Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d stared at the water until the ripples remained behind every blink.
Will had plunged his hands into the river, searching, trying to locate any sense of them, but said that water is an element not easily persuaded, and he’d never had an affinity for it like he has with the wind.
If they survived, the current was strong enough to sweep them far, far away by now.
Eventually, we agreed we needed to move on.
If we find out what the queen and Morgana have planned for the wedding, perhaps we can save at least one person.
Even if we couldn’t save those three. No. Don’t think like that.
Back on the saddle, the silence of the aftermath follows every hoofbeat.
“Pigeon will be okay, won’t she?” I whisper, my head slumped between Will’s shoulder blades. A question and not a question. A truth I don’t know.
“She’s survived much worse,” he says, but there’s a forced lightness to his tone, a concern he’s not letting himself dwell on. “That river leads to the citadel anyway, so we can always check on our way back, ride along the bank.”
“Yes, please.”
For any sign of her or Lark and Howell. Gods, in their metal chain mail, I can’t imagine how they could swim…
“We’re almost there,” Will says, and kicks in his heels to spur us on.
It feels wrong to be approaching the Library of Heris with such gloom in my chest. Knowing Morgana resides here has never made me eager to visit, but I’ve had a lifetime of listening to Card and his obsession with the place.
He painted the grandest visions of tall domed ceilings that glistened like the stars on a crisp winter night; of bookshelves that grew like mosaic-decorated branches of a tree, crammed with all the knowledge one could possibly imagine; and more.
Where the students could study and thrive and access the deepest, most intimate archives, and residents could dedicate their lives to research.
He talked about it over and over, until it was imprinted on my mind like an impossibly impressive legend, growing more and more nonsensical as the years went by.
He was exactly right.
The Library stands like a bold mountain under a late-afternoon sky, surrounded by open green fields that make sure it isn’t obstructed.
It’s possibly three, no four, times the size of Alrick Castle, and wildly more interesting.
Where the castle has gray-stone walls and four smooth turrets, the Library has at least ten colossal domed towers, shining like the bricks have been stamped with golden sunlight, and pierced with windows in all kinds of shapes—some paper-thin strips of glass, some rainbow-filled circles, and one large dome in the center that holds a giant bronze telescope perfect for reading the sky.
Will rides us directly toward an open-air stable in a cream-stoned courtyard, vacant of people.
I’m not sure what I expected, but I didn’t realize it would be so quiet.
He ties Jeremy into an empty stall while I stretch my legs to work the feeling back into them.
It’s such a relief to not be sitting. To be moving.
To be finally doing something to make a difference.
“Thank you for bringing us here, Jemmy.” I sigh and wrap my arms around the horse’s neck.
“Jemborino,” Will adds, throwing me a small smile.
Ah. He must have heard it in my voice. The heaviness. The worry. My beautiful, darling raft at sea. He’s trying to lighten the load and cheer me up.
I tug my mouth up.
“Jeronimo.”
“Jezzlebee.”
Will cracks a grin at the giggle he gets out of me. The horse seems to not care what we call him and helps himself to a bucket of feed.
Side by side, Will and I walk over the cream gravel, no chatter of voices covering the crunch of our footsteps.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, tilting my head back. From the entrance, the Library takes up most of the sky.
“Uh, I guess folk at the Library aren’t really outdoorsy people. We—they tend to get stuck in a project and forget about the outside world.”
I hear his slipup and note how his hands have disappeared back into his pockets. I’ve spent enough time around him to pick up that hiding his hands is his way of protecting himself. Of seeming arrogant and uninterested to mask his insecurities.
Something occurs to me that I should have thought about sooner.
“Did you ever meet Morgana when you studied here?”
“No, my mum warned me to stay out of her way when I first started attending. She didn’t have to worry though—we never crossed paths. I heard that Morgana’s always away traveling, and if she is here, she rarely leaves her chambers.”
“Will they know about the warrant for your arrest?”
“Uh…probably.”
“Won’t that be a problem?”
He sucks in air through gritted teeth.
“Depends on how much trouble we make,” he says.
“The Library of Heris prides itself on neutrality. They welcome anyone, regardless of background, as long as you don’t break any rules while you’re on the grounds.
Actually, I knew someone who worked as a chef here who had a pretty long list of crimes to his name back in Senred.
I guess this place can be a second chance. ”
“Okay. So we just have to behave.”
He throws me a wink. “You know me, Princess.”
We reach a set of towering bronze doors engraved with a script I can’t read, and Will places a palm flat on the metal. Like an invitation, the door swings open and he waves me in.
The aroma is a world away from the musty air of the castle library.
This place is luscious, like a field of roses in summer, or a grove of jasmine—exquisitely unique and refreshing.
There’s a pinch of something sharp too, like the tinge of burnt metal and magic that fizzles on my tongue.
I step forward on marble floors made of the richest navy and silver, mouth agape.
Past the sparkles in the air, bookshelves grow in colossal rows toward a twinkling turquoise glass dome ceiling, not in sharp wooden lines, but in crooked curved grooves that house books of all sizes and shapes.
The foyer we’re in heads in a few directions, but each path ends in a deep blue shadow, from which shuffles of turning pages and whispered conversations float.
Card would be so jealous I’m here. I wonder what he’d say. Gods, I miss him. No. Stop it. Focus on the now. Not the bridge. Not the wedding. Only the next step.
“Which way is it?” I ask.
“See the silver in the floor?” Will says, setting off down an aisle. “It reacts to the direction you want to go, so you won’t get lost. Clever, right? Very handy when you want to find a specific book. My professor’s office is this way.”
Will leads me into the maze of bookshelves, past twisting spiral stairs that reach an upper balcony level and wooden ladders that shift along the shelves of their own accord.
Every now and then, a book leaves its place and floats into the air as if waiting to be rescued—or, rather, collected.
As we walk, shimmering silver lines in the floor guide us onward.
“How long did you study here?” I ask, unable to stop turning my head in every direction possible. There’s too much to marvel at.
“Uhh, about eight years. Until I turned sixteen.”
“So you started coming at eight years old? That’s so young. Did you travel here alone?”
“No, at the start, Mum occasionally came with me. Actually, she took a few classes early on to learn more about identity affirming care and to help with my treatments. I take this monthly potion to keep my chemical levels balanced. She learned how to make that here.”
Monthly? It’s a good job he wasn’t held in the dungeons for that amount of time. But I believe Bastion would have gotten Will the care he needed, even if he wanted Will dead.
“That’s amazing of your mum.”
“Yeah, although it was kind of embarrassing to have her hovering nearby when I was trying to seem cool in front of my classmates.”
“That doesn’t sound bad to me. I love spending time with your mum.”
His short bark of a laugh turns into a sigh. “To be honest, the last year and a bit weren’t great, what with the whispers from Alrick. When my dad got really sick, I decided to leave. I wanted to be at home.”
I can tell he’s clenching his fists inside his pockets.
Being back here must be flooding him with memories, and not all will be pleasant.
It makes me wonder if him hiding his hands away so often is related to his transition—if there is any leftover anxiety regarding the shape of his hands.
I’ve had them on my mind since the day he healed my injuries, so I want him to know that they’re a part of him I adore.
I bat at his elbow and get a frown of confusion in return.
“Take your hands out of your pockets,” I order. “I want to hold your hand.”
A laugh of surprise bursts out of him.
“Never subtle are you, Princess,” Will says, and holds his palm out, thin fingers stretched wide. Perfect for mine to interlace with. I lock our fingers together, satisfied. The moon and sun in an eternal embrace. That’s better.
“Cute,” he mutters.
“Shush. Focus.”
We turn again, and for the first time so far, the aisle is occupied.
A woman in white-and-teal robes peers at a bookshelf from behind thin-rimmed oval glasses.
Her long white skirt, embroidered with gold leaves at the hem, is paired with a teal headband resting on long silver hair.
One of her sleeves is pinned where her arm ends at the elbow, while her other arm is extended, keeping a stack of books afloat with a spell.
“Hanya?” Will says, and halts in his tracks.
The woman looks up.
The books clatter to the floor.
“Willoh!”
There’s a moment where she can’t decide whether the fallen books or Will’s appearance demands her attention more. Will twists his hand and the books fly back to their suspended stack.
“Will, you shouldn’t be here,” she whispers, glancing over her shoulder.
“Oh,” Will says. His grip tightens in mine.