Farron’s staring at me wide-eyed, brows raised.
I can’t help it. The word vomit’s still coming. “I thought I knew where I stood with Dayton, but now I’m not sure. And talking about where I stand with people, a month ago, Ezryn and I… Well, I don’t really know what we did. But it was a thing. Athing-thing,you know? But he’s back to acting like I’m some pariah he can barely look at! Honestly, I should be grateful for Keldarion’s actions because at least I know he hates me. The wondering… That’s the hardest part.”
Farron blinks once, twice, then shakes his head. He laughs joylessly to himself. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he grumbles. “The wondering is the hardest part.”
He shuts the book and stands up.
“Farron?” I reach after him. “Did I say something that hurt you?”
He turns away from me, shoulders slumped. “No, Rosie. It’s me. I’m thinking of all the things I should have done differently.” He looks over his shoulder. “I really should have decided sooner in the hot springs, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” I drift over to him and grab his hand.
“Dayton, Ezryn, Kel… At least they had enough courage to act on their feelings once so they won’t ever live with that regret.” He stares up at the ceiling, a gold-crested mural of dusk-drenched clouds. “The Enchantress’s curse is right again.”
I shake my head, totally lost. “Farron?”
He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “Come on.” He pulls me toward the door. “I’m going to show you why I was cursed.”
45
Farron
“We’realmostthere,”Isay.
We walked just outside of the keep to a grove of trees. Rosalina is quiet, and I’m grateful for her patience with me.
She’s too patient. You took too long, Farron.I close my eyes at the thought. It wasn’t jealousy that spurred me earlier in the library, at least not in the traditional sense. Rosalina’s affections for the other princes are both understandable and comforting—though she laments their rejections. Instead, I’m filled with anger at myself.
How often have I been in her presence, aching to hold her, to press my lips against hers and whisper my longing? Every moment we’ve spent together burns in my mind, all the different times I could have let her know she is not just a companion to me, but the absolute focus of my affections.
But instead, I’ve hesitated. Restrained myself.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “To Coppershire’s first library.”
“Oh!” Rosalina flutters with excitement. “Where is it?”
“It was treated as a sacred space built right outside Keep Oakheart. You might have seen it from your room, though after the fire, a grove of trees was planted around it to hide the remains from view.”
We slip between the tightly knit trees into an opening drenched in cool sunlight.
“Welcome to the Great Scriptorium of Alder,” I say. “Or what’s left of it.”
The remnants of a once grand structure lay in the clearing before us. Fire has reduced the building’s outer walls to charred rubble, leaving only a few pillars and arches standing. The roof has collapsed entirely, now a warped mass of wooden beams and ash. Through the twisted trees, I can just see the towers of the keep, including the balcony connected to our chamber.
Despite the destruction, I can still make out the remains of intricate carvings on the surviving pillars. Fragments of once-beautiful stained-glass windows litter the ground. The treasures held here—the books and pages—have long turned to ash.
Carefully, Rosalina steps toward the wreckage. She looks out of place, too much beauty for such devastation.
I don’t know why my mother never ordered the removal of these ruins. Maybe she wants it to remain as a reminder to me.
A massive alder tree stands in the middle of the rubble, its trunk a stout pillar that stretches up to the blue sky. The tree’s canopy is ablaze with fiery hues, the leaves transformed into a tapestry of golds, oranges, and reds that shimmer in the sunlight.
I hold Rosalina’s hand and walk into the burned remains. I can practically see it take shape around me: the old entranceway so familiar, the smell of books and ink a sanctuary in itself.
My boots crack over the burnt rubble. “I used to spend every moment here. If only you could have seen it, Rosie. The ceiling stretched so tall, it seemed to blend in with the sky. The bookstacks moved, and you only had to change your thoughts to find the proper shelves in front of you. This place was home to writers and visionaries, philosophers and strategists.”
