My instinct was not to trust her, but she could easily take it from me by force, so I retrieved it from my breast pocket and handed it to her.
She took the note and raised her arms.“Welcome to the Citadel Clock Tower, the spiritual heart of the Order of Emberlight.My name is Adela Fenn.What is your name, recruit?”
While she could kill me and take my possessions, she couldn’t take my name.She clearly knew about the Order of Emberlight and the Trials, but that didn’t guarantee that she was trustworthy.
Adela seemed to sense my hesitation.“You’re right to be suspicious.That shows good instincts on your part.You’re welcome to ask me any questions you have.”
“You said this was the heart of the Order of Emberlight.How are you able to be here?Why does King Tarnasau allow it?”
Adela let out a sad laugh.“You’re starting withthequestion.We play a delicate game with Tarnasau by exploiting his own ego and hubris.Hethinkshe’s holding us captive here, forcing us to tend this clock against our will.”
“Couldn’t he just replace you with people he trusts?”
“Because of our special relationship with time, only we can keep the clock going with such precision.To him, the clock is a symbol of control and perfection for his kingdom, so he has ‘walled us in’ and ‘forces us to maintain it.’In reality, we could leave at any time.”
“And yet you choose to stay.”
“We do.Generations of Emberborn have maintained not only this clock but Emberborn history and knowledge.”Adela gestured toward the trove of books around the room.The sheer number filled me with awe, knowing they were all filled with Emberborn lore.
“Still, it must be hard being captive here,” I said.The weariness in her eyes spoke volumes.
“It is.But it’s our sworn duty.Since Tarnasau destroyed our history elsewhere, maintaining this secret cache of information is of critical importance.We would defend it with our lives.And we have also become the core of the resistance against his tyranny.”
“You keep sayingwe.Where are the others?”I asked.
“It might be easier to show you,” she said.“Follow me.”
Adela ushered me out of the library.We walked side by side along the corridor past several other rooms filled with books, much like the one we had just left.Shadows danced in my peripheral vision, vague shapes roughly the size of people.
“So many books,” I whispered.
“Indeed,” Adela said, the pride plain on her face.“I am the fifteenth generation of Fenns who have maintained the clock and the library.Come and meet the fourteenth and sixteenth.”She paused at the base of the next flight of steps.“You are my guest, but I’ll remind you that I am extending you a measure of trust.I expect you to honor it.”
“Of course.”
With that, she led me up the steps and into a large common room dominated by a massive fireplace, surrounded by ornately carved and upholstered sofas.Behind it were several tables and chairs where a handful of men and women studied, ate, and talked, all dressed similarly to Adela.Several people looked up as we entered.
At one table sat an old man and a teenage boy, both with a familial similarity to Adela.Open books and pieces of parchment cluttered the table before them.They watched as we approached.
These were not at all the “warrior clock tenders” I’d expected to find here, although I was certain that Adela would defend this place to the death.This was a family—a family of Emberborn, in fact.Something Elena and I had had ripped away from us.The boy was no older than Elena, and Adela was likely the age my mother would have been if she were alive, making this both the most beautiful and melancholy sight I could imagine.I had to swallow hard to hold back my surging emotions.
“This is my father, Edric, and my son, Corin,” Adela said, gesturing to each in turn.“And this is our newest Trials recruit.He is Emberborn.He has Veilsense.”
The old man, Edric, turned his deeply wrinkled face toward me, eyebrows raised.“Veilsense.Impressive.What is your name, son?”
Adela looked as if she were about to speak, but I held up my hand.I had seen enough to extend some measure of trust to them.
“My name is Cassian Nightbrook,” I said.“But people call me Cas.”
“Nightbrook,” Edric said, as if trying out the name for the first time, assessing how it felt on his tongue.“And both your parents were Emberborn?”
“Honestly, I don’t even know.They died when I was young, and they never told me about my heritage.”
Edric nodded with a sad frown.“I’m so sorry.All too common a story, I’m afraid.Do you know your real surname?”
“Myrealone?”
“Most Emberborn families on the run adopt new surnames, both to hide their identities and to sound less Emberborn.”
