Chapter 38 No Queen
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
NO QUEEN
ADELINE
I fight my disappointment. After all, what I wanted was to have a moment alone with the books, so I’ll just head over to the sanctum. Ardruna said I’ll need Roane to enter, but last time the doors weren’t sealed. I wonder if they’re sealed now.
The only way to know whether I can enter on my own is to try.
That has always been my method. Naida always bemoaned the fact I’d try the herbs she gathered or bought, or try to recreate her recipes for supper on my own.
I suppose patience has never been one of my virtues, but I’ve also found out that you can’t really learn something until you’ve attempted it on your own—and fear…
You won’t beat fear of failure unless you go out there and do stuff.
So I can’t regret going out today, even if I caused Ardruna and Roane some grief and trouble. I’ve experienced and learned things I’d never have found out sitting by the fire and minding my own business.
Forget fear. Get moving. That’s my motto.
I repeat it in a loop inside my head as I make my slow way down the dark stairs. The light from the lamps burning below finally flows up the stairwell, illuminating the cracked walls and steps cut in the rock, as well as my holed, leather shoes.
Finally reaching the end, I step into the library with its rows of thick columns. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I’m all alone in the Library of Areon.
“Not alone,” Olm whispers. “You always have me.”
“Aren’t I blessed by the Gods?” I snarl quietly. “You only talk to me when you want something. Also, how in the hells would you be able to help me? You’re inside a book!”
“I thought you didn’t want me to get out again,” he says, and the air shimmers in front of me.
“What…?” I hiss when a tall form appears, knitting itself out of thin air. “Olm.”
“Aline,” he whispers, his voice winding around me like a thin thread, an echo that’s getting louder. “Aline…”
With a start, I remove the book from my bosom and throw it to the floor, panting. His form wavers, then steadies.
I stare. He still looks like a ghost, but much clearer this time, more solid somehow. His form is tall and willowy, more slender than Roane’s. Gods, he’s barely older than a boy!
“I didn’t know you could… You look like a drawing in a book,” I whisper.
He gives a faint laugh, and oh my, he’s cute, nose crinkling and all. “I sort of… am?”
“Is this really how you look?”
He glances down at himself. “Yeah?”
His clothes are… not so much old-fashioned as ornate. The long tunic is heavily embroidered and the tall boots coming up to his knees are embossed with faint symbols. His head is bare, his fair hair cut short, a fringe falling in his eyes. Sharply pointed ears mark him as fae.
“How old are you?” I blurt out.
“I’m an adult, if that’s what worries you.”
“Worry me?” I frown. “Why would that worry me?”
“If that’s… if you’re falling in love with me.” He shrugs his narrow shoulders. “You know.”
“In love with you?” I ask, incredulous.
“Okay,” he mutters, “no need to be rude about it.”
“You’re so young.”
“So are you.”
My mouth flaps. I mean… That’s not the point. “You’re dead,” I finally say. “Your book is old.”
“I’m not dead,” he scoffs. “I live inside my book’s world. If anything, I’m immortal as long as my book exists.”
Damn, he’s right. I’m overwhelmed. Astonished. I don’t know why, come to think of it, but I never expected Olm to actually stand in front of me like a living person. Since he hadn’t shown himself in all this time, apart from that faint outline, I assumed he couldn’t do it.
Although he had sent the serpent. Olm isn’t powerless. I should be careful.
Stupid, I tell myself. How terminally stupid, Aline. Roane may be right, insisting you shouldn’t go out wandering alone. You have shit for brains.
“Can I touch you?” I reach out a hand. “Are you tangible?”
He steps back. “Don’t.”
“Why not? Will you… will you hurt me?” I whisper.
“Hurt you?” The shock in his voice sounds genuine. “Why would I want that?”
“Because I brought you here? And you’re as trapped as I am?”
“We’re trapped together. You stood up for me, didn’t let me be shackled. You…” He flickers, turning. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Someone is here,” he says and simply vanishes, winking out.
No pop, or hiss, or fancy theatrics. Here and then gone, the space he had occupied for long moments now empty.
And then a familiar male voice says, “There you are.”
It’s Roane.
Like every time, he seems to appear out of nowhere—much like Olm had done. Only Roane is absolutely solid and real, his presence sucking all the air out of the room, his scent wrapping me up in a bow.
He leans against a pillar and folds his muscular arms over his chest. His chin dips and he regards me from under his dark lashes. “Are you all right?”
I’m shaken, but I’m not telling him about Olm’s appearance. That would give him yet another argument in his favor, so he can proclaim the book terribly dangerous and demand I hand it over.
Not going to happen. Not yet. I still need to interrogate Olm about that picture of the sanctum he showed me.
So I pretend to ignore Roane and grab the satchel to pull out the calendula I managed to grab on our way back. I stuff pieces of it into my mouth and start chewing them, wincing at the bitterness.
“What are you doing?” Roane asks after long moments of silence.
“What do you think? Making a poultice.”
His expression changes. “Poultice. Are you hurt? I asked you earlier and you said—”
“It’s nothing serious.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he snarls, pushing off the pillar.
I give him an unimpressed look. Chewing the plants is unpleasant. I shoo him and turn around to unlace my vest. My fingers are stiff. In fact, I’m stiff all over, my muscles locked and aching.
Unlacing the vest isn’t as bad as taking it off, though. The moment I stretch my arm back to remove it, I hiss. Just my luck that the bruise and cut, as well as the new slice in my arm, are all on the same side.
A hand grabs my shoulder, and I jerk. “Be still. Let me help.”
I shove at him and spit out the poultice into my palm. “I need to put this on the bruise. It will help heal it.”
“Let me see.”
“What? No.”
But he’s already pushing at my hand and lifting my shirt, and I’m naked underneath. I wrap my other arm over my breasts, to keep the shirt from revealing them. “What are you doing?”
“Checking where you’re wounded. I’m never trusting you again when you say you aren’t hurt. Let me help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
He sighs and reaches for me again.
This time, I don’t move away. I realize I could use the help. He’s a brooding, insulting bastard, but he keeps saving my life. I don’t want to be ungrateful, but I can’t help being mad at him. This is so confusing.
“Is this the bruise from the goblin fight?” he asks, his voice a low rumble as he studies my side.
“Yes.”
“The cut has healed nicely. And this new wound on your arm? How did you get it?”
I shiver from his touch. “The metal birds that attacked us today. A feather cut me.”
His scowl is dark. “Damn, I wasn’t fast enough.”
“You were the fastest person I’ve ever seen fighting,” I admit, “like the kings of old in the tales. How did you know that we were in danger every time, so you could come and save the day?”
“What does it matter?”
“Can’t you just answer me straight for once?” I snap.
He takes the poultice from my palm and starts applying it to the bruise. “I sense when Ardruna or Talton are in danger.”
“Oh. How?”
“I don’t know how that works,” he says, but his voice is tight and I sense he isn’t telling me everything.
His fingers move gently over the bruise and I shiver again. “Roane…”
“Does it hurt when I touch you?”
I shake my head. Lick my lips. It’s the most pleasurable torture, having him touch me. The poultice is cool and his finger pads are warm and rough. They scrape lightly over my skin, trailing goosebumps.
He applies the poultice on the cuts, too, his gaze intent and focused on his task. Eventually, he draws back, wiping his fingers on his pants. “All done.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice cracking a little, and I pull my shirt down to cover myself up.
But he catches the hem before I’m done, keeping it up for a moment longer, his gaze darkening. He swallows, a faint knot moving in his throat.
“Roane.”
“Yes?”
“Let go.”
He lets out a breath of a laugh and lifts both hands, releasing my shirt. “Will that poultice really help heal you?”
“It will. I was raised by a healer. I’ve learned a few things.”
He nods and glances around, his hands clenching at his sides. “Where is Talton?”
“Ardruna went out to look for him. We haven’t seen him all day.”
“Well, then.” Roane goes to kneel by the griffin egg and the pile of clothes left there for me. Those long fingers that were touching me moments ago are now sifting through soft fabrics, belts and brooches. “Have you checked these?”
“Only enough to find these garments I’m wearing. I haven’t had a chance to go through everything.” I wince. “I should have sorted the clothes and folded them, put them away… somewhere.”
“That’s not your job,” he says, sounding far away. “I have no such expectations.”
“Well… good.” My voice is small in the vast space, even though this little corner with the nest and the remnants of the fire feels cozy.
“No queen should be expected to deal with the menial things,” he goes on.
I laugh softly. “I’m not a queen.”
“Every woman is a queen to the man who loves her.”
He’s acting so weird. There is an air of sadness about him and I want to ask if he has lost someone, a woman he once loved perhaps, but I’m not sure I want to know.
Which is me acting weird. I shouldn’t care if he’s sad or hurting. I won’t be staying here long. At least, I hope not.
And that brings me to my earlier resolution. “Roane, I need a weapon. A sword. A knife.”
He doesn’t glance my way. “Do you even know how to use them in a fight?”
“No. But you could teach me. Please?”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. He has gathered up the beautiful white dress from the pile of clothing. “You didn’t try this on.”
“Roane, are you listening to me? I need weapons. And I want to go back into the hall of books. The sanctum.”
He glances up at me, his gaze sharpening. “No.”
“You can’t keep forbidding me to do things. I can understand that being outside is dangerous, but you can accompany me into the sanctum. I only want to learn more about this place.”
That square jaw clenches. His hands fist in the silken fabric of the dress. “Dammit, Aline.”
“If you don’t take me there, I’ll go alone.”
“Fine. I’ll go with you if you wear this dress.” He lets out a long breath. “Deal?”