“You’re asking questions like you expect me to answer.”
She decides then that she hates him. It’s not coursing through her veins yet, not the way hatred often feels to her, in that all-encompassing, boiling way. But sooner or later, she knows she will hate him like that. For being a part of this, for locking her in here.
“I’ll collect you for the Blood Binding in the morning,” he says, and although he might be relenting, answering one question, there is no hint of warmth or empathy. “After that, you’ll have six weeks to learn how to kill a witch. So I suggest you get some rest.”
She swallows down the snarl and offers him a smirk instead. One that makes that muscle in his jaw twitch again. “Brilliant. Looking forward to it.” She doesn’t ask what the Blood Binding is—she doesn’t intend to still be here for it.
His gaze travels across her face. “Oh, and if you’re thinking of escaping…” Her whole body tenses. Ishea Reader? Is that why he’s been assigned to her? “Just know, there is no way out of this for you. You duel, or you die.”
And with that statement he shuts the door behind her, leaving her alone, wondering just how screwed she is.
Very, a voice in the back of her mind answers.Very, very screwed.
13Astrid
She tucks the valerian root in her Brewer’s Belt and brushes the soil off her hands. As she rises, she pulls out a vial of her Masking Mist and sprinkles it over herself, running through the grounds until she’s back at the servants’ entrance she’d snuck out of earlier. She glances around before quietly slipping back inside the castle.
The gardens here are a brewer’s dream, as she knew they would be, and she found what she needed to make more of her tincture. The irony is she never would’ve risked leaving her room if she had the tincture in the first place. She couldn’t ask anyone else to do it for her—they don’t know plants and potions like she does. Like Gram, who taught Astrid how to make this very tincture. And waiting would have been too dangerous, considering how unstable she is right now. More than an edge of mania is creeping in, which is unsurprising, given the events of the past few hours. And there’s no way she could have slept after her mother left her. No way she can sleep now.
She runs along various hallways until she comes to a staircase and stops. Hesitates. Up, and she can go back to her room, where she’ll try—and fail—to sleep in her stiflingly hot bedroom. Down, and she’ll be in the bowels of the castle, where the Vatran Royal Library is apparently situated, according to the Ulven who’d scouted the castle on their arrival.
It’s an easy decision. A stupid one.
She slips right, down the stairs, all the way to the bottom. It takes her a good quarter of an hour until she finds the library entrance, and then, with a discombobulating vapor to take out the guard and a simple “Avask” to unlock the door, she’s inside.
She clicks the door shut, panting slightly as she rests against it.
This is so reckless. The Blood Binding isn’t for a few hours, and she’s more of a target than she’s ever been. Objectively, she is aware of this. But she’s not rational right now. Her head is all over the place.
She’s going to be queen.She’s going to be queenand she’s never given herself space to imagine it, imagine what would happen after the duel. It was always going to be the end of the journey for her. Now it’ll only be the start.
She’ll move back to Hekselm, back to the archipelago, a place she never thought she’d see again. Back where the waterways crisscross through the city and weeping willows frame the rivers; she’ll dine in the restaurants and dance in the bars that line the canals; she’ll shop at the market stalls that pepper the sidewalks and visit the allotments to replenish her stocks.
Bastet will finally get to see where she grew up and explore the city with her. She’ll form her own court, with Jessa and her mother. And the Blight will end, the people of Arturea able to not only live but thrive again.
Unless war comes.
That’s why she’s here right now, in the dead of night. If she’s going to stop this potential war, to learn anything about the Heart and the Blight, then the library seems like a good place to seek the information she needs. Most of all, she wants to know how the Vatrans are blocking the Heart’s magic. Perhaps threaten to use it the way the Vatrans have with Arturea. That could be the way to stop the war if she wins.
Whenshe wins.
The thought makes her feel dirty—she doesn’t want to stoop to that, to harm innocents, but if they’re bringing war to her door, what choice will she have? She could stop the Vitalas flowing into Vatra, too, cut off all their energy, divert it to Arturea. Or maybe the Heart’s magic can be harnessed some way to protect the queendom—to ward the entire continent from dragons.
She sighs and steps away from the door’s alcove and into the room, finally taking it in.
The first thing she notices is the smell: worn leather, parchment, the musky scent of a room left to its own devices. Goddess, she missedthis smell—it’s the smell of libraries everywhere and is as comforting as warm socks on a cold morning. The Vatran Royal Library is unusual though, despite the familiar scent. The bookshelves, the ladders, the walkways, even the ornate spiral staircases are made of bronze that glimmers under the low electric lighting. There’s not a bit of wood in sight, just like the rest of the Stone City. And the sheer number of books takes her breath away. The library must be twice the length of the ballroom, and spans at least three floors, judging by the height of the ceiling.
She gazes up at the signs marking the rows of shelves as she walks. Some of them she struggles to translate, but most of the Vatran she understands. She looks specifically for anything on the Heart until her eyes settle on the rows marked “History,” reasoning it’s as good a place as anywhere to begin searching.
She turns down the row and pulls up short; there are dozens of gaps—like someone came in and did a mass checkout. At the end, she finds a whole stack has been emptied out. She glances up, and it comes as very little surprise to see a label simply reading “The Heart.” She frantically scans the manuscripts still there, flicking through them while her frustration builds as she realizes: every single book and scroll, any kind of reading material about the Stars-forsaken Heart is gone. Taken. Butwhy? It’s not as if they expected Astrid to break in here, unless they’re taking no chances—hiding everything away. They may have to share the Heart’s location if she wins, but they’re not obliged to share anything else, after all.
She’s disappointed but not defeated. The library is huge and there’s bound to be something useful. She steps out into a large study space—single desks with green scholar’s lamps and comfortable chairs are spread around the room, as well as deep sofas with colorful throws draped over the arms. It’s the larger-than-life tapestry that snags her attention, though.
It takes up an entire wall, wider than the boats they arrived in, and looks old as Hel herself with its frayed edges and faded thread. Against a star-strewn sky, a golden dragon wreathed in orange flame soars downward, a woman on its back with a crown atop the butter-blond hair that whips around her face. Gathered behind her are stormclouds illuminated by lightning against a crack in the sky, and below her, birdlike wings spread and onyx claws outstretched, is a midnight-black panther and the witch who rides her. King Nyx. A wand is raised in his left hand, and his navy-blue hair—the same shade as Astrid’s—is windblown as he rises toward the ancient queen of Vatra.
It’s a depiction of the Battle of Sarkan. The famed last stand after decades of war when Nyx and his familiar, Artemia, faced the Golden Queen Aeloria and her Elemental dragon, Cuatra—the only known dragon of the Fire Dynasty. Below them a vast army has gathered, thousands upon thousands of soldiers, all watching on from the bleached earth they march across.
Astrid steps closer, taking in the details—details that she’s never heard of before, not from her father or in any of the books she’s read. Nyx never had a wand, not that she’s aware of. It’s not unheard-of for witches to use them, but they’re simply a conduit, an accessory, not necessary at all for casting, and they went out of fashion centuries ago. Perhaps Nyx inspired the trend. It’s also strange that the Vatran queen is in a saddle. Perhaps another old trend, as she didn’t see the king or Zryan in one.
