“Stay close,” I tell her as I push open the door, step through the blood magic, and exit into the dimly lit room beyond.
I sense Thyra’s deep exhale as she unfolds herself from around me and finally slides to her feet.
She shivers as if she’s shaking herself off. I know too well the cloying sensation of passing through that cold, blood magic before it became attuned to me.
I can’t shake off the memories so easily. It didn’t matter that I was the heir. Blood magic is bound by rules, not reason. It would have killed me if my father hadn’t been carrying me.
Now, we face new dangers—even if Thyra doesn’t know it yet.
We’ve stepped into the darkened back corner of the most dangerous chamber in the library, a section that’s locked off to everyone except the royal family. The ancestral books in this area contain powerful magic. Some tomes, even Mother won’t dare open.
The walls diagonally opposite us are covered in head-height shelves, on which the most treacherous books are neatly displayed, each one sitting upright on its own individual stand.
In the center of the room, multiple glass cases sit at waist-height and side-by-side so that together they can be used as a table.
Within one of those glass cases is the book I want Thyra toread.
My only dilemma is whether or not to take her directly to it or to ease her through the other knowledge in this section first.
Unfortunately, the decision is not entirely mine to make.
It was Cassia who discovered that one other fae outside our family is able to access this forbidden area and has been secretly doing so for years.
I seek the shadow in the far corner of the room near the only other door. “Emiliana?”
She slides out of the shadows and onto her knees, bowing her head. “My king. Cassia told me you needed me.”
I move toward her, gratified that Thyra keeps a scant step ahead of me.
Quickly, I note the fresh paint on Emiliana’s face, pure white, no stars. She’s dressed in a hooded white cloak, beneath which is a tightly fitted bodice, long pants, and white boots, the outfit Mother’s ladies wear when they’re running errands. It alerts other fae to stay out of their way or face Galla’s wrath if her lady is delayed.
“How long do you have?”
She stays on her knees, head bowed, although I don’t miss the furtive upward glance she casts at Thyra. “Not long.”
Damn. There’s no easing Thyra into this situation.
To Emiliana, I say, “Rise.”
The lady obeys me, but she keeps her distance from Thyra, edging toward me instead. It’s unusual for any fae to seek refuge at my side. Thyra must have made a lasting impression at Court this morning.
“You want me to open the Chronicle,” Emiliana says, her expression deadpan as she accurately anticipates why I’ve asked her to come here.
As for how she feels about it, her body language is subtle, and her facial expressions won’t reveal a thing. It’s the only way she’s survived Mother’s Court. Nothing Emiliana says or doeswill reveal what she really thinks, although her hesitation to join Mother in laughter this morning may not have gone unnoticed.
“I do.” I stare her down. “You will.”
“Of course, my king,” she answers, continually impassive as she sweeps the long way around me, furthest from Thyra, to reach the glass cases.
“You will also tell the Oracle everything you know about the False Queen’s curse, including the rumors about how it could be broken,” I say, following after Emiliana.
She doesn’t falter, but I’ve learned her tells from her interactions with Victor, the smallest twitch of her fingers conveying her unhappiness as she reaches for the top of the nearest glass case.
“Surely the Oracle already knows everything I could tell her,” Emiliana replies.
“I’m sure she does,” I reply just as smoothly. “But she will be better placed to advise me if she’s fully informed of what my people know.”
“Very well.” Emiliana bends to open the case and slide out the glass drawer at the top of it.
