Chapter 17
M yth didn’t think, she didn’t stop to consider if it was the right thing to do.
As soon as the guard finished, she ran, sprinting for the library.
“Myth—wait!”
She ignored Arvel’s call and tore off, her heart pounding in her throat.
No, it can’t be . The library is safe—it must be safe!
Since she had arrived in Haven as a lonely, frightened child, the library had been her one refuge.
It was always safe, always quiet, always welcoming. The librarians often had a kind smile for her, and while no one seemed to notice her much, the endless volumes of books were all too glad to share their knowledge and distract her from many a lonely night.
The Library of Haven was special. It couldn’t be destroyed.
Myth cleared the gardens, jumped a low railing that separated one of the palace open-air corridors from the park, and ran, hurtling down the empty passageway.
Her breath came in heavy pants, and her side ached. But she didn’t slow down. She pumped her arms and kept running, navigating the twisting halls of the palace.
The scent of smoke grew overwhelming as she followed the twisted passageways to her personal sanctuary, and eventually the air grew hazy.
Two guards stood outside the library doors, fabric wrapped around their lower faces. When they saw her coming, they stepped in front of the doors, barring her way.
“You can’t enter—it’s too dangerous,” one of the guards shouted.
“Please, let me see!” Myth sobbed.
They caught her by the arms so she couldn’t stagger in, but they couldn’t block out the sight of the carnage.
The fire was on the second story.Myth could see it had eaten its way through charred bookcases, and given how far back the flames appeared to go, it might have consumed most of the second floor.
But even that wasn’t enough wreckage, for the fire burped out an angry black smoke that would ruin whatever books weren’t burned and destroyed.
The building itself suffered under the raging fire as well.
Some of thegorgeous elven stained glass windows had shattered, and if the continued cry of breaking glass was any indication, the skylights were caving in.
Wood groaned, and Myth could see the occasional flash of color as Honor Guards dragged in wet carpets and cloth, draping them to stop the spread of the fire.
The banners that were hundreds of years old and cascaded from the ceiling burned before Myth’s eyes. Tapestries from the times of the High Elves went up in flames.
And Myth’s heart exploded in pain and shock.
Shedropped to her knees, unable to find her breath. Not because of the smoky air, but from the sheer loss .
It was burning. The library, which had been her home for so long , was burning.
Tears filled her eyes, and she screamed, all of her pain and rage ripping from her as the fire burned on.
“I’ve got her.”
Arms closed around her, and Arvel’s familiar red waistcoat filled her eyesight as he picked her up.
Myth sobbed into his shoulders, her body trembling with the force of her feelings.
She was vaguely aware of voices, and that Arvel kept walking as she clung to him, her eyes stinging from the smoke and her hot, burning tears.
She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was feel the loss of the one place she had considered her home.
She didn’t know how long she cried, but when she finally regained enough control and blearily pulled her face from the crook of Arvel’s shoulder and neck, she realized he had carried her back into the gardens.
They were sitting on the ground of a grassy knoll, the stream chortling only a few feet away as Arvel held her in a scooped embrace—as if he could forcibly hold her together while her heart broke.
Myth’s tears returned as Arvel gently pushed her hair out of her face. “They burned the library, Arvel,” she croaked.
“I know.” Arvel leaned forward so their foreheads touched. “I know,” he repeated.
She didn’t even have to say who “they” were.
This was obviously the work of the Fultons. They believed they had destroyed the evidence against them, but that wasn’t enough. They had to strike a place they knew Arvel treasured as well.
How could anyone be so cruel? It’s a library ! It’s supposed to be a space for everyone!
Myth coughed, and her lungs burned with the exertion. “How could they?” She felt lost and far angrier than she ever had when she and Arvel had been attacked.
Arvel pressed his lips to her temple, and his arms tightened around her. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
Myth’s eyes blurred with more tears, and she let herself go limp and lean into Arvel’s embrace as she cried more, her heart breaking…and her rage building.
* * *
A few hours later, Myth sat dumbly in one of the most guarded and rarely seen rooms of the palace—the study shared by His Majesty King Petyrr and King Celrin: their inner sanctum.
Myth stared at the black and white swan design woven into the carpet, her fingers limply holding a cup of tea that had cooled long ago.
She was barely aware of the conversation flowing around her; she barely registered anything besides Arvel’s warm hands whenever he paused to touch her or brush her hand.
“It was the Fultons,” Arvel declared, his voice tight with anger.
“Obviously.” King Petyrr sighed and lowered himself into a chair next to King Celrin.
King Petyrr’s chair was very Calnorian in design—square with fat cushions and a footstool—while King Celrin’s was made of polished wood and cut into intricate branches so it looked like he was perched on a tree that had grown specifically to seat him.
Rollo stood between the kings, leaning back and forth between the two as he murmured translations, and Myth couldn’t bring herself to care enough to help him.
“The reports confirmed what we feared; we lost all the information and reports you had gathered for the case in the blaze. Since they were stored in the director’s office, they burned immediately,” King Celrin said.
“Yes, but how did they do it?” Arvel asked. “Is there a leak in the department?”
“No.” King Petyrr sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. “The secretary said that when the majority of the department was out on lunch…Queen Luciee came.”
“ What ?” Arvel thundered in a voice Myth hadn’t ever heard him use before.
“She couldn’t have started the fire herself,” King Petyrr continued. “She spoke to the secretary for a few minutes and then left. But the fire started shortly after, so it’s likely she let in the perpetrator and served as the distraction.”
Arvel laughed and shook his head as he paced back and forth in front of Myth’s chair.
“I can’t believe it. I knew she held an unhealthy amount of loyalty to the Fultons, but to go this far?
She has chosen them over the country!” Arvel whirled around to face his father.
“And I will do everything I can to rip whatever few bits of power she has left from her. Never again will she be allowed to visit any of the governmental offices I run!”
King Petyrr held his hands up. “I know. Benjimir has already stated something similar to me, and I agree with both of you.”
“Then why didn’t you do something sooner?” Arvel demanded.
“Because I still had hope,” King Petyrr said wearily. “I dared to think she wouldn’t follow her brother this far. It was a miscalculation. I’m sorry.”
Arvel sighed, and all the heat in him seemed to evaporate. He reached out to brush Myth’s shoulder.
She looked up at him and tried to smile, but her lips trembled too much.
Arvel shut his eyes and faced his father again. “What of the library? Have we any leads there?”
“Based on the reported estimations, it seems the fire was started at approximately the same time,” King Celrin said through Rollo.
He glanced over a few of the papers Sir Arion had personally delivered not five minutes ago and pressed his lips together, sorrow darkening his face.
“It is safe to assume it is the work of the Fultons, but the librarians recall no suspicious activity.”
“How much?” Myth croaked.
Arvel spun around to face her as she set her teacup down with determination and made herself stand, gathering up her strength.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, and forced herself to meet the kings’ gazes. “How much of the library burned?”
King Celrin held out a paper. “It wasn’t as bad as initially feared. The first-floor materials are entirely unscathed due to the protection spells layered there. The windows need replacing, but the building is still structurally sound.”
He paused to let Translator Rollo catch up, then continued, “It seems the study area on the second floor was worst hit. All the furniture from that area is cinders, and we lost several collections of rare materials, and a number of original artifacts from the library’s founding.
However, due to two fountains that were strategically placed on the second floor, the Honor Guards were able to contain the blaze, so much of the second story books and materials are salvageable, although it will require the cooperation of the wizards and enchanters to restore them. ”
Myth glanced at Arvel, who was already watching her.
When she met his gaze he nodded slightly, his eyes crinkling with pain.
He agreed…the library was retaliation.
The second-floor study area was where Myth and Arvel always sat when working at the library. The fire was a warning shot from the Fultons. They had struck the building, most likely thinking to rattle Arvel. There was no way Lord Julyan could have known how it would affect Myth.
Unfortunately for Lord Julyan, there was much he didn’t know about Myth.
Rage, as hot as lava and peppery as brimstone, simmered in Myth’s belly. It was a foreign feeling. Never before had she been so angry—so hurt.
Wait , she told herself. Just wait.
She rolled back her shoulders and tried to appear calm as she asked the question she most dreaded hearing the answer to. “And how will this affect the case against the Fultons?”