26. Ancient History
Ancient History
I t was nearing midday before I was able to head for the library.
The morning consisted of various meetings with the Lendr and a few city officials, discussing how to go about repairing the damage done by the myrkva, and the amount of reparations to be given to the families of the deceased.
A monumental task, but one they were fully qualified to handle.
I needed only to approve or disapprove the proposals, of which there were many.
Two of the Hersir, Maaren and Alfdis, followed me at a distance, keeping a watchful eye.
Everyone in the city was on edge in the wake of the myrkva attack, these elite soldiers most of all.
Their captain—a middle-aged woman by the name of Neela—was among the many dead.
She’d been a Hersir for close to twenty years, and her loss weighed heavily on her comrades.
One of the proposals this morning was to name Johanna as her replacement.
We came to the end of the corridor, which opened into a grand foyer that divided this larger section of the Citadel.
On the right lay the banquet hall, where a multitude of people scurried about preparing for the Feast of Jól tomorrow evening.
Straight ahead were the kitchens, another bustling hub of activity.
To the far left, a long corridor wound toward the armory, and to the right of it, iron-banded double doors opened to the library.
As I entered the space, I bid the two Hersir wait for me in the foyer.
The library housed the largest collection of records and reading material in the whole of Volmere and was the third-largest room in the Citadel.
But for all its size, the space overflowed with books, scrolls, maps, and scraps of parchment.
It was such beautiful chaos. I’d spent hours in this room as a child, hiding in the stacks, losing days and weeks to the worlds between the pages.
Mother used to spend a lot of time here too, nose buried deep in the wisdom our ancestors left behind. I’d never really understood what she was looking for before the Shadow came to me. Since that time, I’d had nothing but questions. Ones which might only be answered in the past.
I made my way through the twisting stacks and empty sitting areas, trailing my fingers along the leather and cloth-bound spines of the books as I went.
Eventually, I came to the end of the winding labyrinth, staring down a row that stopped at a wall of three bookcases.
It’s here, right? I asked the Shadow. I haven’t been to this place in years.
Yes, behind the middle case .
I ran my hand down the side of the bookcase, feeling for what only Lenn, Corbyn, and I knew was there. I supposed Trygg would have to know now.
About halfway down, a small rectangle of polished wood jutted out. I pressed it, hearing a soft click as the latch released. Bracing my hands on both sides, I pulled, grimacing when the brass hinges creaked and groaned loudly.
The case swung open, revealing a small alcove with an intricately carved door set into the stone wall.
I cast a glance over my shoulder and, finding the aisle empty, slipped the key from my pocket.
It slid easily into the lock and turned smoothly between my fingers.
I pushed the door inward, stepping into the Queen’s Retreat, put here a thousand years ago by Bridja Falk herself.
It was not the first time I’d come to this hidden room, but it was my first time entering it as Queen of Volmere.
Dust motes danced in the sunlight pouring through the single window, swirling with each of my steps.
I turned and pulled the rope handle on the back of the bookcase, slotting it back into place and closing the door to the Retreat.
I surveyed the space, eyes roving over the built-in shelves stuffed full with books.
A padded leather chair sat next to the empty hearth, and there was an ancient-looking writing desk situated by the window.
It appeared much the same as I remembered, though it had been a decade since I’d last been here.
This place has changed very little in a thousand years, the Shadow mused. Except for the continued addition of records, of course.
It could do with a good cleaning, I said, coughing as dust tickled my throat and nose.
But that will have to wait for another day.
Quickly, I crossed the small room and wrenched the window open, allowing brisk, fresh air to enter.
I breathed it in deeply before turning back to the mahogany shelves bordering the room.
Kadia the Seventh reigned four-hundred years ago, give or take, the Shadow said pensively. You’ll find her writings halfway down the fourth case from the left.
I chuffed out a laugh. How refreshing. You’re being specific for once.
The memories within these pages are also mine, young one. I have spent countless hours at that desk, helping the Erling queens record and remember their history. She writhed against my mind, a deep sadness emanating from her. These journals preserve the details I’ve lost.
Well then… I stepped toward the case she’d pointed out and rolled up the sleeves of my tunic. Let's start the hunt.
‘ Her wings are the only safe place in this hellish world. But our passions are kept swift and discreet. These stolen moments are never enough. Amrith will be returning to Ilfa Esari within the year, her tenure as my Talon coming to an end. I know I shall never see her again, a fact which tears at my heart in the deepest hours of the night. I must cherish what little time we have left…’
I closed the journal of Kadia the Seventh, blinking away the burning in my tired eyes.
Hours had passed, and I’d skimmed through every entry in the first hundred-and-thirteen journals that belonged to the twenty-ninth High Queen of Volmere.
She’d certainly been one of the more prolific monarchs, as far as her journals were concerned.
There were another fifty or so that bore her name, but the entry at the end of this one spoke of the day her Talon left. I doubted I’d find any other useful information in the other volumes. Besides, my head was starting to spin.
I stood from the leather chair and replaced the journal on its shelf. Well, I drawled, that was incredibly sad… and most unhelpful. This Amrith was a wingman, and there was not a single mention of her having any effect on you or the darkthread.
As I’ve said before, I don’t recall anything remotely like this ever happening. The Shadow coiled tighter in on herself. And Kadia clearly loved her Talon deeply. If anything, I would expect those emotions to have a greater effect than pure lust.
Really, Shadow? Must you? I sighed heavily, rubbing at my temple. I don’t even know what it is I do feel for Trygg. Yes, I find him appealing, but that hardly qualifies as lust.
She rolled into a shrug, but suddenly snapped to attention, setting my nerves on edge. Asvoria, she whispered, someone’s out there.
I walked slowly to the door. There was only one person the Shadow seemed to be this acutely aware of. A sharp tug in my chest confirmed my suspicions.
“Is this it?” Trygg’s muffled voice came through the thick door and the bookcase beyond.
“Yes, just beyond there.” That was Corbyn, the sharp edges of his tone unmistakable.
I leaned my ear against the wood, moving slowly to minimize any noise.
“And what’s inside?” Trygg said. Something about the way he asked set my nerves on edge.
Corbyn hesitated a moment and there was some shuffling. He finally said, “It’s… it’s where the journals are kept. Petra spent a lot of time here.”
“And what about Vor?”
I started slightly at his use of my nickname. His voice rumbled around that single syllable like a roll of thunder. The sound of it stirred something deep inside— something I wouldn’t look at too closely.
“No,” Corbyn answered, “as I recall, she hasn’t been here in some time.” He paused again, and I heard one of them running their hand along the bookcase. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low. “Why are you asking?”
“None of your concern, Arlbright.”
“But it is,” Corbyn growled back, followed by more shuffling. “Or have you forgotten your oaths so quickly? No matter what the Council says?—”
Trygg cut him off with a feral snarl, and I had to stifle a gasp from the pain that seared through me. The darkthread quivered under his anger. But even through the pain, the implication of Corbyn’s words was not lost on me.
There was a reason the Council sent the prince… and Corbyn knew about it. Whether he knew the finer details, I couldn’t be sure, but he was at least aware. Something too close to betrayal pricked at my heart.
“Need I remind you of your place, Arlbright?” the prince said. His voice was so quiet now I could barely hear, but there was an odd quality to it. “I’m not the only one who’s made oaths, and yours are bound with something a little stronger than a few pretty words and a cup of mead.”
They were quiet for so long I wondered if they’d walked away. Though I didn’t hear footsteps, and the darkthread still trembled in my chest.
“I am aware of that,” Corbyn finally said, breaking the silence. “But we are a long way removed from the Council. Mark my words, Your Lesser Highness. As long as I draw breath, no harm will come to her.”
“Hackles down,” the prince replied, his tone softer now. “I didn’t come here to hurt her. I’m here to help her.”
What?
The Shadow pressed up against my mind, wriggling like a fish.
“We’ll see,” Corbyn breathed, so quiet I almost missed it.
The click of the case lock springing free resonated painfully in my ears. I jerked away from the door, taking a couple steps back. A knock sounded, quickening the pounding of my heart.
“Are you in there, my lady?” Trygg called through the door.