Chapter 30
Normally, I could catch an infantry general punching a stone wall and carry on about my day, except Mazzar cracked said stone wall. And I swear, his hair flickered from his usual blinding white, to a depthless black. So, I did some digging. Turns out he’s not from Zarr. It also turns out he just took a fleet of Zarr infantry somewhere very far away, without my brother’s orders. And by very far away, I mean, another realm.
My guards remain outside the cove door. A door that’s different from the rest of the castle.
Older.
The designs etched in the black iron are symbols from another time in another language. The door’s heavy weight glides shut behind me, and I descend between a wall of books that grows as the spiraling stairs sink downward. Each stair burns my legs, but thanks to the healing salve, my back pain is manageable. The salve had to have been semi-enchanted to work this well.
Liha floats in and out of my shield as she does after my brutal punishments, with too much nervous energy to stay put.
Mother is beside her usual fireplace with a pillar of Zo books at the base of her chair. Her legs are tucked underneath her, and she’s leaning one arm over the armrest, the other clutching a small book.
“Nizzara.” Her eyes rise above the rim of the book and like always, there’s an additional level of hardness when directed at me.
I breathe in the smell of books. Books that are mostly about war tactics, infantry training, along with fiction and some languages and histories, since the Zo’s dictate what knowledge is allowed to whom, as was agreed upon in the power split of the four kingdoms. Sometimes I wonder if Mother goaded Father into sending her to live down here on purpose.
Mother drapes her book over the armrest. “What should I curate for you?”
At least she’s talking to me. Then again, she is the acting librarian, since the last one got caught aiding rebel supply chains.
“A book about the Jaxelli, a book on gems, and one of the usual.” My insatiable brain still hasn’t let go of Thaddeus’s mention of rare gems. He would no doubt be immensely satisfied if he discovered how much his little comment has festered in the background.
She raises a sleek brow. “Scholars frown on the usual, you know.”
“That’s why I asked for a two-to-one ratio.”
“Ha,” she says—it’s the closest thing to a laugh I’ve ever heard—and rises to her feet, summoning her purple smoke to move a glo gem above her head, since the electrical lights died out down here years ago without the fourth kingdom around to fix it. “That’s what I will tell the scholars next time they look at my stack of books.”
She waves for me to follow to the elevator, which luckily still works—for now. I peer over the stone railing like always. The levels below are dark, dusty, and so small compared to the libraries of Zo, and I try to convince myself that she is bringing me with her because she wants to, not because it is part of Father’s twisted punishment of banishing her here.
Despite the lingering pain clinging to my body, my tension lessens the longer I’m submerged in the expanse of books in every direction. Mother’s living quarters are here on the top row, and below are ten floors of books—most of which are written in the lost language.
“Have you decoded the ancient language yet?” I ask, following her into the small elevator, hating that part of me longs for this close proximity to her.
As the cart eases us down soundlessly, the lights of the top-level fall away, and we are left to Mother’s glo stone.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Hmm. I normally don’t sense your mother’s desires, but she desires you mind your own business.”
It’s the first time Liha speaks since joining my shield after father’s punishment. I know my punishments trigger bad memories for her, and she can’t protect me against my father, but sometimes I wish she didn’t have to leave me alone.
She must sense this desire because she says, “I care for you, my Nizzara.”
Her feathery being brushes my cheek and I lean into it. As much as I wish I didn’t have to face the punishments alone, I’d never ask her to relive those traumas.
“And I for you.”
The darkness gets oilier the further we dip. Finally, the elevator lurches to a stop.
Here, just Mother and I, without Tarella, or guards, or father, I build the courage to say, “The preliminaries have a warmup duel.” I ask, a pinch forming in my chest, “Would you be my partner for it?” Mother was a good dueler in her younger years, and I would love to spar with her just once.
“No. I’m practicing with Tarella while you’re gone.”
“Of course you are.” The pinch in my chest elongates and sharpens until it resembles a dagger through my heart. I have to ask, “Why is she your favorite?”
She flips around to face me, teeth bared. “Do you have to be everyone’s favorite?”
“I just want to know what I did—”
“Enough of this.” Mother spins away and stalks ahead, fists clenched, but I stomp after her, following down the dark alcoves full of dusty books.
“Just tell me why,” I call, my voice breaking.
I love books like she does, love angry music like she does. We have the same taste in desserts, the same desire for scholarly conversations. Tarella shares none of that.
“Why do you love her more?”
She stops in front of a dark, ancient shelf, but does not face me, so I round her, forcing her to look me in the eyes.
“Why don’t you love us equally?” I plant myself there, ready to hear about my anger issues, my lack of political tact, or how I disgrace my Zo heritage with white hair and lighter skin.
She goes to step around me, her face reddening. “We are here to get books, not discuss feelings.”
The crack in my chest spreads. She’s not denying it.
“Is it because I look like Father? I know you detest him, but I—”
“We are not discussing this.”
She attempts to push past, but I need to know, and my rage, like a red cord, winds tighter and tighter inside me. I shove her back, forcing her to look me in the eyes and answer me.
“Why?! Why do you treat me like I am nothing to you?”
Her stance instantly shifts into an offensive position, her balled fists shaking at her sides. “Because you are not mine!” she shouts.
The dark tunnels surrounding us absorb her words faster than I do.
“What?”
Some distant part of me whispers, I told you so. But that doesn’t lessen the knots strangling me from the inside or the sting behind my throat and eyes.
“Before I was forced to marry your father, I was in love with a servant. I fell pregnant with his child.”
“Tarella,” I whisper.
She nods. “I was the second chosen heir to the Zo Kingdom until my father found out I carried a servant’s child. He killed Jock when I was barely ten weeks along and arranged the marriage to your father, who was the Zarr infantry general at the time.
“I wanted nothing to do with your father, so I stayed in Zo during the first years of our marriage while he led the Zarr infantry. He didn’t care about me either, so it worked. After I had Tarella, I struggled to recover. I locked myself in my own wing with only one servant, Jock’s sister. Nine months went by, and that’s when your father brought you to me. He told me if I wanted Tarella to live, then I would claim you as my own.”
Her face tightens. “Then he killed the only witness who knew you were not mine.”
“Jock’s sister,” I choke out.
Her steel-hard gaze turns to me. “I know you are innocent in this, but I can’t help my resentment of being forced to raise you.”
My voice breaks. “Then who is my mo—”
“I don’t know who she is, but I know that he loved her. And she left him. Now, if you care about my life, this conversation has to be over.”
My entire world shifts around me. Everything looks the same but isn’t. And it only makes the stabbing in my chest cut deeper. Does no one want me? Am I that awful?
Her eyes harden in the white light of her glo stone floating above. “It is time to find your books.”
Soriah leads me along the center railing overlooking the bottom levels. We pass rows of shelves in silence. I battle against myself, keeping my expression somewhat normal despite the fresh sting of her words and the lingering throb from Father’s whip. With every step I take, the ache in my throat sharpens, and it becomes harder and harder to keep the rising tears away.
“Here,” she says, pulling the spine of a thick book. “A book about the Jaxelli.” She turns us back to the elevator and we rise a few levels. I follow as she weaves deftly between the maze of shelving until she finds the wall of books she was looking for. “A book on gem theory,” she says. “And one of the usual is up top on my stack.”
When we reach the top, I follow her to a set of shelves sitting at a different angle than the rest. She runs her fingers along the spines until she finds the one she’s looking for. But instead of pulling it off the shelf, she pushes it inward. It makes a soft thunk before a crack begins forming up the books. The crack makes a doorway shape. Once it stops, Soriah pushes inward, and it swings open.
“You didn’t think I slept in the caretaker quarters, did you? The ancients had a flair for secrecy, and I enjoy living on the inside of their jokes,” she says, a twinkle in her eye that surfaces when she breeches any sort of history topic.
I step through the doorway and into a room of study that leads to more rooms, which I assume are living quarters. The room is lit with magic I’ve never seen. Holes in the ceiling that appear to have blinding sunlight shining through, different than glo stones. Different than the electrical lights built into our cars or the city streetlamps. A luxurious red desk, with a stack of books on top, a fireplace, the design of which I’ve never seen—carved in symbols I can’t decipher. A personal-sized bookshelf and a white, velvet-soft ottoman comfortably fit in the room. She plucks a book from her shelf.
“One of the usual.”
I take it from her, but she doesn’t let go. “I have plans to leave, Nizzara.”
My hand freezes on the binding. “What?”
Liha fades from my shield for the umpteenth time, my emotions probably too intense for her.
Soriah clenches her fists. “I cannot stay here much longer. You are betrothed now, accepted into society as my legitimate, royal heir, because I’ve repeatedly claimed you through every political dinner, ball, court, and duel. This will be solidified when you marry. Your father has no more use for me, and that’s a very dangerous thing.”
“But—”
“I plan to take Tarella with me.”
Alone. I will be alone. Even though I am not close with Tarella or moth—Soriah—I want them to stay.
Liha bops in and out, too anxious from the tension, but returns to say, “You will have me.”
She nudges me with her warm pocket of air, her voice seeming distant as my world begins to crumble.
“You would not take me?” My voice cracks. I know I’m not perfect. That I have a temper and say things I don’t mean, but I’m trying—
“Even if I wanted to take you, your father would hunt me down and kill me for it.”
There it is. She does not want me. My face doesn’t obey me this time and tears form. “Where will you go?”
“I can’t say.”
Soriah makes to touch my shoulder, but before she can, a hardness takes her expression, and she drops her arm.
“I wasn’t a good mother to you.” She pulls one more book off of her shelf. “Raising you . . .” Her brows furrow. “There were signs you were different, and I think I may have discovered part of your heritage.” She shakes her head. “But it’s only a theory. Let this book be my peace to you.”
Father’s voice booms from a distance. “Soriah!”
Soriah shoves the book back onto her shelf and ushers me out of the hidden room, closing the door behind us. “Fix your face, Nizzara.” She yanks my hand, hauling me out of the shelves toward father.
For once, I can’t fix my damned face, so I call on our Mark to filter out my unwanted emotions.
“Do not ignore me, Soriah!”
“We are here,” she calls to him, releasing my hand and calming our pace.
Another two bookshelves and we are back at the staircase that leads up into the castle. Father’s expression lightens some when he sees me with her. I’ve always wondered how my Mark makes me look in Father’s eyes, much more ruthless, no doubt.
“Nizzara,” he says as if he is pleased to see me, as if he wasn’t just whipping my back thirty minutes ago. The way he’d disappeared surges into my mind again. I make a mental note to analyze it later, when I have a moment to think.
“Mother curated some books for me.”
His eyes slice over to Soriah as he motions me to come with a flick of his fingers. “Show me.”
“A history of the Jaxelli warriors,” he says, approval clear in his tone, before snatching the next one. “Gem Theory.” His brows tighten. “And—”
He takes the last one. “A romantic novel. What rubbish.” He hands them back to me then says, “Go to the training room and practice for tomorrow.”
I glance at Soriah before leaving, wondering if this will be the last time I see the woman I believed to be my mother, but she doesn’t look at me, not even to say goodbye.