Chapter Eleven
I instantly feel I’m not alone when I enter the library. There are small, muffled sounds coming from the far shelves. Who would be in the gardening and herbs sections? I thought only I frequented the back of the library, but apparently not. I move toward the dark stacks where the torches barely reach and the muffled sounds turn to barely audible, urgent whispers.
The sounds summon thoughts of Thaddeus. The way his deft fingers gently stroked my hair and traced my tears. If only I let him continue his trail down to where they’d knot in the small of my back. I imagine how his hands would feel if they wrapped around my back, pulling me closer. The way his kisses would feel across my lips. Him pressed against me, and the strength I’d feel in that moment.
I shake the thoughts from my mind. That is not why I’m here.
Moving slowly with my back against the bookshelves, I find the stack the whispers are coming from. It has to be more than one person, and only some of the words they say sound familiar. I gently pull some books from eye level out of the way to get a better look at whoever is sneaking around the library. Apparently not slowly enough though, because several of the books clatter to the ground beside me, revealing the presence of another.
The whispers abruptly stop. Footsteps move around the stacks back toward the front doors of the library. I press myself against the books, making myself as small as possible. My wet, stained clothes help me blend further into the darkness of the bookstacks.
I can’t bear to look as someone blurs by.
“Who’s there?” a voice I know well asks the room. I see Gryphon run past where I stand over the fallen books, hastily pulling his shirt back over his head. My hands fly to my mouth, stifling my shock.
I quickly realize how guilty I look. Standing here in the dark instead of following Gryphon back to the front of the room, but for some reason my feet won’t respond and I can't find my voice. While I try to coax my legs back into action, another form passes my hiding spot.
“What was it, Gryph?” Shock freezes me once more in place. This voice I also recognize. Although I can’t say I’ve ever heard it so breathy and lilting before.
As she passes by my hiding space, the flush of her cheeks and the way she runs her fingers through her messy blond curls say more than words ever could.
“It was probably just some books falling. No one is here,” Gryphon surmises after his footfalls move around the shelves closer to the front of the room.
“I suppose I should start getting ready for the feast, anyway.” Licia and Gryphon’s voices fade as they exit through the library doors and continue down the hallway.
A huge rush of air leaves my lungs. That was certainly not what I thought I’d find while coming to the library today. I’m so glad they were too preoccupied with each other to notice me creeping through the shelves.
Licia and Gryphon. My two favorite people. Together .
Why wouldn’t they tell me? Have I been gone so long that so much has changed? The chasm of me leaving these walls has grown too big for repair. I thought we could go back to how things were between us three, but maybe it's too much.
I’m still the same, though, so what is it that has changed?
Before I get too distracted thinking about all the complications, I move deeper into the library toward the oldest books, which certainly isn’t saying much. Most of the books here are fairly new. I’ve heard whispers it's because my father destroyed all the books from the Fae’s library that were here before us.
Moving through the dark, leather-bound books the warm smell of old pages wafts around me. But quickly, I’m disappointed in what’s left here. I am not surprised when I find nothing at all about old languages of Everguard or runes. Clearly, Father deemed runes and symbols as “magical nonsense” and felt it did not have a place here.
Sighing, I quickly grab a pen and one of the smaller, older books right at my fingertips to copy down the symbols onto something slightly more permanent. I pocket the small booklet where the runes rest safely and brush off the now dried mud symbols on my leg.
Perhaps this is not where I’ll find the answers I need.