Chapter 13 #2
“There are stables out back, aren’t there?” I guess. The dude’s a horse lord. He needs his steeds.
He raises his eyebrows, then barks out a surprised laugh. “There aren’t, but I was planning on adding some.”
Memnon wanders over to a bookshelf resting against the back wall of the space. He reaches out and taps a purple clothbound spine. “Can you read me this book?” Memnon asks.
I arch a brow, even as I wander closer. “Now?” But even as I ask, I reach for the book. Grimm’s Fairy Tales is written in gold foiling along its spine.
I’ve only just pulled the top of the book away from the shelf when I hear the snick of a latch tumbling, and then the entire shelf swings out. I stumble back into Memnon, my eyes wide.
“Is this…?”
“Yours?” Memnon finishes. “Yes.”
I don’t think I breathe as I pull the shelf out farther and peer behind it. Beyond the hidden doorway there’s a thick blanket of darkness. I reach inside the space and fumble around until I feel a light switch.
Wall scones flicker on, and I gasp as Nero slithers past my legs and into the room.
“This isn’t real,” I breathe.
Three of the walls are shelves partway full of books. The fourth has more arched windows. And to my left is a winding staircase that rises to another level.
I can sense Memnon’s pleasure and pride—he’s a man who knows my heart’s secrets.
“Empress, in every life and every land we live in, I will give you this.”
My throat works. I believe him, and I am overwhelmed by it.
I wander deeper into the room. There are boxes on the ground, and when I peer inside one, I see Fables and Magic. Next to it is a gilded copy of Latin inscriptions, and beneath that is a weathered tome on Roman curse tablets.
I glance back at Memnon. He clearly bought the books for this space.
“I didn’t want to get too many,” he explains, moving to my side and peering down at the open box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
My throat works. This is the nicest—and most expensive—gift anyone’s gotten me, and that’s saying something, considering Memnon also gave me a car.
I wander around the few freestanding shelves, then around a couch and side table before making my way to the spiral staircase. Memnon watches me the entire time, his eyes tracking me like I’m prey.
“Should I go down or up?” I ask.
“Your choice,” Memnon says.
On a whim, I decide to go down. When I get to the first floor, a floor Nero is already exploring ahead of me, I find it’s a nearly identical level of the library.
The only things noticeably different between this floor and the one above us are the set of wingback chairs that take the place of the second floor’s couch, and the expansive painting hanging on the library’s inner wall that depicts an queen slaying a Greek soldier.
I point to it, ignoring the way my hand trembles from overwhelm. “Cute,” I say with false nonchalance.
Memnon’s smile is entirely too gleeful. “I thought so too.”
I spend several minutes exploring the rows of empty bookshelves before returning my attention to the spiral staircase.
I point to it. “There’s still another floor left, isn’t there?”
Memnon is already nodding. “Do you want to see it?”
“Yes,” I breathe, trying and failing not to sound too giddy. I’m already certain this library is going to become my favorite place in the whole world.
Memnon and I head back to the staircase, climbing up and up until it ends on the third and final floor.
I step off the staircase, my eyes sweeping over the room.
The ceiling slopes as it follows the roofline, and inset into it are skylights, which I imagine flood the room with lots of light in the daytime.
There is also a large paned window that looks out onto the backyard. The space is both charming and cozy.
Unlike the other two floors, this one has a few bookshelves, but the main feature is obviously the desk at the center of the room, along with two blank walls that are clearly meant for anything.
The only bookshelf that has been stocked with books is the one closest to the desk, and when my eyes touch on the familiar spines, I make a small sound.
They’re my journals. The ones I once believed Memnon burned. The ones he kept safe in his bedroom at his last house.
Now they’re here, as close as they can get to this desk.
My desk, if I can actually accept a gift of this magnitude, which currently, I’m having a lot of trouble with.
The entire space—and the fact that Memnon is giving this to me—is entirely too much.
It’s one thing to marry the man—even to take and use some of the smaller items he’s given me.
But an entire library?
I’m shaking my head. “I can’t—”
“You can and you will accept this,” Memnon says with all the haughtiness of the king he once was. Gentler, he adds, “It’s a workspace for you. A place where you can transcribe Sarmatian, or make more grimoires—”
“‘More’?” I echo softly, my heart beginning to race.
He glances over at the shelves of notebooks. “That is essentially what you’ve been doing all these years, is it not?”
I have said as much myself, and yet, how often have I actually considered them grimoires?
They’d always been more like memory books.
And yet now, as I think about those books along with the work I did as Roxilana to transcribe Sarmatian, I have a revelation.
All those rigorous hours spent moving language and life into text, I hadn’t realized I’d been building a calling.
To be honest, I hadn’t thought much about what might come after Henbane. The coven had always been the goal. But it’s right here, right in front of me, the calling that stirs my blood and draws out my magic.
I move over to the desk, run my hand over it. I can remember other desks, other spaces Memnon gave me. Pressing a stylus into wax to form words, reading bawdy stories written in Demotic as I learned to speak and read ancient language after ancient language.
I turn to him. “You were my first teacher,” I say, remembering. “You were terrible at it, too.”
He smiles fondly, the past deep in his eyes. It falls away. “And you were overwhelmed by my gifts then as well.” He steps in close. “We also had enemies then, just as we do now.” He strokes my face.
“The world will never give you permission to be who you are or to do what you’re called for. You must take it for yourself.”
His words brush over my skin, sending a pleasant chill down my spine.
I place my hand over his. “I must take what I wish?” I say, quirking a brow. “When I wish it?”
His bourbon eyes heat with my insinuation. Memnon inclines his head. “You are a queen. You must.”
I hop onto the desk. “Fine, I’ll take it all.”
And with that, I drag him to me and finally accept Memnon’s gift.