Chapter 29 #2
Cramped. Hurried. Almost frantic.
I squinted, struggling to decipher the jagged scrawl. The first word had been smudged, as though a thumb had dragged through the ink before it had dried, but the rest was clear enough.
“... bound in blood at the Three Gates of Othyr.”
I sat bolt upright, cold adrenaline flooding my veins.
Without even thinking, I flung the blankets aside and swung my legs over the bed. I had to see him. Shoving on my slippers, I rushed through the apartments and yanked open the door hard enough that it struck the wall behind me.
Somehow, I knew he was still awake. The bond pulled me onward, every beat of my heart unnaturally loud in the silence.
I’d almost reached the turn in the hallway when the shadows beside me shifted and gathered. And then Veylan was there, as I knew he would be, stepping easily into stride beside me, his long legs effortlessly matching my hurried pace.
“Where do you think you’re going at this hour?”
“The library.”
The pause that followed lasted only a moment, but it was enough to tell me I’d caught him off guard.
“Why?” he mocked, his gaze dropping to the book I crushed tightly to my chest. “Is your book overdue?”
Despite the urgency clawing through me, I shot him a glare.
By the time we reached the library, I was breathless.
Veylan’s shadows slipped ahead, pushing the heavy doors open.
My pace slowed despite myself as my eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden blackness.
Rubble shifted beneath me as I carefully picked my way forward, wincing as something sharp bit into my foot through the thin sole of my slipper.
I hissed at the pain, and somewhere behind me Veylan chuckled.
Then, ahead—light.
Barely more than a soft thinning of darkness at first, the faint glow came from the depths of the library, somewhere near the bottom of the great staircase.
“The Dark Prince will not welcome an intrusion at this hour,” Veylan said mildly behind me.
“Since when is he ever welcoming?”
A soft sound of amusement drifted through the dark. Shadows swept past me, spiraling lazily down the staircase ahead before disappearing into the bowels of the library below.
I started down after him.
Round and round the staircase went, deeper beneath the keep.
Level after level opened briefly around me, each one as burned and blackened as the last. Finally, I reached the bottom.
A fae light hovered nearby, casting a soft pool of light across the worn stone.
Beyond it, a narrow passage disappeared to the right, another flicker waiting somewhere deeper within.
The bond tugged at my insides, urging me onward.
Rìan.
Down the passageway I went.
The corridor opened suddenly into a compact chamber.
Recessed rooms had been carved directly into the walls, forming a honeycomb of stone, each one crammed with shelves overflowing with ancient books.
The air smelled faintly of dust and old parchment, yet the chamber itself remained cool enough to raise gooseflesh along my arms.
At the center of it, behind a crooked wooden table piled high with books, sat Rìan, elbows braced against the surface, an open tome spread before him.
His hair was tousled, the sleeves of his black shirt shoved carelessly to his forearms, shadows darkening the skin beneath his eyes.
The usual immaculate prince had vanished, replaced by someone unexpectedly... tired.
Veylan leaned against the wall behind him in a pool of shadow so deep it nearly swallowed him whole, leaving visible only the pale gleam of his hair, the whites of his eyes, and the faint curve of a knowing smile.
Rìan looked up as I entered, the page half-turned beneath his hand.
His gaze dropped to my slippered feet before travelling back up to the thin nightdress I hadn't given a second thought to before racing down here. I suddenly wished I'd grabbed a robe—anything—before leaving the apartments.
Something unreadable flickered across his face before it disappeared behind a familiar scowl.
“What?” The word came edged with irritation at the interruption.
Without giving myself time to hesitate, I crossed the room and flipped open the book to the page with the drawing of the well. I rotated it toward him and dropped it atop the one he’d been reading.
“I think I found them,” I breathed.
Displeasure pulled at the corners of his mouth as he glanced over the drawing before lifting his gaze back to mine.
“What is this?”
“Read the inscription.”
His eyes dropped to the cramped scrawl beneath the well, and then he stilled. They shifted over the words again, moving slower this time.
I watched the faint frown ease from his face. His brows lifted as he straightened in his chair, hands moving to grip the edges of the book and draw it closer. His lips parted. He scanned the image of the well again, gaze darting between it and the inscription.
When he lifted his eyes to mine, the look in them stole my breath. Excitement, bright and disbelieving—the mirror of my own. It transformed him, softening the hard lines of his face and banishing its usual severity. For a moment, I could only stare. I’d never seen him look like that before.
“Three Gates of Othyr,” he murmured, dawning certainty threading through the words. “Levinica’s gates aren’t gates at all…”
“They’re wells,” I finished triumphantly.