The old man is close now—just on the other side of the nearest shelf—but something compels me to thumb through a few pages. Itappears to be nothing more than minutes from council meetings, but then, on the second to the last page, something catches my eye.
A small, dried zinnia.
The flower that adorned Rowenna’s hair on her wedding day. A flower that doesn’t grow on the mountain.
It’s been carefully pressed near the back of the book, still fiery orange and emitting the slightest hint of perfume, and the sight of it makes me choke back a sob. It feels like my sister is wrapping me in a fierce embrace. Like she’s proving she hasn’t left me.
“What in the name of the kings are you doing back here?” The old man emerges from behind the shelf and frowns at the pile of books, even though they’re no messier than when he dumped them unceremoniously from the basket an hour ago.
I take advantage of his blustering and stuff the journal under my skirt. Who would have thought the scandalous thigh-high slits would actually prove useful?
I summon an innocent smile when the librarian looks back to me, but that only makes his frown deepen.
“I don’t know what you’re really up to, but you’re finished for the day,” he says, bringing his arm around me like a shepherd’s hook.
I allow him to drag me back across the library and out into the hall, where it takes all my restraint not to sprint back to my chambers with my stolen book.
Thanks to Rowenna and her zinnia, my day is far from finished.
Eighteen
As soon as I’m nestled in the gemstone walls of my chamber, I carefullyremove the pressed zinnia, set it on the desk beside me, and begin to read.
I pore over the journal long into the night. Until sunlight bleeds through the skylights and sets the gemstone walls ablaze.
The words set my fury ablaze too.
My people have always speculated about how the Vanzadorians acquired their power. There are dozens of stories, songs, and scripture that range from slightly improbable to wholly ridiculous. But none of them comes close to the truth.
At least not the Vanzadorians’ version of the truth.
I bark out a laugh and flip back to the beginning of the journal, which belonged to Alaric’s great-grandfather, King Callahan Alaverdi—the man supposedly responsible for awakening their unnatural power.
“His audacity is astounding!” I say for what must be the tenth time. I’ve been pacing for hours, talking to the zinnia as if it’s actually my sister. Voicing the same thoughts I’m certain she had while readingCallahan’s account.
“Mustering the last of our courage, I led the remnant of our army to meet the Marauders at the pass,” I read, in a theatrical voice. “We knew we were marching to our deaths. The canyon walls are low and offer little cover, and my people are cave-dwelling miners, not soldiers. Simple men and women with shovels and picks, outnumbered three to one against these insatiable raiders.But we couldn’t stand by and watch them steal every scrap of ore and nugget of gold and leave us with nothing to transport across the sea. No way to provide for our families.”
“Doesn’tthatsound familiar!” I laugh bitterly. “You’d think the Vanzadorians would have a little more empathy for us.”
I resume reading. “The thieves attacked with the vicious strength of wolverines. By sundown, only a handful of men and I remained, and we fought with even more fervor than before. But it wasn’t enough. My brother, Gershon, fell first, speared through the gut like a boar. Then my uncle was brutally beheaded beside me, his blood coating my face like mist.
“I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to defend my people, and I’m ashamed to admit, I didn’t want to go on. Blubbering like a coward, I fell to my knees, dug my fingers into the rocky soil, and thought of my family. I pictured the good hardworking people of Vanzador and begged their forgiveness as I called for the Marauders to finish me.
“But then the strangest thing happened.
“I’ve always heard that your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but the opposite was true for me. The images I’d been clinging to—the faces and memories of the people I loved most—dissolved into a swirl of colors that fell from my eyes in a mudslide of tears. One precious moment after the next coursed down my face and spattered the rocks, sinking into the thirsty ground, until my mind held nothing but blackness.
“I was utterly alone, screaming into the quiet dark. I didn’t want to die like this, but I also couldn’t press on through the emptiness. My soul cried out in agony, and that’s when I felt a shuddering, deep within the earth.
“All at once, a staggering surge of energy rose through the soil and intomy fingers. My ears roared with the rumble of falling rocks. My tongue fizzed with the taste of silt and sediment. And I felt taller, stronger, and more unbreakable than the canyon walls themselves.
“I gripped the ground harder, hoping to steady myself against these delusions—for that’s what they had to be. But as my fingers closed into fists, the rocks surrounding us gave an ancient, deep-bellied groan. Then theymoved.
“I shook my head, certain I’d imagined it, but the harder I squeezed, the louder the groaning became. Before I understood what was happening, enormous slabs of stone broke free from the canyon walls and tumbled into the pass, crushing the Marauders and, with them, the remnant of my army.
“When the landslide finally ceased, I alone stood in the dust and debris. I fell to my knees and wept prayers of sorrow and thanks, but secretly, I was terrified. Too terrified to touch anything. Or to think too hard about what had happened. Because, impossible though it seemed—as much as I hoped it was all a hallucination induced by terror—I knewIhad somehow caused the rockslide. And when I looked down at my shaking hands, there was no denying that the earth had changed me. I could feel it there, in my blood, flesh, and bone.”
I shiver, even though my room is stifling, and wring my hand around the clover at my wrist until it burns. Rowenna left a zinnia in this book. She clearly wanted me to find Callahan’s account and those three cryptic words. The same words that just so happen to be carved into the walls of my maid’s quarters. Words, I’m beginning to suspect, that were never a threat against my sister, but a clue. Somethingsheorchestrated. Which means my maid was telling the truth. Ro held her at knifepoint and forced her to etch those disturbing words.
