Chapter Two
I show Ava the letter and assuring her that I have no idea what’s going on, she demands to know why I left the party early. My sudden disappearance had her worried, and she left shortly after I did. She calls me a scaredy cat and waves off my concern about the guard.
After feeding Tinkerbell, we go to bed. But it takes me ages to fall asleep, and when I wake up the next morning, I feel as if I’ve been trampled by a horde of elephants.
My boss Mrs.Byron has little sympathy for me when I show up to the library, yawning and bleary-eyed. She looks at me over the tops of her horn-rimmed glasses. As always, she wears her black hair in a tight bun that makes her look like a professor.
“I hope this will not affect your work, Kaya,” she says with a stern look. “You know your diligence evaluation is due at the end of this week.”
Maybe this isn’t the best time to ask her if I can leave work early, even if it’s for a meeting with the princess.
I decide to put this conversation off until later and head down to the archives in the basement of the library. Normally, I like to be down here. It’s quiet and no one bothers me. The air has that dusty, slightly musty smell that I like so much. And I’m surrounded by books, of course.
But today everything feels different. I’m all too aware of the content of the books around me. They tell of a world that once existed and will probably never exist again.
Shakespeare, Mary Shelley, Oscar Wilde, Ian Fleming. I’ve read and censored all their works, removed pages and blacked out passages, even burned entire books when necessary. That’s my job as a librarian. I make the sin disappear from the pages. Sometimes there’s not much left in the end.
I once saved a book from complete destruction. It was months ago, and it’s now sitting in a shoebox at the very back of my closet. Its title is Lady Chatterley’s Lover . I was supposed to throw it in the incinerator, but I didn’t. Instead, I smuggled it home under my coat and read the pages over and over again, cheeks blazing from fascination and fear of getting caught. Not even Ava knows about it.
I reach for a children’s book called The Secret Garden . Such books usually don’t need much correction. Sometimes the protagonists fight or gorge themselves on sweets, sometimes they’re jealous of each other or just plain lazy. But you can always tell the author’s desire to raise virtuous children. Sin is something authors save for the adults.
Around noon, I leave my hiding place in the basement. I like to spend my break in the bay window room—a small space readers can retreat to. A student is sitting in front of a stack of books, busily writing in her notebook. An older gentleman is engrossed in a Charles Dickens novel.
I sit down in a corner near the window where the sunshine warms my shoulders and unpack my lunch. Cold potatoes and beans, leftovers from the day before. Suddenly the idea of drizzling a bit of lemon over them doesn’t seem so unreasonable. And maybe downing a shot of tequila afterward. No, that stuff was disgusting. I shudder at the memory of it and have to laugh quietly at myself.
“Kaya!” My boss appears in front of me before I’ve even finished my lunch. “There’s a customer who claims there’s an offensive scene in the book he checked out.”
By all the seven virtues, not again!
There are always customers who believe themselves to be pinnacles of morality and act as guardians of moral standards. They declare a harmless squabble in a children’s book to be the origin of all sin, or get upset over a harmless kiss between a husband and wife. I admit Mrs.Byron and I don’t always see eye to eye on censoring scenes. She tends to rigorously delete everything, while I at least try to preserve the spirit of the novel.
“I’ll be right there,” I say, turning back to my lunch.
“You’ll come at once!” Mrs. Byron replies sternly.
She stomps away without waiting for my reply. And why would she? If I want a good diligence rating, I won’t hesitate a second longer before complying with her command.
The man with the Charles Dickens novel gives me a disapproving look over the edge of his book as I pack away my food and hurry after Mrs.Byron.
Oh, how I hate it here sometimes.
Mrs. Byron is standing with her arms folded in front of her while a short, heavyset man paces in front of the dark wooden shelves. He wears black leather gloves, as only distinguished people do. After all, with every touch there’s a risk of awakening passionate thoughts. He eyes my bare hands with undisguised disgust, as if they were enough to condemn me a sinner.
“Is that her?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mrs. Byron lowers her head submissively, as if ashamed of me. I suppress a snort when I see the novel he’s holding is Emma . Like someone could really find anything offensive in the works of Jane Austen.
The man plants himself in front of me and waves the book around in front of my face.
“My daughter read this novel. It’s a love story!”
Looks like somebody’s a big literature buff.
“No, really?” I say with mock indignation, which earns me an angry look from Mrs.Byron.
“Yes!” The man nods sternly, oblivious to the smirk I’m trying to hide. “You shouldn’t lend out books like this. My daughter is only thirteen. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea!”
“You’re right, sir, this is outrageous. I’ll see to it that all love stories are removed from our shelves immediately,” I say, lowering my head in mock concern.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Mrs.Byron biting her lip. She obviously has is stifling a laugh of her own now. Love is such a fundamental part of literature that we would probably have to empty half our shelves if we were to comply with this customer’s wishes.
“Well, then…” My humble apology seems to have taken the wind out of his sails. “Have a nice day, ladies.”
He hands the book to Mrs.Byron warily before leaving the library in a huff.
“He’d do well to remember that anger is also a sin,” I mutter.
I know Mrs.Byron secretly agrees with me, but she gives me another one of her admonishing looks.
“Let’s get back to it, Kaya! We can’t let incidents like this keep us from our day’s work.”
By mid-afternoon, I’m so engrossed in a book that I forget everything else. That’s why I wince in shock when I take a cursory glance at the clock. It’s already half past three.
The meeting with the princess!
I quickly visit the powder room to make sure my braid and clothes are in place. Then I put on my old cloth gloves I brought along specially. I haven’t worn them in ages, but it can’t hurt to give the appearance of modesty and virtue in the palace. After my visit to Hellmouth yesterday, it seems more prudent than ever.
Mrs. Byron is not thrilled when I tell her I have to leave early. She again points out my diligence evaluation. Briefly I consider telling her about my invitation to the palace. But I don’t know the reason behind it yet, and I don’t want her poking her nose into matters that are none of her business.
I make my way on foot. I have to hurry to arrive on time. Several red lights test my patience, and with every step I take my jitters get worse. By the time I reach the palace, it’s already two minutes to four and I am completely out of breath.
The big, dark building is intimidating. I’ve seen pictures of what it used to look like—brighter, with lots of stucco and gold trim. Of course, now the crown doesn’t want to be accused of vanity or greed. That’s why they’ve removed the decor and knocked off the molding.
I take a deep breath before stepping toward the large iron gate that fences off the palace. When I approach the guardhouse and show the guard my invitation from the princess, he raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“If you’ll wait here a moment, Miss Ashton, I’ll get someone to take you to the royal chambers.”
The royal chambers. Suddenly I feel a bit queasy. Up to this point, I still believed that I would be turned away at the gate and it would all end up being a big joke, but as a liveried attendant approaches me, I’m no longer so sure.
“Miss Ashton?”
“Yes?”
“Please follow me.”
Does everyone who works for the royal family have that pinched look around their mouth?
I follow the tall, gray-haired man across the courtyard to a huge set of double doors. The men standing guard next to it open it for us, and for the first time in my life I enter the palace.
My gaze glides over the black and white floor tiles, the arched ceilings, and the high windows. Despite its simplicity, the entrance hall is breathtaking. Its size alone amazes me. Ava’s and my apartment would fit in here four times over.
Our footsteps echo off the bare white walls as we walk down a long hallway. I keep slowing down until the servant turns to me impatiently.
“Miss Ashton?” He looks at me questioningly and his fingers drum impatiently against his thigh.
“Sorry.”
I continue on unsteady legs.
What am I doing here?
I can still make a run for it. Back through the huge entrance hall and across the courtyard. But do I have a choice at this point? When the royal family summons you, you must appear.
They command, we obey.
“Please.”
The servant has stopped. With an outstretched arm he points to the room on his right. The door is open. I take a hesitant step forward. The white carpet is pristine, and I automatically wonder what a hassle it must be to keep it clean. No whippings happening here, that’s for sure—I suppose it would be hard to get the red stains out. A strange thought, born out of my lingering fear that I’m going to be punished for something.
A rustling of fabric, then someone is approaching me.
“Kaya! May I call you Kaya?”
The voice is soft and bright. The young woman it belongs to is about my age, maybe a year or two younger. She’s wearing a long, gray skirt made of tulle and a black top. Tulle! I haven’t seen such fabric in a long time. If someone like me were to wear it on the street, it would probably cause offense. People would accuse you of extravagance. But I guess the princess of the Empire can take some liberties regarding such things.
It occurs to me that I’ve never heard her speak before. In public, she always stands two paces behind her father. Always silent, always smiling. Arms folded behind her back.
Now she approaches me, and I sink into an awkward curtsy, almost tripping over my plain gray skirt.
“Your Royal Highness, it’s an honor—”
Her giggle interrupts my carefully prepared speech. She covers her pale, heart-shaped mouth with her hand. Her naked hand, I note with some surprise.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. But these formalities are always so silly. I’m Ophelia. And please, stop whatever it is you’re doing right now before you break both your legs!”
I guess my curtsy is far from perfect, even after learning how to do it properly in school. Right foot forward, the left toe of my boot touching the ground, then bend my knees.
Embarrassed, I don’t dare to look at the princess. Instead, I let my gaze wander furtively around the room. We’re in a dining room. On a long, polished wooden table, I spot a pot of tea and two cups on a tray. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. There’s someone else in the room. A guard, dressed all in black. The dark-skinned young woman wears her unruly black hair tied in a thick braid, and when I look at her, she returns my gaze with piercing dark brown eyes.
I didn’t know there were women in the palace guard.
When the princess notices my astonishment, she giggles again.
“This is Erin, my personal guard. But don’t worry, as long as you don’t intend to harm me, you have nothing to fear from her. After all, you’re here because I want something from you .”
Right. The letter.
My thoughts return to the formal letter and what a contradiction it is to this friendly, bubbly person in front of me. Her request must be very serious for her to choose such words.
I follow her to the table and at her invitation sit down on one of the chairs. I stay perched on the edge, ready to jump up at any time and run away. The princess notices with an amused smile and pours us tea. Earl Grey. It’s still steaming. I feel its warmth on my cheeks as the princess slides a cup over to me and I bring it to my lips.
“So.” She rests her elbows on the table, her hands pressed flat to the wood. Her fingers drum thoughtfully on the tabletop. “I don’t really know where to start.”
All of a sudden she seems nervous, and that makes me tense as well. I restlessly slide back and forth in my chair. The guard stirs at her post, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Though she doesn’t move from her spot, it feels like we’re all moving closer together for the reveal of a secret that must never leave this room.
“You might be interested to know that the Royal Guard caught Caden Nicholas Nox,” Ophelia finally says.
I shrug, blankly. Caden Nicholas Nox. I’ve never heard that name before.
“He is one of the most dangerous sin mages of all time. Some even call him the King of the Underworld,” the princess explains. “He owns large portions of East Virtue, and his voice carries weight among his peers. He also possesses sensitive information that reaches into the highest political ranks.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
My mind is desperately trying to put the puzzle pieces together, but they just won’t fit.
“Well.” Ophelia stands abruptly and paces beside the long table. Her footsteps sound muffled on the carpet. “I said the Royal Guard caught him, but that’s not really true. Caden Nox turned himself in. He says he has information about a cabinet member who… about a sinner in the king’s cabinet.”
I involuntarily hold my breath. That is a serious accusation. And it would be a scandal if it ever came out.
“But …?”
My mind is full of questions. Why would the princess believe this Caden Nox? How does he even know about the sinner in the king’s cabinet in the first place? And what in all the seven virtues do I have to do with any of it?
Ophelia stops and raises her hands in a placating gesture.
“I can tell from the look on your face that you have a thousand questions. But all you need to know is that we’ve been able to confirm Caden Nox as a reliable source. His knowledge is invaluable to us. But he will not give it up for free.”
Of course not. A man like that gives nothing without expecting something in return.
I try to picture him: a middle-aged man who you can tell is dangerous just by looking at him and who now sits in the palace prison like a spider in its web. It’s probably foolish to give in to his demands, whatever they may be.
“What does he want?” I ask, watching the princess rub her hands together uncomfortably.
An ominous silence settles over the room. My own hands grow sweaty in my gloves, although I’m still not sure about my role in all of this. It’s unlikely that this Caden Nox is asking to borrow a book from our library and wants me to bring it to him. But beyond that, I don’t see what value I could have to him. I am an ordinary young woman, with no talents or connections to speak of. But the look on the princess’s face says otherwise. I detect some concern in her eyes, as well as fear of how I’ll react to her next words.
“You,” she finally blurts out. “He wants you, Kaya.”