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Amid the amazement, dread crept in. How was she to pick these books up, organize them, and put them back in their respective places by herself? It would take a team of at least thirty people to do so in a remotely reasonable time frame. Then again, someone with magic could probably do it in a day.

Or at least, she thought they could. She knew little about what limits magic had. The Alytherians didn’t like it when humans even acknowledged their alluring abilities, let alone learn about them. It was their best-kept secret.

Lore jumped when Chief Steward Vinelake cleared his throat beside her. His face was an emotionless void. “Evening meal is after high bells. We will send someone to collect you today, but tomorrow you will have to find your own way. When you find any books of interest, do not remove them from the library yourself. We have tasked two younglings to your detail. They can notify me, and I will meet you at the doors to retrieve them.” The steward retreated to the other end of the hall.

***

Lore focused on slowing her breathing and unclenching her jaw.

The Alytherians had never lifted a hand to help the humans. As she saw it, they were the reason it had been so hard for her people to even clothe or feed their families. And here she was, about to risk her life for their curiosity. Nevertheless, them sending aid and supplies to Duskmere would be worth it.

The chief steward and the guards were irritating and scary, yes, but just thinking of all that she could do for the people she loved made her hands itch to get working. Eventually, the task would be finished, and she would be on her way home with a fat purse and a tale to tell. Or maybe one she could write herself.Shecould write the first story to be stored in a library of their own.

Still, she was a little apprehensive about walking through the doors. She hadn’t failed to notice that Chief Steward Vinelake hadn’t dared even step near the entrance. He may have appeared nonchalant, but he kept far back from the library, not risking the consequences of the spell.

She just needed to reach out, grab the ornate handle, andpull. Lore cursed. Her hands did not want to follow orders.

She focused on breathing again. Be calm. Just enter the library. It’s just a regular door. A regular room.

She heard a noise behind her and jumped. Someone was coming.

She turned sharply. But it was just two children peering wide-eyed at her from around a marble statue. A chill rose up Lore’s back. In the torchlight of the corridor, one of the younglings’ large eyes glinted like those of the cats back home.

They were probably just curious. This entire part of the castle appeared to be abandoned, as if it were a dead limb theyhad amputated long before. She imagined the two had never seen anyone go near the library before, let alone prepare to enter it.

She let out a breath, steadying her resolve. “You can do this,” she muttered.

The steward had said the wards wouldn’t hurt a human. She was a human.Just open the doors. They’re just doors. Regular doors.

She might feel nothing at all when she passed through.

She also might be incinerated on the spot.

She glanced to where he stood on the other end of the hall, his face void of emotion. Did he care if she survived this? She was sure he would feel no sorrow if she was killed by the spell; his only emotion would probably be irritation that his mission had failed.

The bronze handle was ice cold under her fingertips, and she felt a slight shock where she touched the metal. It wasn’t painful, just annoying. After a moment, the handle warmed. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled.

The door didn’t budge.

Were they wrong? Was she locked out, too?

She wanted to vomit at the thought ofalmosthaving all that coin and all that information, only for it to be stripped from her grasp before she’d even had a chance to try to earn it.

Then she had a thought and couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

Instead of pulling, she pushed.

The doors glided open as if light as a feather, though they were made of metal. Enchanted, then.

She entered the stale air of a room that had been untouched by any living creature for more than a thousand years. She waited a beat, her breath held, and squeezed her eyes shut. Just in case the spell was delayed. Maybe her death wouldn’t be instantaneous—it would be slower, more painful. She could be poisoned by the air instead of smitten by lightning.

After a few moments she breathed a sigh of relief and opened her eyes. She was alive. Her body felt the same. She took another step into the library.

Dust kicked up around her, dancing in the low light that filtered in through the row of clerestory windows near the ceiling. Lore frowned; it would not be enough light. Today was sunny, but if she faced a cloudy day, the library would be so dark she would scarcely be able to see her hand in front of her face. She would need candles—lots of them—to light the darkness that pressed in from the ends of the stacks and all the way to the ceiling.

Lore shuddered, averting her gaze from the shadows. When she looked into that darkness, it felt a little like the darkness was looking back.

She ventured farther in, but stayed close to the well-lit areas, browsing the endless rows of shelves. Not all of them were as empty as she had initially thought, and books were not all they housed. There were jars, boxes, and various other objects covered in so much dust she couldn’t tell what they were.