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On the first floor, there’s the seating area where Cleo is now. Sixteen emerald green velvet chairs, sectioned into eight pairs, each pair separated by a golden side table where matching emerald green lamps are lit up.

Farther back, sixteen long work tables, each with two green lamps and eight hardwood chairs.

But Cleo is alone.

Because they appeared out of thin air in the library, Cleo hasn’t seen the rest of the palace yet, but she can hear the distant buzz of it. People laughing and chatting. Servants muttering to one another. Guards checking in on their stations.

If the palace is alive with activity, why is no one here in the library? Do they not read? Study? Research? She’s not sure what people do in a place the size of the Emerald Palace, but surely there must be some people with jobs and work and leisure time to spend among the stacks?

If she lived here, she would never leave the library.

A high peal of laughter sounds down the hall outside the closed double doors, and it makes Cleo jump, reminding her too much of Delphine.

Cleo is out of the chair in an instant, coming to attention. But the laughter dies and she’s left standing there, trembling like a child.

Will that feeling ever go away?

Will Delphine ever stop haunting her?

She pulls in a deep breath, lets it swirl in her lungs. Some of the shakiness ebbs out but the adrenaline is still burning through her chest.

She decides to wander.

It’s not just books on the miles of shelves. There are artifacts and mini statues and little wooden boxes and stands holding up masks and stone fragments and fossils.

She finds a statue of the God of the East next to a row of science textbooks. The statue is about a foot tall with several chips in the stone. The god is wearing a gown that drapes over her slight frame and pools around her bare feet.

There’s a loaf of bread cradled in her left arm and a scythe in her right hand. Both are meant to symbolize her power and blessing over the east’s harvest.

Her hair, usually depicted as black in paintings, is tied back and tucked beneath a silk scarf.

Sometimes, when Cleo could steal an hour or two, she’d spend them in the library at the East Castle. Delphine rarely visited the room and it was one of few places Cleo could be alone.

There was an entire section on the gods and Cleo spent a summer reading through most of the books.

The God of the East, Metnua, was her favorite. Metnua was known to be kind and compassionate, but she showed no tolerance for cruelty.

There were stories of her wrath.

Like the one about the farmer in the East End who neglected his wife, his children, and his farm animals. One day, Metnua arrived on his doorstep and told him if he did not show more kindness, she would let the rain sweep him away.

He did not heed her warning and the next rainy season, a flash flood tore through the valley and carried the farmer away, never to be seen again.

Sometimes, Cleo fantasized about what it would feel like to have the power to punish those who mistreated her.

The deep satisfaction she gained from just fantasizing about it made her believe the actual work of it would flush her with delight.

There were, of course, books in the library that also warned about revenge, but Cleo didn’t read those. Why should she?

Revenge was a word that felt good on her tongue. Sharp and guttural. She was powerless at Delphine’s, but some nights, the thought of revenge was the only thing that kept her going.

She keeps going now, scanning the shelves that are at eye level. There’s a fossil of a dragon tooth and a jarred artifact labeled CERAMIC NOSE in cursive handwriting. Inside, there’s a piece of white ceramic that does appear to be a human nose. Cleo gently spins the jar around so she can see the backside and is shocked to find pieces of bone wedged into the sides of the ceramic.

With a shiver, she turns the jar around and heads to the next section. There, she finds a row of blue and green leather-bound books, a mix of scientific and magical titles. She runs her index finger down the spines, mouthing the titles to herself as she goes.

The Anatomy of Dragons

The Traditions of Cardinal Magic