Chapter 17
Seventeen
I want to go straight to the library, but I don’t. Just in case it’s a trap.
The way Garitt Von Nevus spoke about my sister—the way his eyes lit up with fondness—felt genuine.
But so did Soren’s interest in Tashir when he first rode across our fields.
I must proceed with caution and keep all of my options open, which is why I wind down the endless spiral staircases until I reach the stone-throwing courts in the castle yard.
There are at least a dozen fields of carefully raked sand, each filled with grunting men wearing even less clothing than usual.
Scores of spectators in glittering finery sit on the surrounding benches, cheering with as much gusto as my people during the harvest games, but for some reason, it feels more subdued.
Curated, almost. After a moment, I realize it’s because there aren’t any children in attendance.
None of their rowdy shouting or tussling.
No sticky faces or muddy hands. The noble children must be too busy learning to be proper and refined for fun.
They’re probably up in their high towers, wearing flowing silks, already being taught to look down on the rest of us.
Elodie spots me and makes a production of waving me over to her courtside seats. Before I can even sit down, she hooks her arm through mine, publicly laying claim to me.
Everything inside me wants to swat her away like a mosquito, but I force myself to flash an excited smile instead.
We watch match after match, and I shout and cheer alongside Elodie, as enthusiastic as any Vanzadorian, even though the contests are as tedious as their name implies.
Men hurl rocks across a sand pit to see whose travels farthest. Most of my gasps are based not on the game itself, but on the fact that the Vanzadorians waste their precious energy on a game while my people are literally breaking their backs in the fields.
When the games are finally finished, I beg exhaustion from the “excitement” and allow Elodie to escort me to my rooms. But the moment she’s gone, I slip out of my chamber and slink down the winding halls, avoiding courtier and servant alike until I find the library in a forgotten nook on a lower level of the palace.
It’s nothing like the rest of the castle.
The ceilings here are low, the shelves are overstuffed and disorganized, and the chairs are drooping and care worn.
But my entire body hums with delight as soon as I slip through the creaking door, because it feels like the hillock palace.
It even smells a bit like dust, moss, and wood.
I inhale deeply and smile for the first time since arriving in Vanzador. This feels right. This is where Ro would have chosen to spend her time—with or without Von Nevus’s urging.
I venture down a dusty row of books and into the center of the room, where a shriveled old man sits behind a desk large enough to swallow him. Otherwise, the library appears to be empty.
“Hello,” I say with a tentative wave.
The man glances up and scowls at me over the rim of his spectacles. At least I think he’s scowling. He has more wrinkles than the bark of a white oak tree.
“We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet,” I continue when it becomes clear he isn’t going to speak. I’m—”
“Oh, I know who you are. You look just like her. Sound like her too.” He wiggles a long crooked finger inside his ear. “And just when I’d finally purged her needling voice from my head. She was in here every day, poking around and asking questions. Driving me mad.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. I still don’t know how Rowenna managed to make such wildly varied impressions. When I walk into a room, I never know if I’m going to be adored or condemned by association.
“I assume you’re here to follow in her meddlesome footsteps,” the old man grumbles and hops out of his chair.
“Thankfully, I had a feeling I shouldn’t reshelve her research quite yet.
I knew she’d find a way to pester me from beyond the grave.
And look—here you are. Now, are you going to follow me, or are you going to stand there and piddle in your pants? I haven’t got all day.”
I’m tempted to ask what else could possibly be on his agenda, since the thick coat of dust on the floors and shelves makes it clear the Vanzadorians use this library about as often as my people visit Father Alonzo in his earthen chapel. But I bite my tongue.
At the back of the room, the librarian upends a basket of books onto a round table. “That’s all of it, so you have no reason to bother me again.”
“All of what?” I ask, which earns me an impatient huff and another disdainful scowl.
“All the books Her Royal Highness Rowenna demanded I pull for her—every Vanzadorian history, journal, and discourse on politics. So she could pretend to take an interest in our kingdom. But she didn’t fool me.
The only interest that girl had in Vanzador was figuring out how to ruin us.
I presume you’re here to do the same. Well, go ahead and try.
Read until your face is more wrinkled than mine—you won’t find anything useful in these books because Vanzador has no cracks.
No weaknesses you weed pullers can exploit. ”
He bangs his fist against the table like it’s a judge’s gavel and stalks off.
I slide onto a chair and reach for the toppled books. There are about fifteen in total, all thick and leather bound, and they appear to be crammed with text even drier than the ancient sheaves of paper they’re written on.
“This can’t be what Ro came here for,” I mumble as I skim through a book about the Vanzadorian monetary system.
The next tome is all about the origin of each of the gemstone mines, along with time stamps from decades’ worth of workers.
The thickest book is dedicated to Vanzadorian etiquette and customs—, complete with full-color drawings of their questionable fashion—of which I’ve unfortunately gained plenty of firsthand experience.
I’ve never worn so much sheer lace, or been quite so cold—in all my life.
I toss the book aside. None of this could be the reason Von Nevus sent me here. Unless it was all a ruse. He’s probably laughing in his chamber right now, knowing I’m searching for something that doesn’t exist.
No. He remembered Rowenna’s story. He knew about the lines on her face, for seed’s sake. There’s something here. Something I need.
I grit my teeth and pick up the next book, clearly the oldest in the stack. It’s titled A History of Kings and appears to be akin to the ledger we keep in Tashir detailing births, deaths, coronations, and weddings. Long lists of names and dates, and not much else.
I let the cover fall shut with a groan.
“It would be really nice if you’d tell me where to look. Or what I’m looking for,” I say to the empty chair across from me, wishing more than ever that Ro was actually here.
I try to picture how she’d lean across the table, brows furrowed with concentration, but I can’t remember the exact placement of the freckles dotting her nose or conjure the precise shade of her tawny eyes.
With every passing day, her memory gets a little bit fuzzier, and for the first time, I allow myself to wonder if it’s because I’ve truly forgotten, or if it’s because the deeper I dig for answers, the more the Rowenna who lived here feels like a stranger.
What if I’m trying to avenge a person who no longer existed? Maybe Rowenna really did leave her former self behind in Tashir and embrace her new life in Vanzador—as Alaric and the courtiers claim.
Or worse.
What if she grew so hopeless and despondent, the cliffs looked more tolerable than life on the mountain?
I shake my head resolutely. Ro would never surrender. She’d never stop fighting, no matter how bleak the circumstance. That’s why I still hear her voice in my head. She’s encouraging me, guiding me.
Toward what, though?
I’ve been going in circles since the moment I arrived on the mountain, and now I’ve reached yet another dead end.
Maybe the voice has never been Rowenna’s, my doubt and frustration murmur. Maybe you’ve been talking to yourself. That’s why you feel so lost.
NO.
I shove the useless book across the table. It tumbles over the edge and lands with a thump on the floor.
“What the devil are you doing?” the librarian shouts from the opposite end of the room.
“I, um, accidentally fell asleep and a book slid off of my lap,” I call back, trying to sound breezy. “Nothing to worry about.”
But the old man’s footsteps continue echoing through the room—coming closer. “I’ll judge whether everything is fine.”
Quickly, I slide from my seat, toss the book back onto the table, and turn to make my escape, but as the tome lands, a few pages slide loose from the ancient binding.
I flinch and look over my shoulder, terrified to imagine how the old man will punish me for this desecration.
Frantically, I try to shove the pages back into the book, but there’s no place for them, because it’s a separate book entirely. A small handwritten journal.
The old man is close now—just on the other side of the nearest shelf—but something compels me to thumb through a few pages. It appears to be nothing more than minutes from council meetings, but then, on the second to the last page, something catches my eye.
A small, dried zinnia.
The flower that adorned Rowenna’s hair on her wedding day. A flower that doesn’t grow on the mountain.
It’s been carefully pressed near the back of the book, still fiery orange and emitting the slightest hint of perfume, and the sight of it makes me choke back a sob. It feels like my sister is wrapping me in a fierce embrace. Like she’s proving she hasn’t left me.
“What in the name of the kings are you doing back here?” The old man emerges from behind the shelf and frowns at the pile of books, even though they’re no messier than when he dumped them unceremoniously from the basket an hour ago.
I take advantage of his blustering and stuff the journal under my skirt. Who would have thought the scandalous thigh-high slits would actually prove useful?
I summon an innocent smile when the librarian looks back to me, but that only makes his frown deepen.
“I don’t know what you’re really up to, but you’re finished for the day,” he says, bringing his arm around me like a shepherd’s hook.
I allow him to drag me back across the library and out into the hall, where it takes all my restraint not to sprint back to my chambers with my stolen book.
Thanks to Rowenna and her zinnia, my day is far from finished.