Something about his offer, or maybe it’s the way he says it, feels threatening. Or am I just being paranoid? Seeing menace everywhere because I don’t have a clue who to trust?
“Don’t you want answers?” he presses. “Or are you afraid of what you might find?”
“I’m more afraid this is some sort of trap,” I admit.
He snorts. “If I wanted to hurt you, wouldn’t I do so now—while you’re alone in my chambers, where no one will hear you scream?”
My eyes instinctively dart to the door, and Garitt laughs. “Relax, Little Ro. You’re much more useful to me alive.”
“You sound just like Soren and Alaric,” I say bitterly.
“Except I don’t care about your silly plant. And unlike them, I want you to be informed. I want you to collect all of the available information before you decide who to trust and how to proceed.”
“Nothing in your library is going to make me turn against my own country.”
“Who says you have to choose between my country and yours?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe years of oppression,” I retort.
Garitt shrugs, saunters back to the door, and opens it for me. “If you want to remain in the dark, go back to your gemstone rooms and spend your days flitting about the queen’s salon. Accept your fate as a helpless captive, and rot in this palace. I’m sure Rowenna would understand.” He flashes an acidic smile. “Butif you want to shift the paradigm, there are other opportunities available to you. You just have to be bold enough to pursue them.”
“Rowenna was bold. She followed your advice. And look where it got her,” I point out.
Garitt’s face crumples. “Rowenna’s death was a terrible tragedy, but I swear I had nothing to do with it. Not everyone on the mountainis out to get you.”
“Just most of you.”
“You have to trust someone, you know. You’ll never be able to navigate the Fortress on your own.”
“Fine,” I say as I step back into the hall. “I’ll consider your advice.”
“That’s all I ask,” Von Nevus says with a gracious bow. But I feel his eyes on my back, watching intently until I vanish around the corner.
Seventeen
I want to go straight to the library, but I don’t. Just in case it’s a trap.
The way Garitt Von Nevus spoke about my sister—the way his eyes lit up with fondness—felt genuine. But so did Soren’s interest in Tashir when he first rode across our fields. I must proceed with caution and keep all of my options open, which is why I wind down the endless spiral staircases until I reach the stone-throwing courts in the castle yard.
There are at least a dozen fields of carefully raked sand, each filled with grunting men wearing even less clothing than usual. Scores of spectators in glittering finery sit on the surrounding benches, cheering with as much gusto as my people during the harvest games, but for some reason, it feels more subdued. Curated, almost. After a moment, I realize it’s because there aren’t any children in attendance. None of their rowdy shouting or tussling. No sticky faces or muddy hands. The noble children must be too busy learning to be proper and refined for fun. They’re probably up in their high towers, wearing flowing silks, already being taught to look down on the rest of us.
Elodie spots me and makes a production of waving me over to her courtside seats. Before I can even sit down, she hooks her arm throughmine, publicly laying claim to me.
Everything inside me wants to swat her away like a mosquito, but I force myself to flash an excited smile instead.
We watch match after match, and I shout and cheer alongside Elodie, as enthusiastic as any Vanzadorian, even though the contests are as tedious as their name implies. Men hurl rocks across a sand pit to see whose travels farthest. Most of my gasps are based not on the game itself, but on the fact that the Vanzadorians waste their precious energy on a game while my people are literally breaking their backs in the fields.
When the games are finally finished, I beg exhaustion from the “excitement” and allow Elodie to escort me to my rooms. But the moment she’s gone, I slip out of my chamber and slink down the winding halls, avoiding courtier and servant alike until I find the library in a forgotten nook on a lower level of the palace.
It’s nothing like the rest of the castle. The ceilings here are low, the shelves are overstuffed and disorganized, and the chairs are drooping and care worn. But my entire body hums with delight as soon as I slip through the creaking door, because itfeelslike the hillock palace. It even smells a bit like dust, moss, and wood.
I inhale deeply and smile for the first time since arriving in Vanzador. This feels right. This is where Ro would have chosen to spend her time—with or without Von Nevus’s urging.
I venture down a dusty row of books and into the center of the room, where a shriveled old man sits behind a desk large enough to swallow him. Otherwise, the library appears to be empty.
“Hello,” I say with a tentative wave.
The man glances up and scowls at me over the rim of his spectacles. At least I think he’s scowling. He has more wrinkles than the bark of a white oak tree.
