Maybe Keryth was right; maybe the Bluehelm really had tasked most of the staff with figuring out who had altered the water in the arena, and how. Considering they were still also looking for a treatment for the odd aurum pestilence popping up all over Aethermere,tensedidn’t come close to describing the ambiance on the island.
Regardless, with the entire stately room to myself, I had access for the first time ever to the shelf of rare books behind the librarian’s desk, which I was absolutelynotsupposed to touch. But I had unanswered questions about the father of alchemy, and the rare books shelf held a volume comprised entirely of his handwritten personal notes, compiled along with commentary by some of history’s finest alchemical theorists.…
Given that, and the fact that if Pryce were not disqualified, I would be considered ninth in the White Trial, which put me on the precipice of expulsion for the third time in two months, and given the fact that I’d just been betrayed in two entirely different ways by my two oldest friends and recent lovers…I was feeling more than a bit daring and reckless.
Especially considering I would likely never get a chance like this again.
With another glance around the perfectly round bookcase- lined space, I snuck behind the librarian’s desk and plucked the volume from the shelf where I’d spied it weeks ago. Worried that she would reappear at any moment, I adjusted the other books to close the gap between the spines, then I took the stolen book to a chair on the opposite side of the room, where I opened it inside one of my textbooks to disguise what I was reading in case anyone came in.
I will admit that I felt quite daring and clever.
The pages of the historical volume were thick but delicate, and very, very old. I thumbed through them carefully, staring in awe at Lord Calyx’s signature notation, noting that his flourishes were subtle and austere, which wasn’t surprising, since he was writing before the practice became widespread. That he was, in fact, the source of it.
I read the first few notes word for word, and I found myself in awe of his thought process and of his plans for the Alchemary. He spoke respectfully of Emperor Eldon, who had given him both funding and a mandate, but he rarely mentioned the queen.
After that, worried that my time alone with the book would soon elapse, I began to skim, searching the text for mentions of the Philosopher’s Stone. There were no specific formulas listed, but Lord Calyx documented failure after failure in his quest to accomplish his mandate, and finally, three-quarters of the way through the text, he wrote the actual words, expressing his utter frustration with his own lack of progress.
The lines of the triangle in the symbol for the Philosopher’s Stone, which he had traced over and over in the margins of his notes, represented spirit, mind, and matter. The goal of the Philosopher’s Stone was to fuse all three in an effort to perfect the human form in all three aspects.
The spirit is the problem, he’d written at the bottom of the page.Unification. The outer circle.
According to his notes, even with all the right ingredients, catalyzing the Philosopher’s Stone with only mind and matter had created an inert stone. Calyx considered it beautiful and multifaceted, like alchemy itself.
He believed it to be highly valuable and virtually flawless in form, and yet it was not functional. His inert stone was both precious and worthless at the same time. He described it as a token bestowed but not treasured.
I could practically feel his heartbreak bleeding onto the page with each word, and I could not blame him for giving up.
The rest of his notes detailed a shift in his focus from the Philosopher’s Stone, which Emperor Eldon had once been obsessed with, to the alchemist’s own personal passion, which he was clearly reluctant to name.
But ithadto be the Elixir of Life.
Calyx was careful, even in his private notes. He was circumspect and sparse with specific details, likely because he knew that after his death, everything he’d ever written would be collected and studied, his soul flayed open and consumed by generations of alchemists with their theories and assumptions. With their awe and their judgment. He must have known that he would live immortalized in history books, shaded by bias and perspective. He would have known that truth is all about perspective.
He would have held his secrets close.
Or…he might have hidden them. He might have designed a series of secret—
“You!”
Startled, I snapped the book closed and looked up to find the librarian staring at me from the open doorway, having returned to her post on virtually silent feet. Her scowl was severe, her hands propped on generous hips beneath the slate of her dark cape.
“Yes?” I half whispered, guilt warming my face.
“Just studying, are you?” She did not wait for my reply. “I will never understand why they allowed you back in here.”
“Backin here?” I stood, and when she turned to round her desk, I carefully set the rare volume on the table beside my chair, blocked from her immediate view by a bronze sculpture of a set of scales.
“After the disaster you visited upon this sacred space this past summer.”
“The disaster I…?” I slid my textbook into my satchel and crossed the floor toward her, stopping when she gestured at the table in the center of the room, directly beneath a skylight of the same size.
“You set the place ablaze, child!” Her gesture grew more frantic, and I turned to scan the table. “And when everyone came running, you just stood there, covered in ash and your own blood. You may have everyone else fooled, but I don’t for one moment believe you’ve forgotten that.”
I caught my breath.
Ash and blood. Written at the center of a perfect circle, in the margin of Past Amber’s journal…
The librarian looked ready to expel me, despite my permission to be there, and that’s likely what she would have done if not for the entrance of two staff researchers at that very moment, heading right for her with a question.
