He inclines his head to the side, mouth pressed into a hard line. Then he reaches out a hand.
I flinch, but when it doesn’t turn into a snake and bite me, I take it. A look of surprise flashes over his face but he pulls me to my feet, then releases me again as if I’ve burned him, taking a step back.
Gods, he’s tall.
Then he reaches out again—this time going for the book.
Um, no.My turn to take a step back, shaking my head, my grip on Olm’s book tightening.
His dark brows rise.
I mean, he’s right to be shocked. After all, I came here to bring this book to the library and he’s the librarian. I don’t know why I’m not ready to give it up just yet. Maybe because Ersil still hasn’t spoken a single word to me. But why should it matter? I should give him the book, get out and go find Eiras, make sure he’s okay.
“I’ll carry it myself,” I amend. “To the actual library. The building where the books are kept?”
He’s frowning at me. That frown seems permanently etched into his face. His hands clench, curling into fists.
I swallow hard. “Would you take me there? And then tell me how to get out of here?”
The lioness trots up to him and I recoil, but she only stands beside him, blue eyes on me, the same color as Eiras’ eyes. The flutter of wings alerts me to the arrival of the raven who comes to alight on Ersil’s shoulder.
Here is the strangest trio I’ve ever had the questionable pleasure of meeting.
Says I, whose only companion at the moment is an annoying, magical book.
When he turns to go, followed by the lioness, I’m left there standing like an idiot with my book and mixed feelings.
“Hey, wait for me!” I start after them but he doesn’t even slow down or look back. His strides eating up the distance, he marches among the tall trees. They are unlike any trees I’ve ever seen before with silver spirals on their trunks, but I’m in too much of a rush to look properly. “Wait!”
I haven’t seen the satchel lying around, so the only thing I have left of my belongings is the book, and I cradle it close as I jog after the silent guardian and his animals.
“Was it you?” I hiss at Olm as we break out of the grove and cross a green meadow, heading toward the city that rises right in front of us, silent and ghostly. “Did you influence me not to hand you over?”
“Haven’t you noticed that my influence on you is nonexistent?” he answers curtly. “As for why you didn’t hand me over, I’m curious about that myself.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself.”
We’re crossing this meadow, Ersil cutting a formidable figure against the city’s roofs and domes, with his animals scouting ahead, when suddenly the raven whistles and flies off.
The lioness growls, and Ersil turns smoothly, drawing a small knife from his belt. The man moves like water, that elegance in every movement so typical of the fae.
He throws his blade, and I yelp.
Then I gasp when a snake slithers through the grass. It’s huge, thick as my thigh, and it’s moving toward me, glisteninglike glass, changing colors. Its mouth is open, fangs bared, and I halt in my tracks, frozen in place.
It rises, about to strike. Its triangular head weaves right and left, hypnotizing.
Another knife whizzes through the air and the snake drops to the grass, writhing, the blade stuck in its head.
Behind it, Ersil is standing with his hand still raised.
The snakeismade of glass, I realize, or some crystal. My pulse still thudding in my ears, I crouch down to study it. On closer inspection, it has a symbol engraved in its flesh, one you can only see if you look at it sideways. It looks like a star.
Suddenly the snake breaks, crumbling into shards, and the grass around it blackens and dies.
Lovely.
