He stepped away from her, though it took a piece of him away to do it. “But we have to do what we came here to do first.”
Her answering whimper tested his resolve, but if there was one thing he was good at, it was being patient.
“How many more ofthese do we have to read?”
Ciana’s whine pulled Sebastian’s attention from the book in his lap. He smiled. “Until the crate is empty.”
They both glanced at the crate. They’d made good progress, for sure. But at least a dozen scrolls and half a dozen books remained. Thankfully, most of them could be skimmed, clear on the surface they had nothing of what they were looking for.
A few, though, were interesting, even if not entirely helpful. The one Sebastian was currently consuming was written by someone who claimed to be a scribe during the First War and responsible for recording the movements of the gods. It was a history that, whether through time or other forces, was unknown to Onita, and it fascinated him.
Andrian would love this. Sebastian loved to read, but he preferred fictional tales. It was Andrian who always reveled in the true stories lost to the depths of time.
He grimaced at the thought of his oldest friend. Who knew where Andrian was or who surrounded him. Sebastian only hoped—and not just for his queen’s sake—that wherever he was, he was fighting back in every way he knew how.
Ciana rummaged through the crate. She stood up, hands on her hips, letting out a huff. “None of these look even remotely interesting to me.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Can’t even bother pretending, Goldie?”
She glanced at him. His spine straightened at the way the corner of her mouth tipped up, eyes glinting. “Not when there’s something else I wouldmuchrather be doing.”
He lifted a brow. “Something?”
She hummed, taking a tentative step toward him. “I just have so many questions still,” she said, tone deceptively innocent as she fluttered her lashes. “So many things I want to learn. Don’t you want to teach me?”
Gods. Sebastian’s grip around the pages of his book tightened. He shifted in his chair, his pants a touch too tight.
“Haven’t had your fill of lessons for the day?”
Ciana responded with a coy shake of her head, and Sebastian’s resolve snapped right there.
He tipped his head back, closing his eyes and dragging in a deep inhale. “Trust me when I say,” he said, “that there is nothing I would rather do more right now.”
“Then just do it.”
Sebastian groaned, toying with the open book in his lap. Fuck, he wanted to abandon it all, give up on all this research and just fall back into her.
He met her gaze. “You read one more scroll. I’ll finish this book. Then I promise you, love—the lessons will never stop.”
Her cheeks flushed that beautiful shade of pink, and thankfully she nodded. Snatching up a small scroll from the crate, she retreated to the plush sofa, curling up with her feet under her.
Sebastian took a few more steadying breaths, his heart thumping dangerously in his chest, before he could return his attention to the book still open in his lap.
He flipped the page, scanning its contents.
His breath caught in his throat.
An illustration inked on the cream canvas paper, perfectly preserved for five millennia by whatever magic imbued this place, rooted him to his chair.
The caption below it, scrawled in the common language of the continent, had Sebastian planting his feet firmly on the floor.
“Sebastian?”
Sebastian could hardly breathe. Could hardly think, even as he read the inked script.
The weapon was forged by the gods at the end of the First War, before Zadione’s sacrifice made it unnecessary. I was honored to be there at its forging, to witness the cast of magic from the gods. It is simple in its design, yet perfect in its elegance. Though I have not seen it since the war ended. I hope one day to lay my eyes upon it again.
“This is it,” Sebastian finally whispered, no more than an exhaled breath.
