But Naida speaks before I utter a single word. “I wrote down many stories for them. Compendiums of legends and tales from around the world. Songs and sagas. Epics and ballads. I unearthed old books from the storerooms, reorganized the sections and shelves. I traveled between the major libraries, as is the custom of the head librarian, to record all the titles in existence?—”
“You were head librarian?” Eiras stares at her. “How come we only hear about this now?”
“It wasn’t important.” Naida waves a hand and glances at Brogan who is dozing on his bed. “Still isn’t.”
“The hells it isn’t. Why did you leave such a post and decided to live…?”
“Like this? Like a pauper?” Naida cracks a smile. “In this little house, telling tales and selling herbal remedies?”
Eiras hangs his head, his cheeks reddening. “I didn’t mean to say it was a bad life.”
“It was the politics,” she says. “I don’t care about politics. Knowing stories means I’m less gullible, less manageable, and many tried to manage me. The queen wanted my ear and my advice often, and her sycophants didn’t like that.”
Eiras’ eyes have grown so big, they swallow half his face. “I had no idea.”
Neither did I, if we’re being honest here.
Naida rolls her eyes. “There are more important things to life than power and coin, son. I thought I’d taught you as much.”
Eiras chuckles. “Sure, but you have to admit, we need coin and it’s hard to get it these days. Can’t completely dismiss its usefulness.”
I nudge him with my elbow, though he’s right, too. He started out working with Brogan when he was younger, but since Brogan was laid up, Eiras has had to strike out on his own. Despite my general annoyance with him, he’s a good son and brother. He’stoo worried about us to stay away for long. I may give him a hard time for leaving us alone for stretches of time, but the truth is, it’s never longer than a couple of weeks. He can’t start an apprenticeship away from here, can’t take a position in a manor out of the city.
He isn’t free to go away and start a new life. Because of us.
He nods at me. “Everything all right, sister?”
I nod back and smile.
“Aline…” Naida reaches across the table for my hands and squeezes them. Her eyes are full of worry. “Eis is right. Letting you go on this quest is nonsense. Way too dangerous. Let’s sit tight and send a message to the palace about this. Someone else will come and fetch the book.”
“I love you, too, Naida,” I say, glad my voice remains steady, “but you know that’s not a viable solution. You saw what it can do. How it controls people. Well, it can’t control me. I have to take it.”
She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Gods. I should have realized.”
“Realized what? Tell me, Naida, why can’t it control me? Who am I?”
She lets out a low laugh. “If you’re expecting a story about you being a lost princess or descendant of dragons, daughter, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“I only want to know the truth.”
“The truth is… we don’t know who you are. You’re a foundling. You were wrapped in a filthy blanket, nothing to identify you. But you have always been my magical daughter, resembling me more than Eiras. You have a great head for stories. Almost as if you were born from my womb. Use that knowledge. It’s its own brand of magic. And a library is the best place to wield it.”
I think about that as I prepare for the journey. Stories, all the stories Naida taught me, all the books whose contents she recounted to me.
Somewhere deep inside of me, I feel a shiver of anticipation when I think of any library, but this library specifically shouldn’t excite me.
Yet it does. It’s a mystery, a magical place, and it’s not just filled with books, but magical ones. Naida only has a few books here, old and falling apart, mostly books of herbs and medicine, while these magical books appear to be books ofstories.
I can’t imagine what the library might look like, or what it must be like to open such a book, although…
Although the book I’m supposed to take thereismagical, and doesn’t look like much.
“Excuse me?” Olm hisses in my ear. “My book is fine and dandy. Take that back.”
I refuse to flinch, though I have to grit my teeth against the shock of hearing him again. “It has a nice enough cover.”
“… Thank you.”
