Soon enough, my question is answered, though, when Roane’s steps take him downward. A staircase is leading below the ground. First, we went up, and now we’re descending into the bowels of the hill.
The cold intensifies and I hear water trickling. A humid library is not the best place to keep books, in my opinion, but it’s so cold that maybe it doesn’t matter?
I’m not a librarian. What do I know?
Roane steps into the new space and it opens up into a temple. Well, a huge domed structure with enormous columns set in rows, oval lamps hanging between them, emitting a white radiance. Yeah, ‘temple’ is really the word that springs to mind, not a library. The columns sparkle and twinkle, move and blur.
Or maybe it’s just my vision, blurring again.
“Ardruna!” Roane yells. “Close the doors.”
The lioness yips in reply in the distance and the sound of something heavy dragging on the floor overhead has me frowning.
The raven flies over us, landing on the floor, which is made up of black and white mosaics. They create the illusion of wells and mounts, making me dizzier still. “Need help?”
“I got this, Tal.” Roane’s voice rumbles in his broad chest, under my ear. “Make sure we’re secure.”
“Druna has it covered,” the raven replies. “I have faith in her.”
“Lazy-ass,” Roane retorts and strides among the columns.
“Hey, I do what is necessary. I’m just a bird.”
“Just a bird, he says,” Roane growls, slipping between two columns and entering a… cave? Alcove? Niche? It’s dark inside. He kneels and lays me down on something soft that smells of him. Blankets. Furs. Pieces of soft paper. Feathers. Wilted grass.
Like an animal’s burrow. A sparrow’s nest. I lie on the soft mound and sigh. He scoots closer and presses something cool against my lips.
Water.
Roused, I reach for the flask he’s holding against my mouth and take greedy gulps, choking on it, then going back for more.
“Easy,” he says. “Slow down.”
Feeling slightly sick, I lie back. My stomach rumbles unpleasantly. I swallow convulsively, hoping not to be sick.
He’s quiet for long moments, and I catch his cool gaze on me. Then he scoots back out.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll prepare food.”
Curled up inside his nest, I watch him get to work. He unbuckles and lays his belt with its myriad of sheathed knives and the scimitars to the side. His long black hair has come loose from its braid, hanging over broad shoulders, framing his austere face.
His hands are large but long-fingered, like a musician’s. Grimy, though. A metal ring graces his middle finger. Scars mark his corded forearms, and after seeing what he’s up against, the armies of goblins and the Gods know what else, it’s really small wonder.
And a great wonder he’s still alive.
He hits two stones together, sparks flying, and from one blink to the next, he has a fire going. I almost miss the moment the flames jump on the wood he has assembled.
Not magic. Just craft.
Gods, he’s beautiful. More beautiful every time I look at him.
He may have no magic at all, but is it any wonder I’m attracted to him? He’s a fae, for all the Gods’ sakes. They may have weird traits like pointy ears and sharp teeth, but they are otherwise so beautiful they hurt my mind. It’s as if they evolved specifically to lure humans to their beds, to prey on them and sometimes end them.
Which means this isn’t my fault, right? Our stories are full of human girls and boys getting kidnapped by the fae, often going willingly, eyes full of stars and hearts.
Keep your eyes down and your mind clear,I tell myself.Don’t let any such spell affect you. Don’t let his beauty ensnare you.
Ardruna comes down the stairs and pads over to Roane, and I’m momentarily seized by terror again at the sight of her huge frame and those muscles working as she moves.
