“A worthy choice. I’ll see it wrapped. You may wait here. Peruse if you must, butdo not browse.”
Her stare narrowed on his straight back as he turned it to her, and once he began to walk, she noticed he hardly bent his knees either.His outsides match his insides, I see.She scoffed. He turned at the rear of the shop and vanished. Lux craned her neck back.
Two ladders, one for each side, rested on either wall. They were curious: rather than a sawed clean edge, their tops were curved and slung over a rod to match the bookcases. All of these books, a goldquin each…
History. Journals.
Her body tensed as she swung toward the shelves. What if…? Could there be…?
The smack of boots yanked her attention away. Her lips parted as the rich man from the carriage stalked the length of the store. He didn’t so much as flick his gaze to her even though he must have felt her stare. His arms were divested of their parcel. He walked straight toward the door and out.
Lux bit at her cheek. She wanted to follow him. But she wanted that book just as much.
She could see from the window that he’d already climbed in alongside the body. And when the driver snapped the reins, her heart stuttered. The carriage moved onto the street.
She’d the goldquin clutched and ready in her fingers by the time the clerk reappeared. The book’s wrapping was black, tied with a black, satin ribbon, and when he held it out toward her, she saw it was stamped with a silver wax seal. She traded the coin with hardly a wince, the idea of gifting such a book to Shaw suddenly a beating wing’s worth of excitement in her chest.
Other than his life, she’d not gifted him anything, she realized. And even that had been bought by his sister, and as such, couldn’t likely qualify. Her fingers traced carefully over the seal.
“Mothlock is a bookseller, then?”
The clerk peered down his nose. “Mothlock provides enlightenment to Malgorm.”
Lux blinked back at him.How pretentious.She wanted to tell him they’d missed Ghadra in their “enlightenment” but didn’t want to give such details of herself away.
“Are you in search of anything else?” he continued.
Yes.Lux nearly glanced out the window again. “Do you have much on the subject of necromancy?”
The clerk sucked a quick breath. But he gathered himself quickly and said, “We do.”
His response ricocheted about in her skull.
“In what capacity?” she breathed; she didn’t care she’d turned his own question on him. Shedidcare, however, at how desperate she sounded. That emotion was the perfect opposite of what she needed. She made a show of nonchalance to make up for it, easing the book into her pack.
“Two separate volumes of history have minor mentions of necromancy. And one personal account.”
Lux’s breaths grew erratic; she noticed his calculated stare and fought to maintain her composure. “A personal account. How much?”
“Twenty goldquins.”
She couldn’t even curse this time. Really, a part of her had expected it. That it would be outside her reach. Her disappointment sharp, she said, “I suppose it will have to wait. Thank you for your time.”
Only once she’d fully made it to the door, did the clerk say, “It’s a dark brilliance anyway. Cursed, some would say.” Lux pivoted and discovered him retreating. “May your mastery be limitless. Do come again.”
ThecarriageleftLoxlenby the east road. Lux stood at the edge of town and watched it go. There were some things she’d learned about herself in the past few weeks. For one, when it felt like her words were biting into her tongue, she must consider why—thoroughly. For two, pessimism had permeated her nature, but sometimes people were kind without want of anything in return, and she should consider that. And three, if there was a rich man in a rich carriage buying expensive, obscure drops and carrying a body like a bag of grain, she simplymustknow why.
“Oy, Gorga Girl. On your way already? You know there’s plenty of places to sleep or stay in Loxlen.” Mistress Farrentail, breeze rustling through her feathers, pushed open a rusted garden gate. “But not here,” she added at Lux’s stare. “My birds don’t like strangers.”
“What birds do?” Lux muttered and rolled her map.
“Some do. Crows do.”
Lux’s eyes snapped to the woman’s. Her stare narrowed. And she tested the words to see if they would come. “Have you heard of anyone peddling lifeblood?”
“I don’t even know what that is, dear. But please, don’t follow the zealots.” Then the woman walked through her decaying garden, opened her door, and went inside.
“Worth the ask, I suppose.”
