Chapter Nine
CHAPTER
NINE
The softened light of the corridors had a way of making time feel irrelevant.
Aurelie drank deeply from her jug, her steps echoing along halls steeped in amber light.
It gilded the tapestries, making each one she passed feel sacred.
Threads of gold and crimson wove tales of angels’ valor while suits of armor stood like sentinels along the opposite wall, a silent audience to her passage.
Rhovarian armor held no rival. It was the only kind in the Greater Realm to use the color of the Divine, though the white made for far more polishing after battle.
Beneath it, demon scales reinforced the lining, making it tougher for blades to cut through while keeping the armor light and maneuverable.
The grim irony that much of their strength was reliant on the remnants of their greatest enemies was not lost on Aurelie.
The air shifted as she strode beneath two grand arches, stepping into a hall that smelled of old parchment.
Scribes in flowing robes hurried past, some carrying scrolls while others scrawled notes as they walked.
It was a relief to see others, though she kept her head low and moved swiftly past them until the great iron doors of the archives loomed before her.
The royal archives were the crown jewel of the castle, though Aurelie’s memories of them were bittersweet.
Stained glass windows filtered soft moonlight across a tiled floor she and Orion had lain upon dozens of times, making stories out of the angels and demons who waged war in the panes above.
Orion had given names to the figures etched in vivid hues—angelic warriors who wielded blades of light that struck black-winged demons from the sky.
Bookshelves she and Ilaria had lost themselves in for hours towered from floor to ceiling, their mahogany surfaces polished to a dark sheen.
The air was thick with the familiar scent of parchment and blood ink, and the soft murmurs of velari reverberated across the shelves, punctuated by the shuffling of pages and the scratch of quills.
The archives were so vast that one could easily spend all day without seeing another soul despite the many velari who studied there at any given hour.
They were a labyrinth of knowledge. A beautiful, proud place that she loved as much as she despised, never knowing which memory she’d find when she walked in.
A joyous one of a time before she understood the cruelty of the world, or the echoes of her family’s screams between the shelves.
As gingerly as one could be while warring with encroaching intoxication, Aurelie ran a finger along the spines of the tomes she passed.
The books blurred and doubled in her vision, but still she found the shelf she was looking for, not a page out of place—Orion’s journals.
She brushed a tender finger over one’s cover before setting the book down on a table and cracking it open to a sketch of a handsome male demon.
There has never been record of a lustborn with wings, the scrawl beneath the artwork read, and Aurelie’s eyes began to blur before she could finish the text.
She trailed her finger over the sketch, so lifelike it felt as if the demon could sink its claws into the page and crawl off the parchment.
She remembered the day her father had captured this lustborn.
Orion had been captivated, his fascination bordering on obsession as he’d stayed for hours to observe it.
His depictions were the best on record.
Aurelie hugged the book to her chest, wishing she had more than these journals to remember her brother by. Wishing that she could speak with him about the war. About Ilaria’s ridiculous ideologies, and the bond she was about to make.
“Careful not to stain the pages,” someone behind her warned. “Your wine is about to spill over.”
Aurelie spun, startled by the sudden voice. A man sat behind her in a plush velvet seat at the back of an alcove.
Light, how long has he been there? She must have been softer in the mind than she’d thought.
His hair was unbound, black as a crow’s feather, and his skin bore the warm hues of autumn’s first blush, a delicate blend of brown and amber.
Eyes like polished emeralds drank her in, lingering with a boldness that traced her face, dipped to her hips, and finally settled on the ceramic jug in her left hand.
His lips curved in amusement, and her heart stuttered.
He was handsome, and far more beguiling than a velari had the right to be.
They were holy folk, devoted to their studies, but it was impossible for Aurelie to imagine anything holy with him looking at her like that.
Behind him was a towering stained glass panel depicting an ancient battle between the angels and demons, the diffused colors bathing his skin in an almost ethereal glow that had Aurelie wishing she’d chosen to wear something more suitable than a gossamer nightgown—or at least taken a moment to brush her hair. Who knew what state it was in.
He’s a velari, she reminded herself sharply. He couldn’t care less about your hair.
The man shut his book, setting it aside as he straightened. “Can I help you find something?”
“These are my brother’s journals.” She held up the sketch. “It felt like the right time to pay him a visit.” Aurelie was fairly certain that she was squinting at the man. How could she not when he had two heads that were swaying in and out of focus?
She set the journal down and clutched her wine tighter, cursing her traitorous heart. Surely it was the drink making it flutter like that. And yet, there was something familiar about him. “Have we met?”
He rose from his seat, taller than she expected and broader across the chest. It was a shame he’d chosen life as a velari; with his build, he’d have made a fine knight.
“Not formally, though your name precedes you, Aurelie Chantelune.” He motioned to her white hair, his voice threaded with a rich husk that had her throat constricting. “Please, call me Severin.”
There was a gilded pair of curved horns embroidered on the front right corner of his robes, marking him not as an apprentice but a fully learned velari. Not even the king had earned those marks.
In truth, Aurelie knew little of velari beyond their reputation.
What she did know was that their studies kept them from any pleasures of the flesh.
Not that one would guess as much, looking at Severin.
His eyes seemed to drink her in with an intensity that made it impossible to imagine he denied himself anything.
She forced her gaze back onto the books, taking another sip from her wine. “If you’d be so kind as to assist me, I’m looking for your most recent research on demons.”
Severin tipped his head. “What sort of research?”
It was a poor idea to wander down this path, but the memory of the envyborn she’d faced and Ilaria’s words still gnawed at her thoughts.
“Demons and humans were once allied. I want more information on what went wrong.”
“The angels were afraid.” Severin smoothed a hand through his dark hair, watching her with a curiosity that hadn’t been there before. “They considered it heretical to bond with a demon.”
She froze, her eyes darting quickly around to ensure no one else was within earshot. “Your tongue is loose, Wise One.”
He shrugged and nodded vaguely past her, toward the sanctum several rows back. Forbidden to all but the king and those who bore the sacred embroidery upon their robes, it was a place Aurelie had never set foot inside, though she had often wondered what truths it concealed.
“You’ll find little on these shelves that you don’t already know. What you seek is better found in journals, like your brother’s. Logs, theories … texts forbidden to the public.”
“And what of your knowledge?” she asked, her voice dipping into something silkier, daring. “Can’t you help me?”
She’d spent her entire life watching courtesans climb the ranks with nothing more than a well-timed smile or a stolen kiss.
Guild masters whose empires were built with a single alliance sealed in candlelight.
Power came in many forms, and with Severin’s gaze trailing over her figure, slow and unflinching, she felt it coil beneath her skin, as dangerous as any blade.
“Of course.” His voice was as rough as weathered parchment, and it sent a jolt down her spine. Never before had she felt such weight in a stare—an intoxicating pull that made her want to lean in and close the space between herself and this stranger.
“But I’ll need until tomorrow,” he continued, the words breaking Aurelie from her spell. “Come after your ceremony, while the rest of Rhovar is distracted. I’ll take you into the sanctum.”
She tried not to startle, though surprise fluttered in her chest.
Light, are all men this easy?
“Tomorrow,” she echoed, forcing steadiness into her voice despite the nervousness tightening her chest. “You’d best make it worth the risk.”
He grinned. “I intend to.”
Aurelie shivered again as the man withdrew, retrieving his book from the chair. Moments later, another velari passed by, their blue robe sweeping along the floor. Severin straightened, but the other velari barely spared them a glance.
Only when the figure disappeared down the aisle did Severin turn back to her, amusement glinting in his eyes and a knowing smile playing at his lips.
“Rest well, Lady Chantelune,” he murmured, his voice far too indulgent. “Best of luck tomorrow.”