Chapter 5
Choice is an interesting paradox. Did you really have a choice when you realized you could change Kavios for others like you?
— ALARIC SARE’S PAPERS FOR EMBERLINE ARKOVA
Sunlight spilled over the streets of Ciril as we left the castle for the short walk to the library.
Even this simple act felt unique. My skirt still skimmed the ground, and my blouse still covered my neck and arms. My gloves were still pulled high, and I kept my head low, my face hidden to shield any emotion that might cross it.
This had been the way all humans acted and dressed in Kavios.
A defense mechanism against the Blessed.
No one in Ciril did the same.
Citizens strolled down the streets. Few wore gloves. Some even had their arms and shoulders exposed. A few outside the nearest bakery stopped to chat animatedly. Laughter emanated from multiple groups. I sucked in a breath when a pair hugged before separating.
Taverns and cafes had tables and chairs set outside.
Did people really sit down to eat there?
So exposed? Perhaps the most confusing display was the green space to the left.
It wasn’t a forest like the Oldwood, but a large patch of grass sprinkled with trees that appeared open and inviting.
A few families walked a path that cut through it.
The children sprinted in every direction, under their parents’ watchful eyes.
They had no fear of the Blessed taking. There were no Blessed here.
Hart’s attention marked my covered skin. I couldn’t imagine what he thought of this. Part of me wanted to ask, but the thought of pretending to converse about such things when so much else hung unspoken between us exhausted me.
The library’s pale stone columns appeared quickly.
The doors were already open as they had been yesterday.
I wished for a similar feature in Kavios.
Knowledge, books, especially books on magic, were impossible to come by and dangerous to have.
It was another reason King Rodric no longer deserved to be king.
Another thought slipped in unrequested. Did I deserve to lead?
The question broke through everything I suppressed.
It was the natural conclusion to all of this.
If Hart and I broke our curse, if I could return to Kavios and free the humans from Rodric’s rule, someone would need to lead.
Hart’s confident steps behind me triggered another thought: he could do it.
He might have lied to me, I might not understand his choices, but he’d fought his father’s rule at every turn.
He’d smuggled youngleaf to free citizens from his father’s magic, and he’d got those out who wanted to leave.
For whatever reason, he’d protected humans from the Blessed.
He’d been raised to rule. Without the goddess’s interference, he would be king now.
Just as quickly as the thought surfaced, I squashed it. We’d fled Kavios because we had little choice. The Blessed were too many. I had no strategy. My world had been turned upside down. The only thought I’d processed was that Linia had information about magic, and maybe it could help.
But even if we found answers here, even if we broke the curse binding us and I could wield my magic without hindrance, Hart was still Themis’s Champion. I might begrudgingly think he’d be a good ruler, but he hadn’t wanted the throne with Themis’s stipulations.
What were those stipulations? He’d said the throne whispered to him, pulled him. What would happen if he accepted his summons?
Once again, the man with the answers stood less than an arm’s length away, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
I focused on the library. With every step I took toward it, I expected someone to stop me. I had no note from the queen, no messenger from the castle to vouch for my being allowed to pass. Someone would tell me soon that I didn’t belong here.
We entered the building without incident. A man sat behind a desk just past the entryway. Blond strands fell in his face as he hunched over a book. He glanced up with our approach and tucked the pieces of hair behind his ear.
“Good morning. Can I help you find anything?”
My mouth opened and closed a few times. No words came out. The man’s expression started patient, optimistic even. His smile slipped as moments passed in silence. Finally, his gaze shifted uncomfortably to Hart, who stood like a shadow at my back.
“We’re looking for the journals of Queen Delphine.”
The man nodded, took a slip of paper, and scribbled numbers on it. When he was done, he handed me the piece of paper. “These are the reference numbers for the books. There are quite a few of them, so I’ve provided a range.”
I nodded absently, but mostly stared at the paper. The man glanced once more between Hart and me and must have decided we needed more information.
“There are numbers on the endcaps that tell you the range of reference numbers available on that particular shelf. The numbers increase the farther you go into the library.” He pointed to his right, indicating the rest of the building across from the doors we entered. “These books are in the back.”
“And you’re just sending us to them?” I asked. “No questions?”
I couldn’t help it. It was one thing for Alaric to have claimed that knowledge was available to all in Linia.
It was another thing to see it in practice.
I needed to hear this man, this librarian, say that this information was open to anyone who asked for it.
With everything that had gone wrong in my life in the last few weeks, this fact was like a dessert so decadent it melted in my mouth.
The man’s brow pinched, like he didn’t understand my question. “I’m sending you to them per your request.”
Hart lightly touched my lower back, urging me in the direction the man had pointed. “Thank you. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
The brief nudge was enough to unmoor me. I shook myself free of it, of the heat of our connection, and walked to the back of the library until the numbers started to line up with those on my slip of paper.
“It’s this way,” Hart said, pointing down one of the rows of books.
There were so many shelves. I’d never seen this many volumes together in one place.
Tables lined the center aisle. Few people sat at them now, but those who did had books spread around them, reading and taking notes.
Candles lined the tables, and I couldn’t wait to sit at one myself with a stack of books to pore through.
It was almost enough to make me forget why we were here, what we searched for, what would come next.
“You can take a seat. I’ll bring you the first stack.”
How did he know that was what I wanted? I guessed he’d always been that way.
He’d always been observant, too observant, when I tried to keep my secrets from him.
Could I have pried his secrets free with a little more attention?
I’d been so focused on finding Alaric, on deciding what to do with my own calling—had I ignored the signs right in front of me?
Maybe. But that didn’t make him faultless. His secrets weren’t my responsibility to suss out. I’d kept mine from him when I thought him a mindless Blessed, loyal to the king. As soon as I’d determined he was something more, I shared them.
He hadn’t done the same. Even as our relationship … progressed.
Bared skin and tangled sheets filled my thoughts.
It sent a wave of embarrassment through me, flushing my cheeks.
Hart’s brow raised in question, like he didn’t know how poorly he’d used me.
Like he didn’t know how the questions of what was real and what was a lie gnawed at my insides when my grief wasn’t threatening to overtake me.
I turned to select a table as he’d offered. Distance. I needed distance while I tucked these thoughts that burned the back of my nostrils away. Somewhere out of reach.
The stack of books he returned with a moment later didn’t grant me the desired reprieve.
He checked the spines and pulled two books from the center of the stack. “This is when she wrote most of her calling.” He pulled another one from the bottom. “This is when she challenged Order’s Champion.”
“If you remember them this well, what do you think I’ll find?” The question had more bite to it than I expected.
Hart, however, didn’t seem phased. He shrugged. “I’m not sure a curse like ours has ever existed. But an obvious way out would be for you to decline the calling. I know you accepted it…”
My nostrils flared as I ignored my every instinct and looked up, glaring at him. “But you think if I chose once, I could choose again?”
He stared at me for a long moment. The discomfort spread from my chest to my limbs. My leg bounced beneath the table, and I tried desperately to stop it. Then he nodded. “And we may learn something from Delphine’s journals about how that could be done.”
“What about Kavios?” I strained not to meet his forest green eyes. What about you? I didn’t ask.
Hart shrugged as if the fate of the kingdom we both called home was no concern of his. He set another volume on my stack. “You could also read this one. Learn from Delphine’s approach. She killed Order’s Champion.”
I swallowed, my throat all of a sudden dry, and glanced at the book. It should have occurred to me that killing my opponent was one of the easier solutions to the problem.
Fucking Chaos.
Cursing the goddess only served to remind me of the Hart I’d known in Kavios. I sighed and massaged my temples. No matter how many feelings I denied for this man, I did not believe I could kill him. Even if, at this moment, he appeared oddly calm about the idea.
If nothing else, he’d done everything to deny his summons. It didn’t matter whether I understood his reasons. He didn’t deserve death for something he hadn’t chosen.
“That seems”—I gestured between us—“undesirable.”
His lip curled into a smirk. This time, he didn’t fight it. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
I froze. Had he really considered this a possibility? My gaze slowly lifted to meet his. “Do you think me capable of such a thing?”
He ran his hand through his chocolate brown hair. More stray pieces fell from the knot at his nape. “I think you’re capable of anything you set your mind to, Chaos.”
He wielded the name like a weapon. I held my gaze steady, not daring to flinch as he used it.
I had killed when necessary. I had used my nightmare magic on those who attacked us in the Oldwood. A tightness grew in my chest, like my blouse was suddenly three sizes too small and cutting off the air flowing to my lungs. They had tried to kill Hart while he defended me.
“I’ve defended myself, Hart. There’s a difference.”
This time, the way his lip quirked was more familiar, like he tried to hide his actual delight at my reply. “If memory serves, you defended me, not yourself.”
I ignored his correction and turned my attention to the stack of books. “Have we taken killing each other off the table? Can I read now?”
Hart looked thoughtful. “You have no fear that I’d attempt to take your life.”
It wasn’t a question, just an observation. What sent gooseflesh pebbling my skin was the confidence with which he said it. You have no fear. The peppery heat. The smoky tang. The cool, minty flavor I’d experienced yesterday—I’d been so sure those were him.
He couldn’t possibly taste them, too, could he?