Chapter 16
’m getting nowhere.” I drop my book onto the table with a thud. Somebody shushes me.
“You’re supposed to be quiet in the library,” says Cygnus with a scowl.
It’s been nearly a fortnight since our descent into the maze. Climbing back out took the better part of a day, most of which was spent bickering over possible solutions to the riddle. I’ve been simmering it over since, but haven’t come anywhere close to a solution.
Part of the problem is that we’ve been too busy.
The hospital is teeming as Damien’s forces make headway in southern Sontaag.
We’ve just received news that they conquered another of the coastal cities, leaving only nine independent of imperial control.
Now that Cygnus and I are allied, he’s stopped wasting my time with chores.
If I am not working on the omnidraught, I am helping patients.
And every night, with his assistance, I sweep through the East Wing, administering my Talent to do what he can’t.
We have to be careful to avoid detection.
I can’t save everyone. But we are making a difference.
I can’t say as much about the omnidraught.
The queen has been asking about my progress, and I am too embarrassed to tell her about my failed first attempt.
I told her I need more time to work through Ragglestaff’s notes, which isn’t a lie.
But I doubt she’d be impressed if she knew I’ve attempted the recipe now four separate times—each ending in another round of failure.
It is becoming increasingly clear that there is an ingredient missing.
What that could be eludes me. I’m very close to enlisting Cygnus’s help, but I don’t trust him that much quite yet.
I find myself wishing I could talk to Finn, but the prince is still avoiding me.
His absence aches more than the skakabri’s venom.
Why won’t he just talk to me? I am tempted to seek him out directly, but the impulse deflates when I remember the truth about the Frumentari.
According to Cygnus, his entire job is to find and hunt people like me, so why do I still miss him?
Cygnus turns the page he’s examining. “The reason you’re getting nowhere with that particular text is because it was written by an imperialist simpleton.”
I push aside my thoughts of Finn and refocus on our work. “How do you know?”
“Check the colophon.” He gestures toward the back of his volume. “There’s information about who made it and when. The inscription should tell you whether the book was printed or copied AV or BV.”
“BV?”
“Before Verdin.”
I flip to the symbols, studying the curling script.
“Anything stamped AV is probably pure propaganda,” Cygnus explains in a whisper soft enough for only our ears to detect.
“Verdin the Vanquisher liked to reimagine events the way he’d have preferred them to happen and record that as truth.
When his dragons razed Evermore, they hit the libraries first. That was deliberate.
Elven knowledge: the runic language, spellcraft, wellsprung potioneering…
it was always our most powerful asset. So Verdin went at it the hardest. Muddling the past is still their strategy today. ”
He reaches for one of the books stacked between us, an old leather volume with a glossy black cover. Then he flips to the colophon. “See this? Read the inscription.”
By my mother’s blood and my father’s name: I seal these words.
“And the date—there.” He points. “That’s where the librarian has stamped the year.”
345 BV. I try to imagine an Elven scholar roaming these halls. It’s hard to fathom.
“After the war, runes and spellcraft were banned in schools,” Cygnus explains.
“Verdin ordered anything with explicit magical knowledge be burned. For the first hundred years or so, people resisted by passing on knowledge orally. But the Verdish caught on and criminalized that, too. I found a record of an opera singer in Westgard who performed The Heir of Evermore in public, and they slaughtered her with her entire family. People eventually got scared, of course. Other than what was preserved in Sontaag and Ursandor, that knowledge was essentially lost.”
My teeth grind as I realize how much I’ve taken Mother’s spellbooks for granted. I never fathomed their value.
“Aren’t we wasting our time here, if every reference to the gates has already been burned?” I ask.
“You’ve got to read around the bullshit,” says Cygnus. “Like this one—look.” He slides a volume toward me.
I pick it up skeptically. “This is an encyclopedia of imperial sewage systems.”
“Right. It’s all the crap you have to read around.
But check this out—page four hundred thirty-eight.
” He flips through the book eagerly, stopping at a page that contains what looks like a map of Crown City with webbing over the top.
He reads aloud: “‘When erecting Crown City, the resourceful king utilized a natural system of tunnels beneath the city to divert sewage from his castle toward the designated dumping zones.’ There is a chance that could be referring to what’s under the Everwillow. ”
“You read four hundred pages of a sewage encyclopedia to get to that?” I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.
Cygnus looks offended. “I wanted to be thorough.”
“My mother would love you.” I sigh and shut my book. I’m pretty sure that the answers we need aren’t going to be found in books—let alone books in the royal library.
“Recite it for me one last time?” Cygnus asks.
I’ve repeated the translated riddle so many times I have it memorized. “‘I am always in your heart, and I can never be replaced. Once gone, I go forever, but you see me in every face.’”
Cygnus nods and starts muttering under his breath, repeating the riddle to himself.
His brow is furrowed in concentration. Seeing him focused and hunched over a stack of books, I can picture him at Belshire—studious, determined, and thirsting for knowledge.
In a different world, would we have attended school together? Could we have been friends?
“It couldn’t be love, could it?” I guess, turning the riddle over in my head one more time. “I know a few recipes for love potions.”
His brows rise. “Setting that terrifying notion aside, love doesn’t make sense. Love doesn’t leave forever. People change their minds all the time. And how do you see love in every face?”
“Well, aren’t you romantic?”
“I’m not the one brewing love potions.”
“I’ve never used one!” My face burns. “Forget it. It was a stupid idea.”
Cygnus doesn’t reply—just stands abruptly, looking over my shoulder, and dips into a bow. “Hello, Your Highness.”
Panic stabs through me as I realize I’m half hoping and half dreading it’s Finn. But when I wheel around, I’m disappointed to find it’s the princess of Ursandor sauntering toward us.
I bang my knee on the table as I rise, attempting a curtsy. “Your Highness.”
“Oh, come on,” Sandria huffs. “Drop the formality, will you? When you call me Your Highness, I feel like a governess.”
I study the princess warily as she sinks into a chair beside me.
She’s wearing a silver gown today with billowy sleeves and a neckline that sweeps invitingly off both her shoulders.
Her corset is embroidered with layered pine trees—Ironwoods, I assume, considering their significance as the number one export of Ursandor.
At the feast, I found Sandria charming. But nothing in this castle is quite as it seems. I wonder now if that charm is a well-made trap.
I can’t read intention in those violet eyes.
Is she someone who would unleash a plague?
“I can’t picture you as a governess,” says Cygnus, casually covering the books we were reading.
“True.” She purses her full lips. “I’d be far too corrupting to innocent minds.” Sandria leans back and appraises us. “Are we working on a groundbreaking medical discovery this morning? Or have I interrupted a date?”
Cygnus almost chokes.
“It’s not a date,” I say very quickly, my face growing hot. What’s she playing at?
“Really?” Her eyebrows rise, and she looks between us. “I can see it.”
I think she’s baiting me, and I don’t like it. She can’t possibly be threatened by my existence. Sitting next to Sandria makes me feel like a cuckoo among songbirds. Except maybe she’s the cuckoo in this situation, scheming to toss me out of the nest.
“Is there something we can do for you, Princess?” asks Cygnus.
Sandria smiles. “As a matter of fact, there is. I’d like to invite Lyria to accompany me to Sebastian’s name day party in Easton.” She looks at me pointedly.
The invitation has me taken aback. “You want what?”
Sandria sighs, like I’ve caused her great inconvenience with my question.
“The Thornes are throwing a party for Prince Sebastian this weekend, and I’m inviting you to join me. I’d like you to ride in my carriage. You can bring along a friend if you’d like. You don’t have any other plans, correct? I assume there’s nothing else important happening around here.”
I am not sure how to respond. I suspect I can’t refuse a princess without attracting ire. But the idea of extended confinement with Sandria makes my skin crawl. What if her intention is to sabotage my efforts at making the cure?
“Thank you, but I don’t think Cygnus can spare me at the hospital right now,” I say, shooting him a pleading look.
Cygnus’s eyes dance with something unfamiliar, and I swear he smiles as he says, “Actually, I think the hospital will be fine without you.”
I glare back at him. Asshole.
“Well, then it’s settled,” says the princess, clapping her hands together. “Our carriage leaves at dawn, so meet us in the forecourt before then. Don’t eat too big of a breakfast—the Verdish roads are heinous. You won’t want to get sick.”
I’m opening my mouth to protest as she fixes one of her radiant smiles on Cygnus.
“I hope you’ll be joining the party as well?”
He clears his throat. “Unfortunately, I’ve got too much on my plate to take the time off. But I wish you both a terrific time, and I’ll be eager to hear all about it.”
Sandria looks disappointed, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her express a genuine emotion. “Hmm. Well, you’ll be missed.”
Does she actually like Cygnus? The wonders of this castle never cease.
Quickly schooling her features back to her disarming smile, Sandria stands. “See you tomorrow, Lyria.” With a wink and an expert toss of her glossy black hair, she slinks away.
I turn a glare on Cygnus, who is barely withholding laughter.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” I grumble, once she’s out of earshot.
He just grins. “Gods, you hate her, don’t you?”
“No! I don’t hate her,” I insist quickly. “She just…you know. She’s so…” I gesture.
Cygnus smiles, returning to his reading. “She’s lovely, once you get to know her.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “Yeah? You two seem friendly.”
Cygnus is suddenly quite intent on picking a piece of lint off his Healer’s uniform. “Sandria’s been at court since we were kids. Her parents sent her here as a political move when their conflict started with Verdinae. We practically grew up together.”
For some reason, these words make a lump stick in my throat.
I’m imagining Cygnus and Sandria as children with Finn and his brothers, all running around in a gleeful game of tag.
Odessa is there, too, even though I know that’s an anachronism.
Plus, Sandria doesn’t even seem friendly with the Thornes.
None of that eases the longing at this daydream’s core.
“Nothing ever happened,” says Cygnus abruptly.
“Huh?” I ask, broken out of my thoughts.
He’s clearly embarrassed. “I know what you’re thinking. Just to set the record straight, we never did anything like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Stop it. It’s not funny.”
I grin wickedly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s not like that!”
I laugh, raising my hands in mock surrender. “Look, whatever you and Sandria do is none of my business. But you’re being awfully defensive about something that apparently never happened.”
“I’ve got work to get back to.” Cygnus sweeps to his feet and energetically gathers his books. “If you figure something out, let me know, all right? I’ll keep reading in the meantime.”
I start laughing again. It feels pretty damn good to have him be the one squirming for once. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“There is no secret!”
“Whatever you say.”
I can’t resist grinning as he stomps away.