Chapter Twenty #2
“Maybe not, but the Emperor Eternal has a very particular manner of educating the princes. As punishment, he was sent to the Eastern Army. I met him when he returned to the City of Flowers last year. And then there was an incident with his half brother. Rumor is, the Eastern Prince was cruel to one of his servants. Struck him for some perceived slight. Our prince stepped in and stopped him from hurting the servant.”
So the prince had a habit of protecting people who couldn’t protect themselves—and being punished for it. It sure seemed like I was another entry in that long list, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“So he made his father angry, and probably the Empress Eternal, and got shipped out here to the borderlands where he can’t make trouble.” His experiences proved how hard it was to fight back against power. And how painful it could be.
“So the story goes.” There was a spark in her eyes. “But I think he can make the best kind of trouble. Candles!” she added, then pulled a small flint holder from her pocket. She walked to the nearest candleholder, wiped away dust, and lit the stubs.
“In case you need this later,” she said, and set the candleholder on a small table that was remarkably unfettered with paper. “I’ve gabbed and now I’m officially behind in my duties. I did come in here for a reason.” She closed her eyes, apparently trying to remember what that was.
“Ah!” she said when they popped open again, and walked to a wooden stand where a single book was propped for easy access. It was large, the leather spine nearly a handspan in width. She hefted it and had to stoop a bit to carry it toward the door.
“Would you like some help with that?”
“No, I’ll manage, but thank you. Oh, were you looking for something specific in here?”
“If I were, would you be able to find it?”
She paused. “No.”
“I’m looking for books about the Aetheric that might help us learn about or stop the practitioner.”
“I’m sorry, but I honestly have no idea where those might be, if we have any. And this is getting heavier by the moment, so I’ll leave you to it. I’ll leave the door unlocked so you can come and go as you please. Feel free to rearrange anything you find. And let me know if you’d like a job.”
She walked out, leaving me alone with whatever many-legged things had made homes in the stacks and piles.
I blew out a breath (probably full of book rot and dead mites), then surveyed the room.
Where was a girl supposed to start in a disused, dusty royal library?
I guess it didn’t really matter, so long as I started somewhere.
I decided to search like a thief: meticulously.
I went back to the main door, began on the left side, and pulled a book from the shelf every few feet to check the title.
Law and history books. Makes sense they’d be first in an imperial palace.
The next shelf held books about etiquette and poetry, then plants and animals, weather and geography.
And on the third shelf—religion. Books describing the world’s origins, the realms, the gods, the rules handed down over the centuries (according to the various Emperors Eternal, anyway).
I found a book that seemed to be about the Aetheric—On the Realm of Sprites and Ghosts and Their Meanderings—but it was just a storybook of hauntings.
I didn’t need stories; my life was already haunted.
Frustration building, I shoved the book back onto the shelf with a little too much enthusiasm. It knocked against the back of the shelf…and made a hollow sound.
I pulled it out, but there appeared to be a normal wooden board behind it. I pulled out a few more books, piled them on the floor (who would notice?), and tapped my knuckles against the wood. I heard the same thing, and I smiled. There was a space behind this shelf.
There was no obvious doorway. Unless the palace had been built with an accidental hollow behind the library, there was a secret room. What would a prince keep inside a secret room?
Not the treasury, given the prince had been the one to suggest I use the library, and he knew I was a thief and would surely poke around.
I ran my fingers along the shelves I could reach, then pulled out books, tapping fingers against the wood behind them to listen for changes in the sound that would signal a different material—and maybe the latch that opened it.
It took time, but I finally found it behind a book of Lys’Careth history. Of course.
A small brass square had been set into the back of the bookshelf. The square pivoted in the middle, so if you pushed one side, the other swung open to reveal a metal ring. I pulled it and heard the snick of a disengaging lock.
“Best sound in the world,” I murmured, and pushed the shelf. Just like the metal square, the entire section of wall pivoted open to reveal a small, dark room.
I pulled out a thick book—Tarmer’s Means of Mountain Lily Reproduction and Its Greate Challenges, undoubtedly a banger—and used it to prop open the door while I grabbed the candelabra Talia had lit.
Maybe the prince had been right, and the gods didn’t punish people for being too happy. Maybe I’d spent too much of my life doing what my father had taught me—not being noticed, not tempting fate.
But I wasn’t not going to check out a secret room. So I stepped over the book (discovering secret rooms was good; getting locked in secret rooms was bad) and slipped inside.
In comparison to the room I’d slept in last night, it was a mean space.
A table and chair on my right, a dark wooden shelf that stretched to the ceiling on my left, a ladder attached to a rail in front of it.
Across from the door, a narrow window rose to a pointed arch, shielded with wooden shutters that were draped with long-abandoned spiderwebs.
I put down the candelabra and pulled open the shutters, sending a shower of dust and sunlight into the room.
I stifled the cough that might have given away my location, then opened the windows to let in the fresh air and turned back again.
The light made the room seem even smaller and dingier. The tabletop was empty but for a broken quill and dried-out inkpot. The shelf was empty, and everything was covered in a layer of dust that said no one had entered in a very long time.
I crouched and ran my fingers over the floor. There were gouges in the wooden boards where the chairs or table had been dragged around, and the edges of the table were worn to bare wood. The room had definitely been used. But what for? And why had it been abandoned?
The space was too small to hold much treasure.
So why would a prince need a secret room in his own palace?
He could use any other space and simply keep the key to himself.
Either he hadn’t wanted anyone to know what was happening in here, or someone else was using it and wanted to keep the prince unaware.
I checked the table’s legs and underside for notes or nooks but found none. Then I climbed the ladder and checked the shelves and wall behind for another secret panel. No panel, but I found a single dusty volume, apparently missed when the room was cleared out.
I climbed down, placed the book on the table, and flicked a dead silverfish off the cover.
Disappointment flared again when I opened it.
There was writing, but it wasn’t in a language I recognized.
I flipped carefully through in case the writer had added sketches that explained the text.
But there were none. Just dense, cramped writing and occasional tea stains and singed edges.
The most disappointing of secret rooms was the room that held no secrets. Sometimes the hunt was more fun than the catch.
While I wasn’t giving up on the possibility that a secret was lurking somewhere, it was at least a private room.
A place where I could escape to, away from palace eyes.
I trusted the prince—at least a little—but I was inside a palace, which was inside a wall patrolled by guards.
His servants—kind as they were—prepared my baths, my food, my clothing, adjusted things in my room.
This was his domain, and he was in control.
Here, at least, I could have the freedom of privacy. That wasn’t nothing.
I put the book back where I’d found it—safe from a casual search should anyone else get here first—and gave the room one last look. Then I blew out the candles, leaving the candelabra behind for my next visit, and slipped out again.
When I returned to my room some hours later, I found Talia pacing outside. “Finally,” she said, her shoulders slumping in relief. “You have to hurry. We’re late as it is.”
“Late for what?”
“The prince’s arrival celebration.”
I’d forgotten about the damned party. I shifted my gaze to the window. “The sun’s not even down yet. We have plenty of time.”
She stared at me. “Have you never been to a party?”
I guessed getting drunk on cheap sweetwine in an alley behind the market didn’t count. “No.”
“Right. Well, there’s a process.” She looked me over. “We have a lot to do.”
“Ouch,” I muttered as she marched to my door like a general preparing to lead troops and went inside. I glanced at Pax, who was back on duty outside. He just shrugged.
Inside, Talia stood in front of the bed, where an array of clothes had been laid out. “Chemise,” she said, naming them all in turn like weapons prepared for battle. “Drawers. Stockings. Petticoat.”
There was more clothing than there was of me. “I’m supposed to wear all of that?”
“In the order I named. Then the dress. All your necessaries will be covered.”
I glanced at her, brows lifted. “Who are you trying to keep out of my necessaries?”