Chapter 18
NARYA
The Bloodstone Archive was more beautiful than I could have imagined.
Obsidian shelves rose in endless spirals, climbing towards stained-glass windows that fractured the light into ribbons of crimson and gold.
Ladders glided soundlessly along the shelves, guided by unseen magic, while books slipped free and reshelved themselves, their pages fluttering in the hushed air.
Between the stacks, faint red runes pulsed in the stone, and the silence held the weight of something alive, as if it were guarding every secret written there.
I walked down the aisles, scanning each of the plaques. It didn’t take long until I strode down the linguistic wing. The shelves were all generously stocked, and there were no wards on them when I brushed my fingers over the smooth, leather spines.
When I’d tried touching the Old Tongue shelves in the Selenith Archive, the whole section had been bound by magic that made my hands burn, shake and sting for several days.
No such thing happened in the Bloodstone archive.
Dozens of primers lined the lower shelves, each promising the cadence of another kingdom’s tongue. Excitement coursed through me as I pursued each of them.
Our universal speech—a variation of the Old Tongue—was spoken everywhere, but in each kingdom it had splintered into its own dialect, twisted by blood, gods, and centuries of spite.
It would take me months, perhaps even years, to learn every language.
Yet I was drawn to only one. A sharp, gut-deep certainty whispered that Gravyn had carved his curse on my back in the Old Tongue, confident I would never be able to translate it.
Why else would he have warded those very texts to sear my hands?
I pulled out several introductory books on the Old Tongue and stacked them carefully in my arms. Stepping out of the aisle, I looked down both walkways.
Morning light streamed through the high windows, casting shadows upon the floor.
From the top of the stairs, I could see the entrance to the archive, and the wide, spherical floor with all its cozy furnishings dotted around it.
Velvet armchairs gleamed like spilled wine, dark trestle tables sprawled with maps and scrolls, and hearthfires glowed in every corner.
Cushions in jewel-tones beckoned, as if to remind me knowledge here was meant to be savored, not guarded.
It was all so different to how the Selenith Archive had been.
But I needed somewhere to hide. By now, the captain would’ve discovered my absence and was no doubt looking for me. Or worse, the king was.
I turned around and headed deeper into the archive.
The smell of old parchment, cedar oil, and a faint tang of ink were like a warm embrace as I moved down the aisles.
At the end of one of the aisles I found a nook buried into the wall.
The cushioned seat was shrouded by soft red velvet drapes and a large, arched window stretched behind it.
Soft, golden light spilled through the glass, catching the dust motes in the air and turning them into fireflies.
It was perfect. Just what I was looking for.
I set the books down on the window-seat and spread them out.
Unfastening my cloak, I folded it neatly on one of the emerald pillows and climbed into the nook, drawing the curtains closed behind me.
Some of the pillows scattered and tumbled over the cloak, but I paid them no mind.
I picked up the introductory guide to Old Tongue glyphs and leaned back against the curved wall.
With a quiet sigh, I flipped the cover and let the pages pull me under.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t waiting to die. I was simply… reading. And I'd missed it so much.
It felt like only minutes passed when something stirred on the other side of the curtain.
I froze. Something fluttered, then someone cursed.
My heart rate spiked. Peering through the slit in the curtains, I spotted a tall male cursing under his breath as he tried to gather a collapsed stack of books.
More spilled as he bent to retrieve them, his low, colourful curses echoing off the stone.
He didn’t look like a court official. Not even close.
He looked like something that didn’t quite belong in this world.
Tall and long-limbed, with a black coat swirling at his heels and sea-green hair falling over his brow, he moved with a grace too fluid to be mortal.
His crimson shirt hugged lean muscle underneath, tucked neatly into fitted black trousers that hinted more at rogue than scholar.
But it was his eyes that stole the breath from my throat—pale green-blue, like waveglass left too long under the moonlight.
Whoever he was, he wasn’t a guard. I relaxed at that.
And when he paused to inspect each book for damage, a look of concern passing over his features, that alone made me want to help him.
I set my book aside and pushed the curtains apart.
“Can I help you?” I asked, just as another book fell from his overloaded arms and he cursed again. At the sound of my voice, his head snapped up, and I stilled, wondering if perhaps I'd made a mistake. It was safer in the shadows. More comfortable.
He blinked once at me, and then nodded. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief and crossed the space between us, bending slowly to help him. The books were warm and heavy in my arms, smelling of salt-ink and old cedar.
I lifted several of them higher against my chest. “Where would you like them?”
He gathered the last from the floor and heaved them into a neat pile against his chest. Those strange pale eyes met mine again, unblinking, curious. Too curious. My cheeks flushed.
“Over there will do.” He nodded toward a long reading table. His voice was low and clear with a faint accent I couldn’t place. "Will you manage?"
“Possibly,” I said. “They are quite heavy. I might fall over or faint.”
He blinked at me again.
"I'm joking! Sorry. Yes, I’ll manage. They’re just books.”
Just beautiful, wonderful books.
He gave a lopsided grin, the kind that hovered over a deep dimple and lingered longer than it should’ve.
“Thank you.”
As he turned, I noticed the belt around his waist. Dark, shiny leather with slim pockets, each one cradling a tightly wrapped scroll. The seals winked in the light as he moved.
“Are you the archivist here?”
He glanced over his shoulder with a sly grin. “What gave me away?”
“The belt. I remember the Selenith archivist wearing one just like it.” I followed him toward the table, balancing the books carefully. “They use the scrolls to track inventory, don’t they?”
He nodded, setting a stack down. “They’re enchanted to map the entire archive. Makes it easier to find the texts we forget how to pronounce.”
I laughed softly. “You really don’t look like an archivist.”
“I suppose I don't," he agreed, then after a beat: "The robes are itchy. Even the Bloodstone ones."
“Maybe you’re setting a new fashion trend,” I teased.
He glanced sideways at me. “Would that appeal to so beautiful a lady?”
I stopped and stared at him. Did he just—? “Wait... Was that—flirting?”
He laughed, the sound bright and infectious.
There was something about him that just pulled me in.
His presence didn’t press on me, it didn’t demand.
It just… invited. Made me feel relaxed in a way I'd never felt with anyone so quickly before.
Certainly not with a stranger. And certainly not a male.
“I'm the Chief Archivist,” he explained after a moment.
"But you're so—”
“Handsome?” he offered, with a slowly arching eyebrow.
“—young.”
Another laugh slipped from his lips. “I have my mother to thank for that. She insisted on passing on her nymphean genes.”
“Nymphean?” I studied him for a moment, my pulse quickening. I'd never seen a nymph before. They were a notoriously private species and mostly kept to their woods and coves. I’d only read about them in books.
I tilted my head to get a better look at him. Now that I thought about it, and with the light hitting him just right, I could see his skin shimmering ever so faintly, and beneath it, ripples of scales moved like light across water.
A sea nymph.
“Only half,” he added, and this time his voice was quieter. “My father is full Bloodstone, and full of pride. If you’re unlucky, you’ll meet him at court.”
Something dark passed across his features, quickly hidden behind a smooth smile. He picked up one of the books and slid it onto a shelf.
“Forgive me for asking, but should you not be making your way there?”
My stomach dropped. “Is it time already?”
He glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Almost,” he said. “But don’t look too excited.”
His smile was teasing, but I suddenly felt sick. Dizzy. My fingers shot to the fur at my collar, pressing against the crystal hidden there. It warmed beneath my palm.
“More like terrified,” I whispered.
He reached out, gently brushing my arm. I froze at the contact.
“And why would that be—”
“Yes. Why, indeed?”
Daigen’s voice scraped over us like broken glass.
He stood at the end of the aisle, his arms crossed, crimson cloak spilling over his shoulder. His eyes weren’t on me. They were locked on the hand on my arm.
“Your Majesty…” The male bowed stiffly, his hand falling away slowly. The muscle in his neck strained with the effort. “I did not expect—”
“I see you’ve met your future queen, Nakólys,” Daigen said, his eyes dragging slowly up from the scroll belt to my face. "Tell me, did she offer you her loyalty as quickly as she offered her help?"
His voice was far too calm. The kind of superficial calm that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. And the insult in his voice did not escape me, nor the anger it dragged back up inside.