Chapter 14
Fourteen
A carved inscription above the stone archway reads: Armies vanquish enemies, but knowledge outlasts any victory.
We slowly enter the library, and I’m awestruck by the magnitude of its domed ceilings. Hundreds upon hundreds of neatly arranged bookshelves, two or three times as tall as I am, spread into the cavernous center. Those out-of-reach books are accessible only with the aid of rolling ladders.
There’s a sense of wonder at the vast information within these walls as I trail behind Klara.
She effortlessly weaves through the aisles, familiarity light in her footsteps.
“Wella should be here somewhere.” Her hazel eyes sparkle as she glances over her shoulder.
“Did you know she’s the Mistress of Knowledge, a Master of Bibliotheca and Libraries across our realm? ”
I shake my head, breathing in the scent of parchment and ancient stone.
“Oh yes! She trained at the Citadel her whole life before coming here. She’s probably the smartest person in the kingdom.
The king always went to her for help—” Something catches Klara’s attention, and her face tightens.
With shifting eyes, she quickly mumbles, “I’ll be right back.
There’s someone I need to speak with—just a moment. ”
I turn around but don’t see anyone. She’s already making a straight line between the two bookcases from which we just came. Her form disappears before I can ask any questions. Shrugging off her strange behavior, I keep going deeper into the library.
Scribes wearing robes push rolling carts full of books in every direction, like a whirlwind of worker bees. I gently stop one with a tap on their shoulder and inquire, “Do you know where I may find Wella?”
He looks taken aback, then jerks his chin toward the farthest, darkest corner. “That’s Mistress Wella to you, you little snippet!” he snaps, returning to shelving the pile of books.
Choking on a laugh, I head in the direction he pointed. This far-off library section is dim, with lantern sconces attached to the wall casting a shadowy, half-lit effect. There are fewer people. Even the turning of pages seems quieter. More secretive.
I search for a long while, almost giving up before contemplating asking a different person for help.
But then a billowing robe crosses between the aisles.
I slowly follow, watching as she pulls a giant tome off a shelf.
After scribbling on a list attached to a clipboard, she reaches for another.
And another. Her quickness in exchanging the books makes her seem one with the library.
As I approach her, she turns to greet me, a modest smile spreading across her careworn face.
She’s an older woman with ebony skin and a short halo of ivory coils bouncing above her discerning eyes that lock with mine.
“At last, we meet, Your Grace.” She dips into the curtsy only highborn ladies practice.
“I am Mistress Wella; how may I assist you?”
I flush with uncomfortable prickles, still not used to such greetings. “Sorry to bother you—”
“Don’t be. My role here at the library is to help everyone, royalty and commonfolk alike.”
“I was told to seek you out to learn more about our history with the Kingdom of Ashland. There are some gaps in my knowledge, and I’m not sure—”
“Follow me.” She places a book onto the cart, which blocks half the aisle, and motions for me to accompany her deeper into the center section.
“I knew you’d come eventually, so I had these books set aside.
Very few of them are left after the late king’s father decreed that any texts containing the word Ashland be burned across our kingdom.
” She stops at a golden bookcase lined with paned glass.
From around her neck, she pulls out a gold chain necklace with a key attached and twists it into the lock on the case.
She rummages inside for a second. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I whisper, afraid my voice might offend something lurking in the bowels of knowledge stored here.
“Careful, now.” She piles a towering stack of textbooks of different sizes and lengths into my arms.
They’re heavier than I expected. My muscles strain as I heave them closer to my body, the pressure of the books feeling like a hug. “Thank you. This means a lot… I’m tired of not knowing things,” I say, unsure why I added the last bit.
Mistress Wella’s eyes light up. “Knowledge comes to those with consistency and diligence. If you seek it, you will find it.”
I back away a few steps to hold my bundle better.
“This may be none of my business, but have you visited Madame Phyrne since the night of the Bidding Ceremony?” she asks.
My arm muscles tense and lock around my stack. “No, I haven’t.” Something simmers under my skin, threatening to come to the surface.
I hesitate, unsure of how to respond.
“Whatever harsh things your father said about her near the end were just that—just words. The three of us were friends, and that doesn’t stop even in death.”
It’s such an odd thought, thinking of the three of them as close companions, that I’m struck speechless for a moment.
Not waiting for my response, she adds kindly, “Once you’ve finished these, come and find me again.
I would love to discuss them with you.” She pats my arm and leaves, her woolen robes trailing behind as I call after her with my gratitude.
She waves in acknowledgment as she disappears into the maze of scurrying scribes.
Answers await somewhere in these pages. At least if I can grow to understand the history between our warring kingdoms, I might be able to untangle this knot of dread that leaves me feeling clueless and, worst of all, like a fraud.
I slip between the shelves, eager to return to my chambers and begin reading.
However, this section doesn’t look familiar at all.
I look around, realizing I’m lost. Perhaps I should have asked Mistress Wella to show me the way back to the main gallery of the library.
The books in my arms grow burdensome as I round the corner.
I abruptly stop before interrupting what appears to be a lover’s quarrel.
“Betrothal or not, I won’t. You are a child.” I recognize the voice of Captain Wellcrest and suck in my breath.
“Really, Finn,” Klara’s voice cracks as she counters, “why must you insist on insulting me?”
“It’s not an insult when it is true.”
I peek around the corner. Wellcrest holds Klara’s wrist in his fist as if she tried to slap or perhaps even caress him. She tries to pull away, but he holds her tightly. “You prove my point,” he hisses, letting go; his fingers going taut with emphasis.
“Don’t you remember when we were actually children, running through the library, not a care in the world?”
“You’re still a child.”
“Not if you make me a woman,” she implores.
“Bedding you will not turn you into a woman overnight. Don’t you have any other thoughts in your head besides marriage and babies?”
“My dreams of being loved and creating a family of my own are no less heroic than your swords and conquests, if you would only give me a chance.”
My cheeks heat at the sensitive words, and I hide before they can spot me.
Her pink taffeta gown rustles as she flees.
Shifting to move stealthily away, I hear Wellcrest rumble, “Your Grace, you should not wander these aisles unattended.”
I slowly step back, clutching the heavy tomes like a shield. “I’m headed to my chambers. I’ll be fine.”
His stoic face has the faintest hint of a blush under his dark skin. “I will escort you then.”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain. I’m quite capable on my own.”
I brush past him, more desperate than ever to abandon this awkward moment and bury myself in study.