“Dangerous. So you’ve said.” A sudden suspicion grips me. “How do you know it’s dangerous? Did you touch it?”
His mouth opens, then closes again, and… is that red on his cheekbones?
“It’s still just a book,” I mutter.
It’s an important book, since the library carries its protagonist’s name, but dangerous? I don’t think so, unlike the magical books stored in here. For instance, what few people know is that the Royal Library in Siris is called Library of Elenea,in honor of an old queen. It doesn’t mean the Book of Elenea is a hazard to anyone.
That heartbeat, though…
“Just… don’t touch it.” With a huff, Roane turns around and climbs off the dais. “Hurry up. I’ll find a spot for your book while you gawk at the heart of Areon.”
The heart of Areon.
I stare after him, his words echoing my thoughts and that beat vibrating through me. He lifts his hand to rub at his forehead and the ring on his finger glows like a star.
What am I doing? Sure, this book is a valuable relic, a book I didn’t know really existed, and that’s exciting, but if I can’t touch it, can’t read it…
Even the letters on the two open pages, when I finally wrench my gaze away from Roane’s tall form, seem to swim. Handwritten, with flourishes and strange curlicues, they move so much I have to rub my eyes. What I manage to make out is written in an older form of our language, hard yet possible to decipher. I’m not sure which part of the story it’s narrating, but the text in front of me speaks of… a child? A boy and his stuffed animals, hiding from the bullying of his brothers.
Odd.
It just goes to show how little I know of the original legend. Unless this is a version heavily redacted by a scribe? That isn’t unusual, according to Naida. She herself has redacted and annotated manuscripts of histories and legends, adding her knowledge to other authors’ scribblings.
“Here!” Roane’s deep voice echoes through the sanctum. “I found you a spot.”
I drag my gaze away from the ancient book’s pages and find Roane with his companions some way down the chamber, the beam shining on the shelves. These shelves form niches inside the wall and they are decorated with carvings and inlaid gemsthat sparkle in the light of Roane’s ring. Like a beehive, stuffed with precious, powerful books.
Stepping back from the lectern, I watch Ardruna make her way back to me, sinuously padding across the multicolored floor.
“This makes no sense,” Olm says.
“What doesn’t?” I ask absently. Such a beautiful lioness. Such a terrifying creature. I wonder how she became friends with Roane.
“Leaving me here,” Olm explains. “You need to get back home. I can help you.”
I blink. “Help me, how?”
“I have knowledge in my pages,” Olm says.
“I thought you didn’t remember your story.”
“It’s not my story we’re living, though, is it? It’s yours.”
“Youare making no sense.”
“I just know stuff,” Olm insists. “Accept it. They don’t know how to help you go back. These fae warrior librarians are only trained in combat and weapons. But like you, I know how stories work.”
“Olm…”
“Don’t leave me here, Aline,” he says in a rush. “Please, don’t.”
Damn.Guilt grips my chest. “Olm, listen?—”
“Aline!” Ardruna trots up the three steps to reach my side. “Are you coming? Let’s get this done.”
“You’re in a hurry to get rid of me,” I mutter, still uneasy.
“Not you, silly girl. The book. The sooner it’s bound and secure, the better for everyone.”
