Chapter Fifty
Blair
Blair sat at a desk nestled into a cozy enclave twelve stories high in the library. It possessed both a view of down below and a window revealing the Vadon Mountain range. This high into the library’s structure, snow inched up the window’s glass on the outside.
On the page Blair studied, the high sun illuminated a gold circle created by interlocked roots and branches of a tree, the trunk at the center. The power of light and darkness, the faeries had described. Roots remained underground, in the dark, while the leafed branches looked to the light.
The last line reminded Blair of the opening one of the witch’s creed: Eyes to the sun.
But the only god mentioned in the faerie text was the One.
Blair gathered the god was wicked, cruel, and unpredictable, one the faerie did not respect but feared.
The tree circle was a theory, a way to banish the One, to lock them in a cage of a new realm.
But the text was prewar, and without a text detailing the actual war that banished the Blood Goddess, Blair had no context if the faerie we’re successful or not. Had they helped the others gods banish the One?
Blair slumped in her seat. Despite the little she’d learned from the faerie text, why had Elder Circe wanted it so badly?
Questions and anxious pent-up energy propelled Blair into motion. She drew her oversize turtleneck higher up her neck and abandoned her study area to find additional texts, Rook in tow, flying above her. She descended six flights of stairs and wonder bled through her wary muscles.
Accounts hadn’t done Vísdómr justice. Inside the mountain, the library functioned like a fine-tuned city run by books, research, university classes, and eager werewolf scholars.
Some prowled the many stories in their werewolf forms, and Blair didn’t know ruggedness, magic, and books could fit all in one place, but at Vísdómr it worked.
The stained-glass windows created a twinkling light in the rocky structure. Stairs spiraled around stalactites, and tunnels carved with shelves were stacked with endless books.
Blair reached the ancient historical section. A golden gate closed off the entrance, and a female vampyr with wheat-colored hair braided with daises sat at an oversize desk, stamping paperwork as she categorized a stack of weathered, dusty books.
Blair cleared her throat, standing on her tiptoes. The clerk peered down at her over crescent moon spectacles.
“I need to find additional texts such as this.” Blair slid over the faerie text. “Given its age, I believe similar titles are within your ancient historical section.”
The clerk inspected the title and sighed. “Unfortunately, Miss Carson, I can’t permit you into this section of Vísdómr without a written reason from a superior.”
Blair exhaled through her nose. Despite being a traitor to her own people, Vísdómr had at least welcomed Blair, but her “visiting” status came with limitations.
Rook landed on the clerk’s desk, picking through things, no doubt searching for something shiny and silver. “Surely, given my circumstances, you can overlook that certain protocol.”
The clerk frowned. “No, unless you had a Vísdómr leading scholar as a chaperone—”
“Blair Carson can enter the section with me.”
Blasted books—Lorkan leaned up against one of the cavern like columns.
Yet, Blair was relieved to see him. Per usual, his collared shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his pale, muscular chest. He’d forgone a vest, suspenders in its place, clipped to his high trousers folded above his ankles and revealing his laced boots.
His dark hair stuck out in various directions, like he’d combed his hand through it too many times.
They’d not crossed paths in three days, yet the remissness of their kiss prickled on Blair’s lips.
“Professor Drengr.” The clerk jumped out of her seat, running her hands down her wool skirt stitched with flowers to match the ones in her hair. “Why, of course”—she tipped her head towards Blair—“I’ll open the gate.”
The clerk dashed from behind her desk, and moments later, the unseen gears of the gate clanked, and Lorkan held out his hand, motioning Blair to go through first. Her insides swam with nerves, but she hid them with a passive expression.
Rook flew ahead, disappearing into the lofted ceiling dotted with rocky stalactites.
In three long strides, Lorkan met up with Blair, and they walked down the ancient section’s main hall, the silence between them thick as honey.
This section was more cave than library. Bookshelves were built into the rock, study areas were carved under stony nooks, and stalagmite-like columns kept the structure from crumbling with the weight of ancient texts and artifacts.
Lorkan drove his hands into his pockets. “I was actually on my way to find you.”
“Oh,” Blair said. “Did you find anything regarding the curse?”
“No, I wanted to apologize.”
Blair halted, and Lorkan paused an arm’s length away.
High ranking scholars in their dark chestnut werewolf cloaks bustled about.
Blair felt like all eyes were on them, but also she and Lorkan stood in their own world, a place they’d discussed visiting together.
How different the circumstance, and yet the energy between them had grown.
“Lorkan, this isn’t necessary,” she breathed.
He shook his head. Without his cloak or glasses, he was bare and open as he stood ahead of her.
“If you and I have any hope of being successful, we need to work together, but that isn’t possible with everything that has happened between us, and I don’t mean three days ago in the valley, but long before.
” He swallowed, like the next words pained him.
“You say you hate me, but there is no one who hates me more than I hate myself. Excuses seem meaningless ten years later, all fueled by the foolish fears of a teenage boy, who believed he was protecting us. I can’t undo the unforgivable pain I caused, but know I’m sorry. For it all.”
Every inch of Blair turned taut, her wild emotions vibrating.
Shadows crept up the jagged halls, but Blair didn’t have the strength to rein them in.
In fact, the sight of them and the cool breeze under her fingernails brought her comfort.
She could storm out. Refuse to accept Lorkan’s apology, but a cold, hardened corner of her heart softened, and her shadows kept her steady.
“I’m sorry, too,” Blair whispered, and the weight of a thousand tons lifted from Blair’s chest.
Lorkan reared back, eyes widening. “What for—”
“I should never have slapped you, and I’m sorry,” Blair said, swallowing.
“Forgiven.” Lorkan opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to said more but then the gold in his eyes dimmed. “Shall we figure out how to break the curse?”
Blair nodded, offering Lorkan for the first time, a smile.
Though, a sliver of disappointment melted on her tongue.
Lorkan had apologized, but that was that.
Nothing more. Maybe a part of Blair had hoped a small part of Lorkan still felt the same all those years ago, but he moved onto breaking the curse, their very important task at hand.
Still, this newness between them was like an uneven path Blair had to navigate in heeled boots.
Lorkan led them to a mahogany door wedged between bookshelves.
Inside, Lorkan revealed a dark yet cozy office.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the north and south halls.
A grand fireplace crackled to life on the east wall with a leather sofa and two reading chairs to match.
At the opposite end, a desk sat with a large wingback chair, but by the long table at the center of the room, it appeared whoever occupied the space used the studying table and large reading chair most often.
Blair didn’t spy a window but instead oil lamps lighting the place.
It smelled of moss and smoke, and as Lorkan shut the door, Blair spotted the brass plaque just in time.
“Goddess, this is your office?” she whispered, gazing around with more wonder.
It was so . . . him.
“I like to be away from the all the noise.”
“Lorkan, this is a library,” Blair laughed.
He shook his head, placing his glasses back on as he fiddled with a tea kettle on a corner nook. Lorkan prepared two tea mugs.
“You’ve not explored the university yet,” he said. “Werewolves aren’t like witches. We’re beastly no matter our posts.”
Except, Lorkan wasn’t beastly as a latent wolf.
Well, aside from his looming height and lean build.
Blair walked the perimeter of the office, and much like his hideaway in the Drengr Library, she wondered if Lorkan found the most secluded place in Vísdómr to escape the reminder of what he didn’t have.
A wolf. Though, it didn’t stop the wolfish details throughout the office. Dancing, howling, and snarling wolves were carved into the wooden fireplace.
“Why did you come seeking texts in the ancient section?” he asked.
Blair spun on her heels, finding he’d joined her near the fireplace, two mugs in hand. She tapped the cover of the book clutched to her chest. “This is prewar, or before they banished the One, and I wanted to see if there were any other texts dating after the war of the gods.”
“You know, I had a similar thought this morning and found them myself.” Lorkan smirked and handed her a cup of tea. “Citrus and cinnamon.”
“That’s my . . .” Blair trailed off, unable to stomach the truth.
“Your favorite, I know.”
Blair sipped, hiding her smile and disdain all once. “And? Did you find anything?”
Lorkan set a stack of books onto the table. Burnt and destroyed.
“Blasted books, what happened to those?” she whispered, joining him at the study table and placing her books and satchel down.
“A fire.”
Blair paused, a memory resurfacing. The Nūa Library suffered a horrific fire, Jace had said.
“You don’t mean . . .” Blair shook her head. “Wait, a fire here? At Vísdómr?”
Lorkan nodded, lips downturned in a grave frown. “In this very section.”
“Two fires in the largest libraries can’t be a coincidence.
” Blair’s head spun, and she grasped the edge of the table for balance.
“These books belong in the same section, perhaps even the same shelves. You heard what Jace said, this text wouldn’t have survived if his great-great grandmother hadn’t checked it out. It’s almost like these books were—”
“Targeted,” Lorkan finished.
“Precisely.” Blair’s brows pinched. “When was the fire at Vísdómr?”
“1895.”
“That’s the year the vampyr curse fell. Again, that can’t be a coincidence,” Blair said. “Is there a way to confirm when the fire happened in Nūa? I don’t recall it from my history of the library.”
“I’ve written to Mya to learn more for us,” Lorkan said. “Until then, I think it’s safe to assume these are related events.”
Blair nodded and rummaged in her various items and papers. “These are parts of the prophecy Evelyn discovered in Drystan Castle. She had to etch the words with a pencil, because they’d been scratched out and painted over.”
“Which not only means someone wanted to destroy something, but they were close enough to vampyrs to be in the castle.”
Blair sighed and hugged her tea mug, allowing the heat to permeate through her hands. “That leaves us the question, who and why?”
“The prophecy is a given. It helps us learn how to defeat the Blood Goddess by breaking the curse,” Lorkan said.
“But ancient faerie text? What do they have to do with either? They left this world thousands of years ago.”
Lorkan lay a finger over his lips, pensive as he asked, “Why did they leave?”
Blair shrugged. “Humans in Torren drove them underground.”
The edge of Lorkan’s lips twitched. “I’m not so sure I believe that anymore.
Have you ever read that account or been told that lore passed down from generation to generation?
It’s easy to dictate an account when the subject is no longer around to defend the truth.
” He patted his hand on the faerie text.
Blair’s mouth grew dry, and the threat of misinformation rattled her nerves, but she didn’t disagree with Lorkan, in fact, she had reason to believe it, too.
She slid the ancient text over to him. “There’s a theory described here, about using the magic of tree roots and branches to entrap the One, like a mighty ring of life and light.”
“Were the faerie successful?” Lorkan asked.
“They never go into detail if they used it. I found a more robust text to help translate the text and found an interesting passage detailing that One became Three, so they set her free.”
“Her?” Lorkan scratched his jawline. “The Blood Goddess?”
“That’s the thing, I haven’t found a single account of her name yet,” Blair said. “Not in the faerie text at least.”
He sighed and slid over the burnt texts.
“I don’t suppose we can restore these texts with magic.
” Blair inspected them, careful with the brittle pages as she flipped through them.
Her fingertips buzzed with energy not magic, as if they had been burnt the old-fashioned way.
Fire. “Yes, luckily I have experience with restoring ancient items.”
Lorkan smirked, in the way that reached his honey eyes. “I thought you might.”
Blair grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled a list of items for a potion she knew by heart. “Do you think we can find these items in Fika? I’d much rather not travel back to Nūa.”
Not yet anyway. With the fire behind her, the caverns of Vísdómr surrounding her, and exciting books to decipher, ease caressed Blair like a summer breeze.
“I’d prefer to avoid Guards myself.” Lorkan inspected the list, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, there’s only one way to find out. It looks like we need to visit Fika.”