Finally, the lock gives with a small crack. Here we go. I lick my lips, excitement filling me as I flip the journal open to find a wealth of handwritten pages.
Why can’t I resist a mystery?
Slowly, I leaf through the diary. The ink has slightly faded but is still perfectly legible. The handwriting itself is careful andbeautiful, with many flourishes. I wrinkle my nose because, for some reason, I can’t imagine Roane using flourishes and taking his time to write so neatly.
But there is the title, on the first page of the book. “The Journal of Ersil Davara, current warrior-librarian of the Library of Areon.” He was telling the truth about this, at least. Itishis journal.
A tiny mouse of guilt sinks its teeth into my gut. He told me not to open it. I wasn’t given permission. What am I doing?
Then again, like I told Olm, this can’t be private. It’s not a young lord’s diary. It’s a work log. Hopefully, in it, he describes how his magic changed, how it failed him, but also allowed him to pull creatures out of books. How this world got so out of control.
‘Day Nine-Thousand of my Guardianship: this world is unlike anything I’ve ever imagined, and yet it’s exactly as I was told it would be. It changes once in a while, the alterations coinciding with the escape of monsters from the books. A rare occurrence, to be sure, but so uncanny. The library has a cave with a lake in it and columns with symbols that seem to flash in the dark. I don’t know what this place used to be, but just like previous librarians made it their home, I have done the same. However, I think there is something alive in the water of the cave. My predecessor, Velirius Fonserres, wrote that it might be a sylkie.
Day Thirteen-Thousand of my Guardianship: I caught a griffin in the library heart. A pleasant encounter. I asked her if there was any chance of the law changing and my being allowed to leave. She said the laws of the outer world don’t bind me here, but if I leave, any advantage I was offered would be removed. She is right. My freedom was given away in exchange for my family’s, and if I leave, the deal will be broken. In return, she wanted to ask where the king of this world resides.I gently ushered her back into the pages of The Last Words of Istur, telling her this world has no king or queen. She said she heard rumors that the king was seen wandering the halls of the library. That the king was sick. Her conviction left me shaken. My interactions with book characters are always weird, but this one stuck with me. Or maybe it’s a clear sign I’m losing my mind…
Day Twenty-Thousand of my Guardianship: I went exploring the mountains. I have been through the previous librarians’ journals for lack of something else to do, as well as a need to understand this world better, and they mentioned stelae with carved writings that they couldn’t decipher in the mountain passages. I excelled at old languages in my early studies, and am excited to take a look. I also want to see if the stories of monsters living there are true. Previous librarians have said certain characters did escape the library heart and now inhabit the slopes—mostly lesser fae of the cave-dwelling sort, giant eagles, and a few dirt wyrms.
Day Twenty-Two-Thousand of my Guardianship: The Book of Areon has been restless again, rattling its chains. It calls to me, asking me to open it, but that’s forbidden. That book is the heart of the library and its magic is so powerful, it could destroy everything, so it cannot be opened for any reason. I was forced to leave the building, lock the doors and wander as far away as I could to escape its lure. My father always said I was easily seduced, especially after the incident with Merhill…
Day Twenty-Six-Thousand of my Guardianship: The books are secured. I tested the chains and spells yet again. All is quiet, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that someone is in the shadows, watching me.’
I blink. That’s the last entry. I honestly hadn’t expected a cliffhanger in a diary.
Quickly I flip the empty pages after that. What is this? Why did he stop writing? I want to throw the book across the vast hall, my frustration mounting. I broke the lock and Roane’s trust to find some answers and all I got was endless reports about his wanderings and encounters with some tame monsters?
A distant rumble catches my attention. “What was that?”
“Uh-oh,” Olm breathes.
“Aline!” a familiar male voice calls out, then, and before I can move, Roane appears between the pillars. “There you are.”
I glance down at his journal in my hand. “Shit.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
A THIN LINE
ADELINE
His braid flying behind him, Roane stalks past the ashes of the fire, cracks opening under his feet. He advances on me, a cold darkness in his gaze. “What have you done?” he growls. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch that book? Why won’t you listen?”
“I’m not your puppet,” I manage, defensive and hissy, ashamed of myself and hating it. I scramble out of the niche, the journal and the knife in my hands, abandoning the nest in favor of being able to run if necessary.
He lets out a dark laugh, still coming at me. “Put it back where it was.”
“Why? What other secrets are you hiding?”
He stops, looming over me. His dark brows bunch together and his eyes seem to glow in the temple’s dimness. “Why can’t you just stop meddling in my affairs?”
I lift the knife and point it at him. “I just want answers.”
His laugh is as dark as his expression. “The hells. Give me the journal.”
“Not before you answer me. Why did you stop writing thirty years ago?”
“Stay out of it, Aline.”
I lift my chin. “Tell me.”
