It was more than a library; it was a university, where people could share their learnings. The Witch Kingdom didn’t have anything like that. Middle-class children might attend shared schooling for a few years, while aristocrats would receive individual tutoring until they came of age, but nothing like what I saw spread out here.
I walked as if I had some plan, perusing the stacks and the visitors in equal measure. Demos stayed a half step behind, not letting me out of arm’s reach. There was no telling twinge in my stomach warning me I’d stretched to the edge of the tether that bound me to Raphael. Maybe the range really had expanded.
Maybe it had disintegrated entirely.
Somehow I doubted I’d be that lucky after all this time without it even budging. I continued to look around. I couldn’t get any books on witchcraft without rousing concern. Nor could I try to see if there might be books on Old Runyk without risking new enemies, given the lengths I’d had to go to in Damerel to conceal my studies.
If Raphael was by my side instead of Demos, what would he pick out to read? In the centuries he’d been alive, he must have read thousands and thousands of books, but that was the beauty of them: There were always more.
Over the months I’d known him, he’d had a book in hand several times. Different volumes, different color binding. I’d never indulged my curiosity to see what he read exactly. As if letting myself know too much about him might make me like him.
I plucked a book from in front of me, noting the formatting. It was a script, though after reading a few pages I realized it wasn’t anything as dramatic as what we’d seen from Flo’s troupe. It was a rather morose piece with long monologues about how mortals were nothing but pawns to the gods.
“Oh, Lady Samara! A pleasure to find you in these musty halls.”
I startled and then silently cheered. It seemed Lixa had sent Sir Ferro my way despite Demos’s interference. “The pleasure is mine. How do you do?”
“All the better for seeing you here.” He grinned. “I promised to present you with my wares, after all.”
Ah, that made more sense. He was, despite any title, a salesman. And I was attached to a king. No doubt he saw gold coins radiating around me. Too bad I hardly had any money of my own.
“That would be wonderful.” It was a rare chance to get to talk to another witch, and I didn’t want to squander it. The knight was in a suit that struck me as more decorative than protective, with raised glyphs on either side of the shoulders. Then again, with his gift for metallurgy, it could well be both. “Your suit is impressive. Did you make it yourself?” My admiration was sincere. I’d never worked on anything so intricate, but my fingers itched to run over it and see how the plates fit together.
“I did.” Ferro’s grin grew even wider. “Come, see it here in better light. It’s enchanted.”
He led us farther from the crowds.
“I noticed the Old Runyk,” I remarked. “Strength and light?”
His grin didn’t falter, but there was something like shock in his eyes. “Indeed, though I’ll confess my surprise. There are few witches who can recognize the language. My lady is as astute as she is lovely.”
His flattery was a bit uncomfortable, but I reminded myself it was just because he was still hoping to sell me on his work.
“Did I decipher them correctly?” I asked, shifting away from his compliment.
There was something a bit more brittle in his smile now. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say. To me, they’re merely symbols carved into armor that help shape it.”
He doesn’t even know what it means, and he’s using it?
Maybe I was being too judgmental. Books on Old Runyk were hard to come by—hadn’t I just lamented as much? “Do you use the runes to hone your magic?”
The knight blinked at me.
“To channel your metallurgy?” I added. “Maybe it’s the shape of the runes themselves that help guide your magic to make such armor?” The Black Grimoire was also written in Old Runyk. This chance visit might be more valuable than I’d expected. I’d thought of it as a guide, but perhaps I could use the runes themselves to draw my magic out. “How does it feel? Does it feel like an extension of your power, or more of a mold that shapes it?”
“Something like that.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I regret no explanation could be adequate. Those who don’t have it can never understand. Just as, I’m sure, I could never understand what it is to be a vampire,” he added hastily, perhaps realizing how condescending he sounded. “Now back to your request to see my wares. I could stop by later today, if it suits?”
“That won’t be possible.” Demos stepped forward, inserting himself for the first time in the conversation.
“Raph—King Raphael won’t be around,” I clarified.
“Is that so?” Something sharpened in the metallurgist’s gaze, but it was gone in a second, the jovial tilt returned to his face. “I don’t mind coming by all the same. I’m sure your sire holds your taste in high regard.”
My sire. My stomach twisted at the term. Maybe it wasn’t worth fighting for another chance to speak with the witch. He considered discussing magic with me useless since he thought I was a void. I could hardly correct the assumption. I’d have to put this quest aside.
“That won’t be possible,” Demos repeated.
Irritation fluttered through me. Yes, I’d been about to decline, but I didn’t like Demos making the decision for me. “I’ll send word.”
