Chapter Thirteen #2
“Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me,” I muttered.
Casteel ignored that. “I think he will believe us. We have time to convince him, but now I’m sure I need to reassure him before he leaves to check the roads.” Casteel rose.
“Reassure him of what?”
“He can be…sensitive. Therefore, I need to reassure him that I won’t have him killed before we leave here,” he replied, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “Would you like to stay in here for a while? There’s a lot of books. None as interesting as Miss Willa’s diary, though.”
That damn diary.
“I would like to stay here,” I said.
Casteel glanced at Kieran, who said, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Do you all really think I’m in that much danger? Word of our engagement must have spread through the keep by now.”
“I’m not taking any chances with you.” Casteel moved forward, touching my cheek just below the scar. “Thank you.”
“For what?” The touch of his fingertips was light, but a shiver still rolled through me.
“For choosing me.”
I spent the rest of the day in the library, taking a late lunch of soup by the crackling fireplace as I thumbed through the dusty pages of short tales meant for children, and old records of those who’d once lived in New Haven.
As I moved from row to row, I didn’t think about what Alastir had told me or what awaited me once we left the keep.
I lost myself to the freedom of being able to read any book I wanted.
What I’d been allowed to read in Masadonia had been restricted to historical texts, and while Tawny often snuck far more interesting novels for me to enjoy, it was never enough.
Kieran was a quiet presence in the room, having picked up one of the books I’d discarded. I suspected that he was pleased with his task, only because I was too busy to ask him any questions.
It wasn’t until after I’d finished the bowl of stewed vegetables and scoured all the shelves, except for the bottom row behind a large oak desk, that I found a text of particular interest. It was a thin novel, bound in gold-dyed leather, halfway hidden behind the numerous, thick records, the gold smothered in dirt.
I pulled it out, coughing as a cloud of dust plumed.
“Please don’t die,” Kieran commented from where he sat. “Casteel would be most displeased.”
Ignoring him, I wiped off the cover as I carried the book to the desk.
I cracked it open, flipping through blank parchment faded to a dull yellow.
I stopped when I saw the date. The gold-bound book was another set of records, but one far older than the rest. It was dated at least eight hundred years ago.
Turning the pages, I read through birth and death dates, occupations and house numbers, quickly noting that these records were very different. The span of years between the dates of birth and death caught my attention.
Hundreds of years.
These were records of the Atlantians who’d once lived in New Haven.
The worn armchair creaked as I sat in it.
Many of the names were illegible, the ink too faded, as were occupations.
Some were easier to decipher. Baker. Stable Master.
Blacksmith. Healer. Scholar. It was strange to see these common skills listed beside dates that suggested they’d lived ten or more mortal lifespans.
But I supposed that when Atlantia ruled over the kingdom, many of them lived very ordinary long lives.
There were occupations and words unfamiliar to me, ones I saw repeated under the column that listed jobs, and words often in parentheses near the names that I could read.
“What is a wivern?” I asked, unsure if I’d pronounced it correctly.
“What?” Kieran looked up from the book that rested in his lap.
“I found records from when Atlantians lived here,” I told him. “The word wivern appears frequently.”
Kieran drew his legs off the chest and rose, placing his book where his feet were. He came to stand by my shoulder. “Where?”
“See?” I tapped a finger below the faded black ink. “There are words I don’t recognize. Like here.” I drew my finger down. “Ceeren.”
“Hell.” Kieran leaned forward, turning the pages back to the title page. “It’s Atlantian records.”
I arched a brow. “That’s what I said.”
“I’m surprised this remained here all these years.” He flipped back to the page I’d been looking at.
“It was behind a couple of other records and covered in dust. It must’ve been forgotten.”
“Definitely forgotten. The Ascended destroyed any and all records of the Atlantians who once lived here. No matter how inconsequential as a census.”
“So, what does wivern mean?”
“A wivern was an Atlantian bloodline that was killed off during the war,” he explained. “They too were of two worlds, mortal and animal.”
“Like the wolven and changelings?”
He nodded. “Except the wivern could take the form of cats larger than those that roam the caves in the Wastelands. Here. Draken?” His arm brushed mine as he moved closer to point out a place farther down the page.
Air hissed out of Kieran’s clenched teeth as he jerked back his arm. I turned, finding him standing several feet from me.
I lifted my brows, thinking that was a bit of an overreaction to his arm touching mine. “You okay?”
He stared at me, eyes wider than I’d ever seen before, but bright in an unnatural way. “You didn’t feel that?”
“You touched my arm. That’s all I felt.” I watched him rub his arm. “What did you feel?”
“A shock,” he said. “Like being struck by lightning.”
“Have you’ve been struck by lightning before?”
“No. It’s a figure of speech.” He glanced at the door before those too-bright eyes settled on me. “You really didn’t feel that?”
I shook my head. “Maybe it was like that static charge you get when dragging your feet over the carpet.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. “I used to do that all the time to Ian.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” Kieran lowered his hand. “The Prince is coming.”
I opened my mouth, but the door opened a heartbeat later. Was Kieran’s hearing that good?
Casteel strode in, his hair swept back from his face, and it was like all the air had been sucked out, and the library suddenly became three sizes smaller. It was simply him, his mere presence immediately taking over the space.
He glanced between Kieran and me. “You two look like you’re having fun.”
Based on the way Kieran still looked as if he’d seen a spirit, I doubted it.
“I found a book of records from when the Atlantians lived here.” I picked up the book.
“Sounds real fun,” Casteel drawled.
“Perfect timing.” Kieran’s expression smoothed out. “Your fiancée has questions.”
The way he said the word fiancée made me want to throw the book at his head.
“Perhaps I have answers.” Casteel leaned against the desk. “And, yes, before you ask, you’re free to do as you please.”
“Thank the gods,” Kieran muttered, peeling himself away from the built-in bookshelves. He started toward the door. “Is all good with Alastir?”
Casteel nodded. “He and several of the men left to check the roads.”
“Good.” Kieran turned. “Have fun.”
I watched him close the door. “He’s acting weird.”
“Is that so?”
“He got a static shock from his arm brushing mine, and he behaved as if I’d done it on purpose.”
“You know how some electrical wiring can short out? Emit sparks or charges of energy?” When I nodded, he said, “Wolven can lose control over their forms if they come into contact with electricity, even at harmless levels. Sometimes, during a particularly bad lightning storm, they are often affected by it.”
“Oh. Well, then.” I paused. “He’s still weird.”
Casteel laughed, and the sound was deep and real and nice. “So, what did you have questions about?”
I looked up at him and wished I hadn’t. The words he spoke before leaving to speak with Alastir came back to me. Thank you for choosing me . I didn’t choose him, though. Not really.
Stomach fluttering nonetheless, I dragged my attention back to the book. “I found these words I didn’t understand. Kieran was just explaining that the wivern could shift into large cats, and he was about to tell me what a draken is.”
“Ah, this is an old book.” He leaned over, scanning the pages. The scent of woodsmoke mixed with his scent. “A draken was a powerful bloodline, one able to sprout wings as wide as a horse, and talons as sharp as a blade. They could fly. Some could even breathe fire.”
My chin snapped up, and I stared at him. “Like…like a dragon?”
Casteel nodded.
“I thought dragons were myths.” I remembered reading stories about them in the books I’d borrowed from the city’s library. Some even had drawings of the frightening beasts.
“Every myth is rooted in some fact,” he answered.
“If there were draken who could fly and breathe fire, how in the world could the Ascended even gain the upper hand against Atlantia?” I asked.
“Because the draken were basically gone before the first vampry was even made.” He picked up a strand of my hair and started to twist it around his finger. “If they had been there, nothing would remain of the Ascended but scorched earth.”
I shivered. “What do you mean by basically gone.”
“Well, my very curious Princess, legends state that many of the draken didn’t die. That they slumber with the gods or protect their resting places.”
“Are the legends true?”
He unraveled the strand of hair. “That, I cannot answer. I’ve never seen a draken, which is a shame. Would have loved to see one.”
“So would I,” I admitted, imagining that a draken would be a fierce but majestic sight.
Casteel was looking over the page as he spun my hair around his finger once more. “The ceeren were here? Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“Why?” I snatched away my hair, pulling it free from his hand.
He pouted. “Because there is no sea or large body of water nearby. Ceeren were also of two worlds, part mortal and—”
“Water folk?” I whispered, heart lurching.