ADELINE
I fight my disappointment. After all, what I wanted was to have a moment alone with the books, so I’ll just head over to the sanctum. Ardruna said I’ll need Roane to enter, but last time the doors weren’t sealed. I wonder if they’re sealed now.
The only way to know whether I can enter on my own is to try.
That has always been my method. Naida always bemoaned the fact I’d try the herbs she gathered or bought, or try to recreate her recipes for supper on my own. I suppose patience has never been one of my virtues, but I’ve also found out that you can’t really learn something until you’ve attempted it on your own—and fear… You won’t beat fear of failure unless you go out there and do stuff.
So I can’t regret going out today, even if I caused Ardruna and Roane some grief and trouble. I’ve experienced and learned things I’d never have found out sitting by the fire and minding my own business.
Forget fear. Get moving.That’s my motto.
I repeat it in a loop inside my head as I make my slow way down the dark stairs. The light from the lamps burning belowfinally flows up the stairwell, illuminating the cracked walls and steps cut in the rock, as well as my holed, leather shoes.
Finally reaching the end, I step into the library with its rows of thick columns. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I’m all alone in the Library of Areon.
“Not alone,” Olm whispers. “You always have me.”
“Aren’t I blessed by the Gods?” I snarl quietly. “You only talk to me when you want something. Also, how in the hells would you be able to help me? You’re inside a book!”
“I thought you didn’t want me to get out again,” he says, and the air shimmers in front of me.
“What…?” I hiss when a tall form appears, knitting itself out of thin air. “Olm.”
“Aline,” he whispers, his voice winding around me like a thin thread, an echo that’s getting louder. “Aline…”
With a start, I remove the book from my bosom and throw it to the floor, panting. His form wavers, then steadies.
I stare. He still looks like a ghost, but much clearer this time, more solid somehow. His form is tall and willowy, more slender than Roane’s. Gods, he’s barely older than a boy!
“I didn’t know you could… You look like a drawing in a book,” I whisper.
He gives a faint laugh, and oh my, he’s cute, nose crinkling and all. “I sort of… am?”
“Is this really how you look?”
He glances down at himself. “Yeah?”
His clothes are… not so much old-fashioned as ornate. The long tunic is heavily embroidered and the tall boots coming up to his knees are embossed with faint symbols. His head is bare, his fair hair cut short, a fringe falling in his eyes. Sharply pointed ears mark him as fae.
“How old are you?” I blurt out.
“I’m an adult, if that’s what worries you.”
“Worry me?” I frown. “Why would that worry me?”
“If that’s… if you’re falling in love with me.” He shrugs his narrow shoulders. “You know.”
“In love withyou?” I ask, incredulous.
“Okay,” he mutters, “no need to be rude about it.”
“You’re so young.”
“So are you.”
My mouth flaps. I mean… That’s not the point. “You’re dead,” I finally say. “Your book is old.”
“I’m not dead,” he scoffs. “I live inside my book’s world. If anything, I’m immortal as long as my book exists.”
