Chapter 20
Beneath a sky slowly unveiling its first scattering of stars, Evelyne set off into the unknown, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the road the only sound accompanying her thoughts.
Within the confines of her carriage, she finally allowed herself to breathe, her mind easing for the first time in hours as she gazed out the window, watching the darkened countryside slip past.
She was grateful for Seraphine’s support and the quiet strength in her farewell.
Evelyne had hugged her before slipping into the night, still feeling the warmth of her hands.
As she left, she saw Seraphine brush away a silver strand of hair, her eyes glistening with tears.
The sight almost made her stop, tempting her to stay—but she couldn’t.
This was a journey she had to take alone.
She had no idea where it would lead her.
The thought scared her, but she had no choice—she would figure it out.
No matter how long it took. She refused to let herself imagine the kind of fear Cillian must be feeling—loneliness.
Confusion. Whatever had taken him had been tormenting him for months, a darkness cruel enough to twist his mind in ways she couldn’t understand.
Had he been possessed? Marked by something?
She had been skeptical of magic before, but now…
now she had no choice but to believe it.
Seated on the driver’s bench, Finnegan, a man in his mid-forties, remained as silent as ever.
He had served the Duskwood family for years, his questions never extending beyond “Where to?” or “What time shall we be leaving?”.
His discretion was a gift—one she needed now more than ever.
He didn’t ask why she was leaving alone, why she had packed as if for war.
But she had felt his gaze lingering when she hurried from the manor, luggage in hand, determination in her stride.
She instructed him to take her to the main market of Velenshire, the last place she knew Cillian and their father had visited. And if Cillian had been at the library, then perhaps she would find some clue that could point her in the right direction.
It was a fragile plan, but it was all she had.
An hour later, the carriage rolled to a slow halt.
The horses exhaled in soft huffs as Finnegan climbed down, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones as he pulled open the door.
Before leaving the carriage, Evelyne reached for her carpet bag, carefully checking that the borrowed book was safely inside.
Velenshire breathed with quiet mystery, its streets alive with an energy that made the hairs on Evelyne’s arms stand on end.
As she stepped down from the carriage, the city seemed to watch her in silence, its presence felt in the glistening cobblestones, the whisper of distant voices, the flicker of lantern light stretching shadows against the tightly packed buildings.
She took a slow breath, adjusting the folds of her cloak as she surveyed her surroundings.
The narrow streets wound through the city like veins, guiding the steady hum of nighttime activity.
The air held a strange mix of scents—damp earth, burning wood, and something sweet, like roasted chestnuts—blending with the cool spring evening.
It should have felt normal, but it didn’t.
Something lingered beneath it, something she couldn’t name, as if the city were straining to contain its power.
Evelyne kept moving, her boots clicking against the slick stones as she stepped into the heart of the market.
The square was busier than she expected at this hour, but it lacked the boisterous clamor of Caltheris’ markets.
There were no shouting merchants or noisy haggling; instead, the trade moved with a precise, almost ritualistic rhythm.
She passed by wooden stalls draped in thick fabrics, their awnings low as if shielding their wares from wandering eyes.
Merchants stood behind their displays with quiet confidence, adjusting trinkets.
Glass vials filled with swirling, iridescent liquid caught the glow of dim light, changing colors when tilted.
Silver charms etched with unfamiliar runes dangled from wooden racks, their surfaces worn smooth from handling.
Evelyne’s fingers twitched at her sides. Magic was woven into this place; subtle, unspoken, but undeniably present.
A sudden gust of wind sent a wooden sign swinging gently on its iron post, catching her attention.
Relics and Refinements.
She slowed, her eyes tracing the elegant, looping script of the shop’s name.
Something about it made her hesitate. It was nothing special, just another tucked-away storefront among dozens, but she felt a strange pull toward it, like her feet wanted to move before her mind could decide.
Instead, she turned to the path ahead, toward the library—where she might finally start making sense of all the unanswered questions.
Whatever drew her toward that shop would have to wait.
But even as she walked away, the feeling remained, like she had just brushed against something important… Something waiting for her to return.
“Excuse me!” Evelyne called out to a young woman draped in a white cloak, her fingers delicately tracing the silver charms displayed at one of the market stalls.
The woman turned, her brows knitting together in mild confusion as she took in Evelyne’s unfamiliar face.
“Could you point me toward the library?”
“Of course, miss,” she said, offering a polite nod before gesturing. “It’s just one street over, then turn left after the baker’s shop.” She returned to the charms with a brief smile as if the interruption had never happened.
“Thank you,” Evelyne replied, already moving in the direction given.
The library loomed ahead, its towering presence impossible to miss. Evelyne barely had to search for it—the sheer height of the structure made it stand out against the surrounding buildings like an ancient sentinel.
Stepping inside, she instinctively pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, clutching her carpet bag as a shiver rippled over her skin.
The air inside was cooler than expected, and a quiet hush wrapped around her like a spell.
Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the dimly lit space, each filled with texts that seemed to whisper their own stories.
At the front desk, an elderly librarian sat hunched over a book, her gnarled fingers slowly tracing the text as if committing every word to memory. Evelyne hesitated before stepping forward, clearing her throat.
The librarian barely lifted her gaze. “Yes?” she murmured.
Evelyne reached into her bag and placed the book on the counter.
That got her attention.
The woman’s pale, piercing eyes flicked up, meeting Evelyne’s with quiet intensity. Slowly, she straightened, her eyes shifting between Evelyne and the book.
“You are his sister.”
Evelyne tried to contain her shock. How could she possibly know that? She must see dozens of books and countless borrowers each day. And yet, she recognized this book. And somehow recognized her.
Evelyne opened her mouth, searching for words, but nothing came. The librarian seemed to sense her confusion.
“You have the same eyes.”
Evelyne swallowed hard. “Yes.” She paused, then asked, “Do you recognize this book?”
The librarian nodded.
“My brother borrowed this from here. I was hoping you could tell me anything you know about it, or anything he said or did while he was here.”
Silence stretched between them.
Evelyne exhaled sharply, trying again. “I just… I need to understand why he picked this book. Did he say anything about it?” Her words tumbled out too fast, bordering on desperate.
The older woman tapped her fingers against the book’s worn cover. “I like to believe the books in this library choose the reader rather than the reader choosing the book.”
Evelyne’s eyes dropped to the book beneath the woman’s hand, an uneasy feeling creeping through her.
The librarian’s voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. “This book is calling to you, too… isn’t it?”
Evelyne stiffened. That was ridiculous. Completely mad.
And yet… she couldn’t ignore the truth of it.
The book felt warm against her skin when she touched it, as though it had been waiting for her all along.
She pressed her lips together and shoved the book back into her bag, ignoring how her fingers tingled.
Evelyne exhaled sharply. “I’d like to extend the time on this book, if I may.” She wasn’t finished with it yet. Not even close.
The librarian gave a slow, sly smile. “Of course, dear. And before you leave, do visit my daughter’s shop—Relics and Refinements, just in the market.”
That shop. The name alone stirred something unsettling within her, a reminder of the strange, unshakable pull she had felt upon arriving in Velenshire. She needed to leave. Immediately.
Forcing a polite smile, Evelyne murmured her thanks and turned swiftly toward the exit. The library, and everything within it, was starting to make her skin crawl. She wanted to ask more. A lot more. But the entire encounter left her unnerved.
Keeping to the well-lit stretches of the market streets, Evelyne moved swiftly, her bag drawn close. The last thing she wanted was another nighttime encounter like the one with Lord Bavrick. Her focus was clear: reach the main square and return to the carriage.
Yet, before fully registering where her steps had taken her, she stood at the threshold of the shop.
The one the librarian had urged her to visit.
The one that had pulled at her the moment she arrived.
And before she could stop herself, before she could even think, her hand was already on the knob, turning it.