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Vincent took over the magic lessons, helping me merge the threads of lightning into something more manageable despite shattering at least one jar every lesson. He never once complained about them, though, only cleaning them with a calm efficiency while I shook out my hands and wiped away the blood from all the small scratches.

When I asked him about it during our third lesson, he merely shrugged and said, “We all lose control at times, even more so when we are first learning. A bit of glass is a small price for learning your magic.”

Then he had me start from the beginning, calling to my magic and willing it into wind and then fire and then a flower growing from stalk to bud to full bloom in the span of a few minutes.

With each new way I coaxed the magic, the memory of the dream where I hunted for the strange clear quartz haunted me. At what point would my magic become controlled and trained enough for that? It felt an impossible feat at the moment. Much more than that thirty seconds of focusing on the flower left me wrung out and utterly exhausted. Beyond that, what had to happen for me to meet those women with the purple eyes and expensive armor? I shied away from any thoughts regarding the man that might or might not be my father.

It was Phillip who took charge of my self-defense and sparring. He was just as thorough as Callum, always professional even as he was throwing me onto my back hard enough it knocked the air from my lungs. When I started working with the daggers Callum had had commissioned for me in the middle of the week, he didn’t flinch away from the sharp blades, using them instead of practice daggers to show me proper technique. His lessons always left my body sore and my muscles aching. It wasn’t ever quite enough to edge out the desire for Callum’s hands and lips and body, though.

Monique proved the best at distracting me despite the low-simmering jealousy that sat unwanted in my limbs at the knowledge Arden was here, with her, touching her whenever she pleased. It helped that she was also learning to read and write Nyndrec. Most mornings, after a small breakfast eaten in the larger of the dining rooms just off the inner garden, she would join me in my preferred sitting room, her own primer in her hands and a blanket thrown over her legs. We’d sit in companionable silence for nearly an hour, doing our best to learn the new language, before one of us would inevitably grow restless. She’d abandon the primer in search of Arden or a walk through the city. I’d invariably seek out Vincent or Phillip, hoping to exhaust my body as much as my mind.

On the sixth day of Callum being gone, when Monique had grown restless and had left to find Arden and snuggle with him, I found Shelby reading in the inner garden.

“I’m going to go to the Atheneum,” I said without any kind of greeting or preamble.

She glanced up. “Do you want help with your hair or your dress?”

Bless her and Amaria both. They never questioned what I wanted to do, only sprang into action to make it possible.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Amaria appeared in the doorway of my room as Shelby was situating the last of the fabric ribbon pins that matched the light pink dress I’d picked for the walk.

“Would you like company?”

Which was how I’d ended up in the same study room I’d shared with Callum a week ago, slowly shuffling through a few of the books still on the tables, Amaria working on a small needlepoint project beside me. For the first time, it felt like I was truly making progress with the reading skills.

I set aside a book with a plum cloth cover with no title anywhere on it. The first page had been in a language other than Alwesh or Nyndrec. It looked a lot like the prophecy. I tried to remember what Callum had called it, but the name slipped through my memory.

“You’re just as much a highbrow as he is,” Vincent said.

The words were light-hearted, enough so I stuffed down the scoff and eye roll that were my initial response. I twisted in my seat as I grabbed another book from the pile. Vincent and Shelby stood just inside the door to the small study room, their shoulders brushing.

“Would it be all right if we joined?” Shelby asked. “We thought we could help with your secret project.”

I flushed a bit even as I agreed.

“Sure. Though I’m not sure I’m ever going to quite manage it.”

She smiled as she settled across from me, plucking a strudel from the tray in the center of the table. “I have faith that you will. And it’ll be a lovely surprise for him when he hears it.”

Vincent pulled a book from the stack I hadn’t gone through yet and passed it to me. “Here. This one is a good next step now that you’ve finished the main pantheon.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s it about?”

“Althea,” he said. “The Gods’ realm, where they live. It’s also where Arcadia and Abyssian are.”

The two places one could go in the afterlife. Heaven and hell. I much preferred the description of Arcadia, though I imagine few would find the prospect of eternal work with no gain and no meaningful rest appealing.

It was smaller than the other books, nearly the size of my hand, though it was quite thick. Its cover was even more worn than the plum book. It took me a minute to decode the silver foil lettering on the green cover.

“Althea, Recorded.”

Amaria snorted as she threaded a new piece of bright pink embroidery thread through her needle. “To the point, at least.”

“Why are the authors never recorded?”

There had only been one listed in the nearly dozen books I’d flipped through today.