“This monastery is home to the largest and most prestigious scriptorium in Virelith,” said Patrick, bringing Fane to a halt. “The books inside are immensely valuable. Among the most valuable artifacts in the kingdom, in fact. The Temple keeps them under close guard. Ostensibly, the Temple and the royal family are hand in hand on this matter, but the king would prefer these books to be out of the monasteries and safe in a palace vault.”
With my ear against his back, half asleep, I felt his voice rumbling through me. Any self-consciousness about our close proximity had long disappeared, replaced by saddle sores, aching legs, and simple gratitude for having something to lean against while I closed my eyes. I raised my head now to look more closely at the monastery.
“Then how will we get in?”
He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “A wealthy, knowledgeable patron and his assistant? I imagine we won’t have much trouble.”
“His assistant? Why can’t I be the wealthy patron?”
“My sweet, please do not be offended when I say I am perhaps a little more used to playing the part. And you have the expertise when it comes to books. Does it not make more sense for me to be the fool with more money than is good for him, and you to be the one who appreciates the details?”
I sighed. “I suppose so.”
“Perhaps you remain my devoted sister, unmarried as yet because you have pledged your life to the study of rare volumes.”
“Why such an elaborate story?”
He turned to me, looking wounded. “I wouldn’t call it elaborate.”
“Well, why am I your sister again? Why not your daughter?”
“Mydaughter?” He was dumbfounded. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not yet thirty, and you’re …”
“Twenty. It’s the beard. It makes you look older.”
“The beard.” He turned back to face the road, back stiff.
“And the gray hairs.”
“I don’t have gray hairs!”
“If you say so.”
There was a short silence.
“Speaking of fathers …” I began, a question that had been at the back of my mind rising to the surface again.
“You are wondering who yours might have been?” Patrick said with that uncanny way he had of reading my mind. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Many young men came to consult with Ban Edevane. He was quite a famous mage, you see, and his library of spellbooks was renowned across all of Virelith. I imagine it was one of them—the scholars.”
It was hard to imagine my mother being swept away by passion. Other than her passion for her work. I could not imagine her falling in love with a visitor—loosening herself long enough to fall into his arms. I could imagine something more calculated, however. Perhaps she had wanted a way out that she thought one of the scholars could provide—or had wanted a child for her own strange reasons? I could hardly imagine her being my age at all. She seemed to have sprung from the womb fully formed as the guarded, grimly focused woman I had always known.
“I’m sorry,” said Patrick. “You must miss her.”
I looked up, surprised. “Yes.”
“I understand.”
“What was she like, when you knew her?”
“I didn’t know her for long, but she was …” He paused. “Terrifying.”
“Terrifying?”
“Strong. Decisive. Brilliantly clever. I was petrified of her, when I was a boy. She was not cruel, not in the same way as Sybil, but she was … driven. When she left, the house felt dead. Well, at least for the short while I was permitted to stay.” He shifted in the saddle, his voice becoming more businesslike. “Well, she would be pleased to know how close you are now to finding her.”
