“It’s the foundation of the library. The cornerstone.”
“Can I see it?”
Roane’s gaze has turned distant and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s full of yearning.
But he says nothing and I rush to the lectern. This is a legendary book. I didn’t even think it actually existed until now. This is like visiting the cottage where Little Redcap met the BlackWolf, or the glass coffin where Lily-White lay until her prince rode by and saw her.
It’s better than magic and city fairs. Better than seeing the fae perform tricks with glowing moths and rabbits appearing out of thin air.
“Aline, wait.” Roane unfolds his hand, the one without the ring, without the magical light, and offers it to me as I put my foot on the first step leading up to the dais. “Here.”
It takes me a moment to realize he isn’t trying to stop me; he’s trying to assist me.
“So you do have some manners,” I mumble to cover up my surprise. I take his hand and he pulls me up the three steps. “I’m shocked.”
“I wasn’t born a barbarian, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
His mouth twitches just a little. His hand is still wrapped around mine. He lifts it until his warm breath caresses my fingers. “I know how to hold a lady.”
“Never said I was one.”
“A woman, then. A woman like you, made of gemstones and scented wood, made of flowers and stars. Made of fire.”
“Roane…” Why is he saying such things?
He swallows. Brushes his lips over my knuckles. Then shudders, releasing my hand. “The Book of Areon… is not a toy.”
“I’ve never considered books to be toys,” I say, a coolness entering my voice. “Have you?”
“It’s a powerful relic,” he goes on as if I haven’t spoken. “Don’t touch it. Better still if you keep far away from it.”
“Yet here you are, helping me up so I can see it.”
A huff leaves his lips. “You’re clumsy. I wasn’t going to let you trip and break a bone. Then I’d have to ferry you around constantly and I have better things to do.”
“… and here I was, falling for your charming manners.” I yank my hand out of his. “I know how to handle books, thank you. I was raised by a famed storyteller and former head librarian.”
“You’ve never met books like these,” he says, matching my every step as I approach the lectern. “And this ismylibrary, lady. So forgive me if I keep watch.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DON’T LEAVE ME
ADELINE
The lectern is made from some kind of black stone, shiny and opaque, though a thrumming seems to go through it, a rhythmic beat.
Like an actual heart.
Creepy.
Puffing out a breath, I step closer to the lectern, looking down at the book. It’s open, but silver chains crisscross the pages, binding it.
Speaking of the lectern, I’d expected it to be taller. I wonder if the height is adjustable, but how?—?
“Don’t touch it,” Roane says, “it’s?—”
