16 Lady Lucille #3
They ducked under the arched entrance to the Index and approached a desk in the entryway.
A young man sat behind it, his golden hair swept back, a pair of round glasses propped atop his head.
He jolted to his feet, fumbling to slide the glasses down onto his nose.
He gave a hurried bow and gestured towards a narrow staircase on the right.
“He’s in the usual room, Your Highness. Lady. ”
Elijah gave a curt nod, and Vaelira offered the man a warm smile. He tried to return it, but the grin was all awkward teeth. Smothering a laugh, she followed Elijah up the stairs.
As they climbed, she held her skirts aloft with one hand and let the other hand trail along the rough rock wall.
With each step, her awe began to fade, replaced by the rush of blood in her ears.
If Galfri refused to help her, she wouldn’t just accept it.
She was too close to finding the answers she wanted, the answers she needed to avenge Jon.
She would not walk away without a fight.
They stopped before the door marked with a seven. Elijah lifted his hand to knock, but the door opened before his knuckles touched the wood.
A small man in long pale robes stood before them.
His tawny skin was deeply lined, his frame hollow, sharp cheekbones prominent beneath eyes the colour of warm honey.
He smiled, deepening the creases in his face, and stepped forward to clasp both of Vaelira’s hands in his own.
He squeezed gently. “I am sorry it has taken so long for us to meet, child,” he said.
His voice was soft enough to be carried away on a breeze.
“Thank you for bringing her, Elijah. We will talk in private now.”
“I should make sure she gets back safely,” he said.
Galfri smiled, unbothered by his prince’s words. “Do not worry. I will see her returned in one piece.”
“I would prefer to stay.”
“I admire your commitment, my Prince, but there is no need.” Galfri looked kindly at Elijah, but he did not smile. Vaelira admired the man’s fortitude.
To Vaelira’s surprise, Elijah nodded stiffly, then turned on his heel and strode down the hall without a backward glance.
Galfri stepped aside and Vaelira stepped into the small room.
The walls were bare stone, a large glassless window opening out over the expansive library.
She moved towards it and watched as Elijah began the long, spiralling climb past the aisles and up towards the palace.
From this depth, the door they’d come through looked tiny.
If she hadn’t known it was there, she might have missed it entirely.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Galfri said.
She turned back to find him already seated at a table in the corner, the warm smile returned to his weathered face.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Long before the Great Fire,” he said, his voice slow and reverent, “a mage ordered this library carved into the mountain. It was to hold every book that had ever been written. It took fifty years to hollow out the space. They say spells were cast to keep the paths and rooms from collapsing, and all these years later they still hold.”
Vaelira looked up to the ceiling, trying to imagine how much rock pressed in above them, and the damage it would cause if those casts failed.
“Daily shipments would arrive with scrolls and tomes from every corner of the land, covering everything from cookery to the darkest of subjects.” His eyes grew distant.
“It is a haven for these scripts. The Great Fire devoured the West, but the mountains protected Eastvale. And the books. We don’t receive regular shipments anymore but sometimes a traveller brings us something they find. ” His golden eyes settled on her again.
“If I’d known, I would have brought something with me,” she said, lowering herself into a chair and arranging her skirts as best she could. The silk suddenly felt absurd.
“The books in Anhaven came from this library. You would only be returning what was already given,” he laughed softly. “If you have questions, now is the time to ask.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
She released the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her chest easing with it. Then two words rushed out, barely a whisper of breath. “Why me?” The question had stalked her for weeks, ever since she’d placed the blushrose on Jon’s pyre.
Galfri inclined his head. “A sound and reasonable question,” he said. “The awakening of essensia is an unpredictable thing. It is most often passed through bloodlines.”
“Essensia?”
“Magic, child. Essensia is its ancient name.”
Vaelira blinked. “Are you saying one of my parents was a mage?” Her breath hitched. Her father, always so pragmatic, could he have hidden something like this?
“Not necessarily.” Galfri folded his hands atop the table. “Essensia can skip generations. Many, if it wishes. Did any of your kin show signs?”
Vaelira shook her head.
A faint crease appeared between Galfri’s brows. “It may be rooted deep in your ancestry,” he said. “Or you were chosen. It is rare, but not impossible. Still, those we deem chosen may only be awakening bloodlines so old, they’ve passed into legend.”
“How do you know all this?” she asked, sceptical. No one spoke of magic, or essensia, this way. Like it was fact.
Galfri glanced at the window. With a quiet motion, he raised his hand, palm facing up. A flame sparked to life in the centre, no larger than the one atop the candle beside her. With a slow breath, he closed his fingers, smothering it.
Vaelira gaped. “You’re a mage?” she whispered. “Does anyone else know?”
“There is no need to whisper. This room is warded against listening ears. No sound will pass beyond these walls. And no, no one else knows. I didn’t reach this age by sharing such truths freely.
” He smiled. “There is much to learn. But let us first answer your burning questions.” He chuckled to himself.
Vaelira rubbed her forehead, trying to focus. “The moonstone,” she said, drawing it from a hidden pocket sewn in her skirts. She laid it on the table. “It found me, I think. I was drowning and it glowed. I should have died.”
Galfri extended a hand. “May I?”
She nodded. He lifted it, turning the stone in his fingers, then laid it flat in his palm. It glowed instantly, the light spilling across the room in a cold, pale wash. A slight hum filled her ears. Then it was silent, the stone dull once more.
“It wasn’t your power that awakened it,” he said, placing the stone on the table. “The power inside came from someone else, woven into the stone long ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The answer is likely the most obvious. One of your ancestors imbued it to use as a conduit, a way to focus power. When it sensed their blood in you, and that you were in danger, it acted.”
The thought chilled her. “You talk about it like it’s alive.”
He raised a brow. “You don’t feel it?”
Vaelira thought back to the times her magic had lashed out, as if from nowhere. It had always been something that had happened to her, never something she had purposefully done. She nodded slowly. “How did the stone end up at the bottom of a cavern?”
Galfri leaned back, thoughtful. “This was near Anhaven?”
“Yes. There are tunnels that lead down from the cliff to the cave.”
Galfri’s face grew solemn. “We were hunted once. People feared mages the same way they would a disease. The chapels preached that we were an abomination, a corruption of The First Three’s vision for humanity.
It did not matter that we healed and fed their villages.
They feared what they could not control.
” He rubbed his chin, eyes distant. “Fools,” he muttered.
“Many fled across the sea, in search of a land where they would not be persecuted. Others stayed, hiding their power and trying to live like everyone else, but awakened essensia cannot be suppressed for long. Those tunnels would have been carved by mages. Together, they could cut through stone as if it were silk, as they did here. That cavern was likely a refuge, or a place to flee by boat. Perhaps both.”
Vaelira pictured it. Men and women, maybe even children, piling into a rickety wooden skiff, the wind howling as a storm raged, the moonstone clutched in a pale hand, knocked loose by a wave and descending into the murky depths.
Had her ancestor made it out, and what family had they left behind to pass down the magic?
To her.
To Jon.
A sob broke loose before she could stop it. She raised a hand to her mouth.
Galfri reached across the table, taking her free hand.
“My brother,” she said. “He was possessed. If he’d known, if he’d had this power…”
Galfri’s fingers tightened around hers. “Essensia awakens under threat. If he had any, I believe it would have shown itself when the demon came for him.” He paused. “I have thought on it since your arrival in the city. It’s the most logical conclusion.”
Vaelira frowned through the tears. “What do you mean? How did you know?” She wiped her face with her arm.
“Elijah told me the night you arrived.”
“That wasn’t his story to tell,” she said, ignoring the prickling in her palms.
Galfri’s grip tightened. She felt the essensia inside her recoil, the surge ebbing with it. “Control your rage,” he said. “Anger is the easiest path to power, but also the most volatile.”
She clenched her eyes shut, forcing the fury down. It was easier with Galfri’s steady hand anchoring her. She drew a deep breath, concentrating on how her ribs expanded and retracted. When she opened her eyes, Galfri looked back at her with a crease in his brow.
“I drew the demon to Jon,” she said, the truth clawing its way out. “It wasn’t a coincidence. It was me.”
“No,” Galfri said, his voice grave. “Tell me, how many others were you close to in Anhaven? When your instincts sparked, dodging blows you shouldn’t have seen coming, how many were near you?”