Will rides us directly toward an open-air stable in a cream-stoned courtyard, vacant of people. I’m not sure what I expected, but I didn’t realize it would be so quiet. He ties Jeremy into an empty stall while I stretch my legs to work the feeling back into them. It’s such a relief to not be sitting. To be moving. To be finallydoingsomething to make a difference.
“Thank you for bringing us here, Jemmy.” I sigh and wrap my arms around the horse’s neck.
“Jemborino,” Will adds, throwing me a small smile.
Ah. He must have heard it in my voice. The heaviness. The worry. My beautiful, darling raft at sea. He’s trying to lighten the load and cheer me up.
I tug my mouth up.
“Jeronimo.”
“Jezzlebee.”
Will cracks a grin at the giggle he gets out of me. The horse seems to not care what we call him and helps himself to a bucket of feed.
Side by side, Will and I walk over the cream gravel, no chatter of voices covering the crunch of our footsteps.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, tilting my head back. From the entrance, the Library takes up most of the sky.
“Uh, I guess folk at the Library aren’t really outdoorsy people. We—they tend to get stuck in a project and forget about the outside world.”
I hear his slipup and note how his hands have disappeared back into his pockets. I’ve spent enough time around him to pick up that hiding his hands is his way of protecting himself. Of seeming arrogant and uninterested to mask his insecurities.
Something occurs to me that I should have thought about sooner.
“Did you ever meet Morgana when you studied here?”
“No, my mum warned me to stay out of her way when I first started attending. She didn’t have to worry though—we never crossed paths. I heard that Morgana’s always away traveling, and if she is here, she rarely leaves her chambers.”
“Will they know about the warrant for your arrest?”
“Uh…probably.”
“Won’t that be a problem?”
He sucks in air through gritted teeth.
“Depends on how much trouble we make,” he says. “The Libraryof Heris prides itself on neutrality. They welcome anyone, regardless of background, as long as you don’t break any rules while you’re on the grounds. Actually, I knew someone who worked as a chef here who had a pretty long list of crimes to his name back in Senred. I guess this place can be a second chance.”
“Okay. So we just have to behave.”
He throws me a wink. “You know me, Princess.”
We reach a set of towering bronze doors engraved with a script I can’t read, and Will places a palm flat on the metal. Like an invitation, the door swings open and he waves me in.
The aroma is a world away from the musty air of the castle library. This place is luscious, like a field of roses in summer, or a grove of jasmine—exquisitely unique and refreshing. There’s a pinch of something sharp too, like the tinge of burnt metal and magic that fizzles on my tongue. I step forward on marble floors made of the richest navy and silver, mouth agape. Past the sparkles in the air, bookshelves grow in colossal rows toward a twinkling turquoise glass dome ceiling, not in sharp wooden lines, but in crooked curved grooves that house books of all sizes and shapes. The foyer we’re in heads in a few directions, but each path ends in a deep blue shadow, from which shuffles of turning pages and whispered conversations float.
Card would besojealous I’m here. I wonder what he’d say. Gods, I miss him.No. Stop it. Focus on the now. Not the bridge. Not the wedding. Only the next step.
“Which way is it?” I ask.
“See the silver in the floor?” Will says, setting off down an aisle. “It reacts to the direction you want to go, so you won’t get lost. Clever, right? Very handy when you want to find a specific book. My professor’s office is this way.”
Will leads me into the maze of bookshelves, past twisting spiral stairs that reach an upper balcony level and wooden ladders that shift along the shelves of their own accord. Every now and then, a book leaves its place and floats into the air as if waiting to be rescued—or,rather, collected. As we walk, shimmering silver lines in the floor guide us onward.
“How long did you study here?” I ask, unable to stop turning my head in every direction possible. There’s too much to marvel at.
“Uhh, about eight years. Until I turned sixteen.”
