Chapter Thirty-Two
Samara
Demos easily navigated our journey to the library. When I asked how often he’d been to the castle, he informed me they came every decade or two. Further questions on how often Raphael had visited—in hopes I might piece together some clue about the letter—were waved away.
With each step, I tensed, waiting for the crippling pain to return, but we reached two massive sandstone doors without so much as a twinge.
Porous stars, with rounded ends and uneven shapes, were molded into the door. The handle, as many others were, was modeled after a conch shell. The guard stationed there opened the door with a slight bow to us.
There were far more people than I expected. Long tables lined either side of the library, with various scholars sprinkled over them. Several eyed me—and the ring on my finger. I straightened my shoulders and walked in.
The library held as many books as Damerel’s, but it was nowhere near as dark. Large windows lined the walls and, as I tilted my head back, I realized even the roof was glass, allowing the light of the three moons to fill the space.
Even bigger was the difference in atmosphere.
In both Damerel and the Great Library, conversation was kept to a low hush.
Here, groups chatted freely around tables and several spilled into rooms around the perimeter.
I quickly cataloged the conversations and realized they hit upon a great many topics: philosophy, science, magic, history, including quick arguments over interpretations of translations that made my lips curl just slightly, remembering how long it had taken me to figure out the way prepositions changed the meaning of words in Old Runyk.
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.”
Sir Ferro accepted this and bid us goodbye. Once he was out of sight, Demos spun back to me. “Are you trying to provoke the king?” he demanded in a quiet hiss.
I rolled my shoulders back. “Of course not. I just wanted to talk to him. And it wasn’t your place to tell him he couldn’t come by—you don’t speak for me, Iademos. If I want to talk to a pushy, condescending knight, then I will. And if I don’t want to, I’ll tell him myself.”
The general eyed me. “You truly have changed.”
I arched a brow at him. A white brow, because my black hair was gone with the rest of my humanity. “Like my entire species?”
He didn’t take the bait. “It’s more than that.”
Maybe it was. “I made a deal with Raphael. To truly live—as a vampire, but also myself. Part of that means making my own decisions.” For the next week, at least.
I hadn’t been sure if Raphael had already told his general the terms of our deal, but by his quick look of surprise, it was clear he hadn’t. “Raphael made a bargain with you?”
I nodded in confirmation, then lifted the script I was still holding. “I’m going to put this back and look for something more suitable.”
Except in front of the bookcase stood a hooded woman, contemplating the shelves. As we approached, she faced us, her cloak falling back slightly to reveal a thin face framed with curly blond hair.
“You’re a Librarian,” I murmured before I could stop myself.
Her cloak’s material was lighter than what I’d seen of the other Librarians in Apante, more suitable for the climate, but there was no mistaking the deep blue with the cut of it.
More than that, the knowing in her pale green eyes seemed to cut right through me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there were any outside the Great Library,” I added quickly.
She pulled her hood back fully. “I’m no simple archivist. But I understand the confusion, Samara Koisemi.”
Even Demos stiffened at the use of my name. “You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name.”
“I am known as Pythia.”
I extended my hand, but when Pythia took it, she only clasped my fingers, her fingertips grazing my palm for a long second before she let it drop.
“Your robes—they look like what the Librarians wore in the City of Answers.”
“These are the traditional robes of an oracle.”
An oracle—like Thea. She read the recognition on my face—or perhaps in some other way.
“You’ve met one of my sisters,” she said with a frown.
“I have.” I decided not to say Thea’s name. Maybe she already knew, given Thea’s position in Raphael’s court, but something about the oracle set me on edge in a way Thea never did.
She cocked her head. “She left a mark on you.”
I frowned. “A mark?”
She gestured to my hand again. “May I? I didn’t get a full read.”
I glanced at Demos. I didn’t want him to speak for me, but he had been around Thea for a lot longer than I had and had centuries of navigating strange situations. Did he think it was a bad idea? But he didn’t shake his head or give any condemnation.
When I didn’t protest, Pythia reached for my hand, twisting my palm up.
“Oh, Eka.” Her pale green eyes seemed to darken, her brow furrowing. She traced the perimeter of my hand from my fingertips to my wrist, then ran her third and fourth fingers over my palm. With a shake of her head, she dropped my palm and snatched the other up, repeating the gesture.
I didn’t agree with the fact the king had exiled or executed all oracles, by any means, but if this was a normal experience with them, I understood the mistrust. Creepy.
When she released my other hand and lifted her head, her eyes were still dark.
“Your threads are tangled, Samara Koisemi.” Her voice was nothing like the high-pitched tone of before.
It had dropped, a slight reverberation echoing over the words.
“Too long, too short. If you aren’t careful, they’ll hang you and lay millions dead at your feet. ”