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“Halt,” the librarian hissed. “She can’t look at those books.”

Amalthea arched a brow at the librarian. “Your king says she can do exactly that.”

“She certainly can’t take them,” he continued, indignant.

The tone made me want to cower and apologize. Amalthea felt nothing of the sort.

“I suggest you try telling King Raphael that. Maybe he’ll realize it’s time for a new librarian,” she said breezily, hooking my arm and pulling me away while the ancient vampire sputtered.

We disappeared down the hall before any further complaints could be made. Once we turned a corner, I shared a glance with Amalthea.

On silent cue, we both burst out laughing.

“By the eighth hell, you have no fear,” I said between giggles. The way she’d stared the vampire down and invoked Raphael’s name. Given she hadn’t even knownabout the grimoire until two hours ago, there was no chance Raphael had said any such thing.

She pressed her fingertips to her lips, trying to regain control. “Of him? No. Of Demos when we show up late? Maybe.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

As the days passed,a routine emerged. Amalthea met me at my rooms each morning and we ate a light breakfast before joining Demos for training. I still struggled to relax around the vampire, but he proved himself a patient teacher—if somewhat exacting. But then, that’s what I wanted. There was no point in practicing to be sloppy. Even if I didn’t know how to use it yet, I carried the dagger everywhere with me on the jeweled belt Raphael had gifted me.

After practice, we would eat again, with Raphael occasionally joining us, and then I’d retreat to my rooms to work on my two projects: translating the grimoire andlearning everything I could about vampires. Mercifully, I was spared any more balls.

The grimoire was addictive. Just touching it gave me the same rush as using enchanted cards. If Amalthea was to be believed about certain grimoires having an awareness, no doubt this one did. Even Raphael didn’t care to be around it, but me, I loved it. For a void like me who adored magic since I’d never have any of my own, being around the enchanted tome was energizing. I was still in the first few pages, able to grasp only the barest framework. So far, I’d learned the owner of the book was devoted to Anagenni. Not a surprise. The rough translation for a devotee wasnecromancer, which used the same suffix as other witchkind used in Old Runyk. Their origin, their purpose, that I still hadn’t made sense of. Every word translated was hard-won—and some I couldn’t get—but I enjoyed the task.

My other task was more daunting. Amalthea gave me two books: one on vampire powers and the other on vampire society. At first, just holding the first book Amalthea had given me made my hands shake so badly I could scarcely open it. Raphael had actually come to check on me with some vague pretext—he hadn’t acknowledged the fact he’d felt my panic through whatever mental link was between us.

All the more reason I had to study the vampires. My mother had instilled in me that knowledge was a kind of power no one could take from you. She had meant knowledgeof other courtiers and their political machinations. I had favored book learning even as a child. Though I’d never wanted to interact with vampires, if this was my life, staying ignorant was more likely to shorten it than anything else.

The book on vampire powers was more a running list of the varied abilities vampires had. It seemed there were as many vampire abilities as witches’ magics: turning into a bat, flight, invisibility, telepathy. But despite the wide range, few vampires actually had any powers, which was some small relief. The mental link between a vampire and those they bit was also rare. The book mentioned it was possible to learn to block it, but offered no details, to my frustration.

The other book on vampire society was slightly more reassuring. Vampires were terrifying, and nothing would change my mind. But they weren’t the mindless beasts I’d thought. I’d seen the truth of that while I’d traveled with Raphael, and training with Demos proved he wasn’t a complete exception. Raphael had mentioned he had advisers, and the kingdom was filled with civil servants, but it went beyond that. The entirety of vampire society was strictly hierarchical, with every individual neatly slotting into their respective place. Vampires revered strength—the strongest led, the rest obeyed. They were also extremely territorial. From what I read, vampires respected each other’s claims. If they didn’t, they were quickly excised from society or killed.

Between what I’d read and my training, I slowly became more confident. Despite the gentle cajoling from Amalthea and Demos, I didn’twantto be scared all the time. So I pushed myself. I made the walk to Amalthea’s some mornings for breakfast, instead of the other way around. I let Demos put his hands on my arms to correct my form. I didn’t make eye contact with vampires in the halls or attempt to get to know them, but I tried to force myself not to sprint if I was caught in the halls when one came by. Even when the halls were empty, I felt like there were eyes on me, watching, waiting, but I fought the urge to hunch my shoulders and cower.

A life of fear was not a life. Raphael never sprinted away from enemies—and, well, Raphael likely knew he would always win the fight. But I was under his protection while I worked for him, and everything I learned told me that should keep me safe for now. I tried to trust in that.

That was why, a couple weeks later, when I finished training for the day, I didn’t go straight back to my rooms.

A sound caught my attention going down the hall. Not noise but… as I went farther down the winding hall, the sound grew louder and clearer. Music notes. Memories of the night at the ball, of my first time hearing music in years, made my chest tighten. And here it was again—a different tune, but no less beguiling. Eventually, I wound up in a small alcove above a small theater. I could peer down and see the form of the musician. The world disappeared around me as I listened. My heart pounded in time with the rhythm of the music. The tune was a lively, jovial thing. And while joy was a long-forgotten emotion to someone as wretched as me, the music made the emotion echo in my chest. I wrapped my palm around the wrought-iron railing, the metal digging into my palm as I remained transfixed. When one song ended, another began. Hours must have passed, but they felt like the barest seconds.

When the final notes faded, I went back to my room in a daze.

Music.

Glorious music, unlike anything I’d heard in ages. The music in the ball had shocked me, but the memory had been layered with anxiety around the vampires. But there on the balcony, it had just been me and the sounds, wrapping through my blood and making it hum.

And then the next day, I returned.

A different performer was present, this one playing a large wooden instrument with strings as tall as me. Once again, all my senses shut off one by one until all I focused on was the music, entirely different, mournful and grand.

Each day I went back, drawn like a moth to a pyromancer’s flame. When it became obvious I was losing too many hours, I packed my research materials with me, hastily scribbling the passage I was working on in the grimoire with my translation aids. I hid myself in the alcove and relished in the depth of music. No screams, no curses, no vile threats. No miserable silence that haunted you, worse than any of the other sounds, making you realizejust how alone you were. The music was a comfort I desperately needed. And so I went back, each day, listening, working, lowering my guard as I let the notes wash over me.

Until that proved to be a mistake.

“So this is what became of you.”

I jolted. Between the passage I was working on and the day’s musician—a pianist who played songs like rolling waves—I had entirely forgotten my surroundings. Towering over me was the servant I’d seen weeks ago at the ball, the one I’d recognized and convinced myself I’d been mistaken when I didn’t see him again. His appearance was nothing remarkable: brown eyes, brown hair, a nose that was neither too long nor too short, a stature that was slightly smaller than usual for a man but still larger than me. He was in his early fifties, maybe, but with the long life of witches, he was in his prime.