Page 19

“It’s a library,” I gasp. “Where are the books?”

Fenrother doesn’t answer me. Instead he has taken a seat at a large desk. Behind him are a row of books and in front of him are a number of open ones, dropped haphazardly on the wooden surface. There is a pot filled with quills, a stack of unused parchment sheets, and a number covered in the same spidery writing I saw on the crumpled piece in his pocket.

“These are the texts,” Fenrother says. “The ones which refer to taking a mate.” He sits back as if challenging me.

If this is all he had to learn about the world, about the Yeavering, then it cannot possibly be enough. I peer at one of the books. It looks like an illustrated manuscript. The text is in a dense black print and covers half of the page. The rest is a drawing, in crude medieval style, of what looks like a knightholding the hand of a lady. Admittedly the knight seems to have a tail, but other than this slight anomaly, this illustrated manuscript could be something I might find in the British Library.

A long, thick, clawed finger slides over the page and taps at the text.

“Here,” Fenrother says.

I puzzle at the words. It reads as if it’s been translated badly from another language into English.

On Mating: The male and female will meet, they will lie together, and she will produce young from this encounter. The male must protect once his workings are done.

“Is there anything else?” I ask.

“This is the main text,” Fenrother rasps. “Tell me where mygapsare.”

I look at him. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

He really doesn’t want to believe me.

“Perhaps you should tell me something,” I say, turning away from him and running my hand over the empty shelves. “How long have you been here alone?”

FENROTHER

No one has ever asked me about being alone before. This could be because I am alone. I like being alone.

“I am always alone. I am the Lambton Wyrm,” I respond, my brow growing tight. “It is how it has always been.”

“So, no one looked after you when you were…smaller?” Alice queries. “You don’t have any friends, any family?”

I snort at her suggestion. “What would I want with any of those?”

“I don’t know.” Alice looks up at the shelves which stretch to many times her height. “Company? Conversation? Assistance?”

“I am the Lambton…”

“Yes, I know.” Alice sighs. “You are the Lambton Wyrm.” She imitates my deeper voice. “That’s the one thing you keep telling me,” she adds techily. “But it doesn’t actually explain anything.”

“I have my texts and my castle.” I lean back in my chair. “I have done my part in the wars of the Night Lands. I am content.” My eye catches the silvery scars which run down my left side, and I immediately concentrate entirely on Alice, not wanting to think about them.

“So, what do the texts tell you about finding your mate?” she asks.

“It is not something I can control,” I growl. “Nor is it something Queen Mab has any say in either.”

“So, why did she do the whole lightning storm to issue an ultimatum?”

I shrug. “There has always been a Lambton Wyrm. She wishes my line to continue.”

“Absolutely nothing she said suggested she was in any way altruistic toward you or me.” Alice huffs. “And I particularly do not like being told who I have to have sex withorthat I’m expected to pop out a child on demand.”

Her words make my pizzle ripple again.

“Queen Mab does not dictate what I do,” I respond. “I choose, although sometimes there is an instinct a Wyrm cannot deny.”

“Well start denying it,” Alice fumes.