20. Nyx
Chapter 20
Nyx
I find myself wandering the dimly lit corridors of the Elders’ Palace library. It’s late, and perhaps I should have stayed home, entertained by Tansy’s company, or had Twig concoct a potion to ease me into sleep. Yet here I am, compelled by an urgent need to uncover answers about Lyra.
I suspect Elspeth and Granger are asleep, if they’re even at home. Relief washes over me as I enter the vast library and find it deserted. I’m not in the mood to encounter anyone tonight, especially since this place stirs memories of Colton, which I’d rather avoid.
Flora’s searches have turned up nothing useful regarding Lyra’s future, and I refuse to believe my father’s prophecies were mere inventions. They originated from somewhere, and I’m convinced there must be additional writings about the dark Sorcerers or the prophecy concerning Lyra specifically. I am determined to unearth them, even if it means dismantling every library piece by piece.
With the recent revelations of Elspeth’s infidelity, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s kept more of my father’s journals hidden here. Colton managed to procure one of Callum’s journals, and if there were more, he likely would have handed them over to Lyra by now...unless he’s concealing something himself. Or perhaps the journals cast him in an unfavorable light.
Dinner tonight was excruciating. Watching them together is unbearable. I know I should want Lyra to be happy, but I can’t—not when she’s with him. Perhaps that reveals a flaw in my character, but I yearn for her happiness to be intertwined with mine. Colton simply doesn’t deserve her, and I’m fucking tired of him constantly mentioning Z, as if my feelings for Lyra are not real, merely an attempt to fill the void left by her.
I don’t want to dwell on Zaelinn. She’s gone, and pondering what might have been is futile. She’s not coming back. Overwhelmed by frustration, I kick over a stack of books and let out a huff of anger. Perhaps I should head to the training ring at the army camps—unleash some of this pent-up rage on soldiers who could really benefit from the practice.
”Don’t stop on my account. Please knock down the whole library if you think it will help,” she says from behind me.
I roll my eyes before turning to face her, not in the mood for whatever games Elspeth wants to play tonight. Normally, she’s timid and level-headed, but ever since her secret was revealed, I can barely stand to look at her. This woman, who pretended to be my mother’s friend, was having an affair with my father. Really, this mess is all her fault.
Granger has been a wreck. Since the council meeting, I haven’t been able to discuss any political strategy with him. He’s taking this all very hard. I’m surprised they are even still together. For all I know, they might not be—it could all just be for social appearances.
I used to look up to Elspeth after my mother passed, sought her advice and help, even once when Lyra needed her Fae magic awakened. But now I don’t know how to feel about her .
“It won’t help,” I drawl, running a hand through my hair in an attempt to ease the tension building inside me.
“What is it that brought you here tonight? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often Flora has been visiting too. What are you hoping to find?” she asks. I really don’t feel like having this conversation with her. I look down, grappling with how to respond, when she presses on. “You’re searching for a way to get her back, aren’t you?” she probes, catching me off guard.
My eyes snap to hers—what does she know about it? “What if I am?” I reply, striving to keep my voice nonchalant.
“Then I’d say maybe I want to help you,” she offers, taking me even more by surprise.
“Why would you want to help me get Lyra back when she’s engaged to your son?” I ask cautiously. Elspeth is a scheming woman, but her love for Colton is undeniable.
“You don’t need to worry about why. Do you want my help or not?” she says, making me feel like this could be a setup. I glance around the library, extending my essence to confirm we are truly alone.
“I need to know what’s in it for you,” I tell her, not trusting Elspeth to offer help without having her own agenda.
I’m not sure if I care what her agenda is if she truly has something that could help me win Lyra back, but I’m curious if she’ll reveal her motives.
“I don’t want that girl bonding with my son. I don’t want him anywhere near her or her dark magic. Colton can do far better, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure that. But Colton can never know I helped you,” she confides.
I mull this over. Colton can do far better? I suppress a laugh. Clearly, Elspeth’s love for her son is blinding her, maybe driving her a bit mad given all the recent events. Regardless, her reasons are her own—I don’t care as long as I get what I want from the deal .
“Fine. I won’t reveal your involvement to Colton. Now, what do you have that can help me?” I ask, hoping it might be exactly what I suspect.
“Follow me,” she instructs, leading me to the bottom floor of the library. It’s always colder here, and the smell of old books is pungent. She navigates to the back of the room and turns down one of the aisles. At the end, she tugs on two books simultaneously, and magically a door appears in the aisle itself, hidden until now.
Of course. No wonder Flora isn’t finding what I’m looking for—this cunning woman is hiding everything right under our noses. I keep my mouth shut, half-expecting her to tell me to wait here, but instead she allows me to push through the door behind her.
The door opens into a hidden vault, not merely filled with books but shelves packed with jewels and artifacts. I wonder if Granger is aware of this concealed chamber beneath the library.
“What is all of this? Why hide it?” I ask, frustrated that she thinks she can conceal books in my kingdom because she’s an elder. Deciding this isn’t the moment to escalate tensions, I keep my tone controlled, casually masking my irritation.
“Some texts are not meant for public eyes. Some histories are better left buried. As for the other items,” she says, her voice as cool and composed as ever, “I’ve simply collected my fair share of trinkets over the years. Nothing special.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t believe for a second that everything in this room is merely trinkets.
“Listen, I know what I’m about to show you may upset you, but I want you to understand that I loved your father. However, I also love my husband and my son. I kept these things hidden to protect the ones I love,” she says, confirming my suspicions that she might have one of my father’s journals hidden here.
“I understand that love can drive us to do crazy things,” I tell her, meaning every word. She smirks at me, perhaps understanding my feelings more than I realize. She walks over to a large cabinet, pulls open one side, and retrieves a stack of books—a stack of journals. It’s unbelievable how many there are.
“After your parents passed, I hid away every journal of Callum’s that I could find. I feared they might reveal our relationship or Colton’s lineage. I’m sorry for keeping a piece of your father from you all these years.” She hands me the stack, and I glance down, counting roughly sixteen journals.
“Perhaps in death, he will help you get what you truly desire,” she says. Eager to leave, knowing I have many sleepless nights ahead to go through these, I watch as she returns to the cabinet for more. Could there really be more?
“These are letters he wrote. I haven’t read them all myself. His mind was fragile at the end. Take them if you wish,” she continues, handing me a small stack of old envelopes, some wax seals still intact.
I nod and leave without another word. I can’t bring myself to thank her—I’m too furious she hid this from me for so long, my father’s possessions, rightfully mine. Yet I know maintaining her as an ally might be beneficial, so I restrain my anger for now.
I channel back to my bedroom, not wanting to leave these items scattered around my study, especially since Colton has been appearing there lately. My bedroom is safer. I start to set the journals and letters out across my bed, doing a quick inventory of everything.
I wonder how much of this might be the ramblings of a man troubled by delusions. Perhaps my father wasn’t as deranged in his final days as everyone believed. Maybe there was a kernel of truth in his madness, his struggles exacerbated by our disbelief in his predictions and the many prophecies he knew. With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I kick off my boots and grab the first journal from the pile. Settling back against my pillows, I open it to the first page, eager to uncover whether wisdom or madness lies within its worn pages.
This prophecy, these scribblings—they will call it the delusion of a disturbed mind. Let them. For in the truth of these words lies the salvation of those who dare to heed them. Beware, for the night grows darker, and its terrors do not sleep...