“So you’ve said,” I breathe.
“Open my book.” Olm’s voice grows louder inside my head. “Before you make a decision, Aline, open my book!”
I lift Olm’s book out of my cleavage as she turns to go, expecting me to follow. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Stop it, Olm.” I climb down the steps, gaze fixed on the beam of light produced by Roane. “Maybe?—”
“DO IT!”
I stumble and the book drops from my hands, crashing to the floor. It flutters open and despite myself, I bend down for a closer look.
A picture is spread over the two pages. A lithograph. It’s hauntingly familiar.
“Is that…?” My fingers hover over the drawing. “Is thathere?”
The gloomy walls covered in shelves and niches filled with books, the lectern in the center, the open book resting on top of it…
“Olm.” I swallow hard. “Why is there a picture of the Areon’s sanctum in your book?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TATTLETALE
ADELINE
“What’s going on?” Ardruna stops and turns her head to nail me with her blue gaze. “Aline, are you coming?”
“On my way,” I breathe. I’m leafing through the pages of Olm’s book to see if there are more images or anything to explain that one—which, by the way, I can’t find again. Like the other times I checked the book, the letters on the pages are blurred, only small random passages appearing clearly here and there, scattered throughout the book. “Coming.”
“Don’t,” Olm says. “You don’t want to leave me here.”
“Then give me some answers!”
Talton flies over me, one pass, then another. He lands on my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you reading?”
“No. This book is unreadable anyway.”
Talton flutters his wings, settling them more snugly against his sides. “Yeah, it’s a common problem with magical books, especially the very old ones.”
“Who is he calling old?” Olm grumbles.
“Aline!” Roane shouts. “Hurry up!”
“What’s with all the hurry?” Olm grouses. “Can’t we talk first? You saw the picture. Don’t you want to know what it means?”
“Yes! I do. Tell me.”
“Not like this, with all of them around.”
“They can’t hear you anyway,” I snap, “and… ohshit.”
Roane is striding our way, his face a thundercloud, dark hair flying. “What’s the hold-up?”
