Chapter 36
“Bonds are strong when the cord is pulled taut.
Loosen the thread, and the knot unravels.
The same is true of people.”
- The Old Book
The Facility - Month 2
Ispent the week studying the librarian. In doing so, I learned he preferred romance novels, often mumbled to himself, and was very sensitive to sound. I also discovered that he removed the keys from his neck when seated at his desk and put them on a nearby hook.
I was in my room reading another book about the Bloodborne dynasty. If the tome locked in that case about Acaelar Bloodborne shed light on what happened to Willam, like I hoped it did, then I needed to know as much about him as possible.
I opened the book and stared at the first line of text.
Blood is thicker than water.
It was a phrase that my father used to say often. But when he said it, he meant that a family should stick together and look after one another. He preached that family was the most important thing, because in the end, it was all we had left.
But in this book, the phrase was twisted. It used the quote to refer to the strength of the Bloodborne line. I scoffed. It was a family name only passed down to heirs.
They were a mockery of a monarchy, and I held the opinion that it should be abolished. An opinion that could get me hanged for treason if I ever aired it.
I flipped through the pages until I found an illustration of the royal family tree. Starting with the first Bloodborne king, Avalion, I went down. I stopped a few generations down when I reached his descendant, Acaelar.
I skimmed through his biography; most of it was information I already knew. He was the Prophet King and supposedly saved thousands of lives by predicting several natural disasters. What I didn’t know was that Acaelar was said to have had a journal, which was lost over fifty years ago.
Was that what was in that glass case? If so, why was I being pulled toward a dusty book that surely had nothing to do with Willam?
I continued reading.
My jaw dropped. The journal was said to have been a collection of his prophecies. Had Acaelar predicted what happened to Willam? It was yet another question I needed answers to.
I went back to examining the family tree. Tracing my finger downward, I ended at the current king, King Albador. It didn’t list his heir, but everyone knew what his name was. It had been paraded throughout the kingdom the day he’d been born: Prince Auren.
All I knew about him was that he was very young, and first in line to be crowned King of Ravaryn. If something were to happen to King Albador, then a child would ascend the throne.
The sound of something shattering caught my attention, and I startled back to reality.
My head whipped over to the source of the sound, and there I saw Talia, on her knees, cleaning up one of her clay figurines. It had fallen on the tiled floor and broken. The little figurine, which was once identical to a deep-sea whale, was now cracked into pieces.
I pushed my book aside and got down onto the floor with her, helping her collect all the little fragments that had broken off. I chanced a glance at Talia’s down-turned face, and watched a single, quiet tear drop from her cheek to the floor.
“I’m sorry. It was beautiful.”
I knew I’d made a vow not to get attached to anyone, but Talia made it hard. She was like a ray of caged sunlight in this underground pit of darkness. I wanted to help her, even if I didn’t know how.
“Do you think we can glue it?”
“Maybe. My mama made it for me.”
“You didn’t make it here?” I asked.
“Not that one.”
She shook her head and then rubbed away the moisture on her cheek.
“I have something at home that’s similar,” I admitted.
Talia looked up at me in response, eyes glistening and curious.
“It was a necklace. I never wear it. I keep it in a dresser drawer back home because I’m too scared to break it.” My eyes widened with the realization of what I’d just said. “I’m sure we can fix your whale, though.”
“It’s alright.”
I handed her one of the larger shards I’d picked up, and she took it gently. Even though the item was broken, no doubt beyond repair, she still handled it with care.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I shrugged.
“Do you think the gods listen to our prayers?”
I blinked, surprised by the shift in conversation.
“Sometimes,” I offered. “I think they’re probably too busy to hear every prayer, though. I think only the loud, important ones get through to them.”
“I don’t think they can hear mine,” she confided.
“I don’t think they can hear mine either.”
I reached my hand over and placed it atop hers. Then, I gently squeezed her hand to let her know she wasn’t alone. Even though I knew we both felt the solitude keenly.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I dream I’m back home, painting.” She paused. “Maybe the gods don’t hear my prayers because I’m being selfish.”
“Praying that you get to go home is not selfish. Having hope is important. It’s easy to lose, and hard to regain.”
Talia didn’t respond. She just looked at the pieces of the whale in her hands like they were sacred, like something worth keeping even if they could never be whole again.
I stayed beside her, cold floor pressing into my knees, and said nothing more. There was nothing else to say.
We were both holding onto things—some shattered, some still hidden in drawers.
And maybe the gods weren’t listening.
But we were.