Page 25 of A Blade of Blood and Shadow (The Ravaged Kingdom #1)

Chapter

Seventeen

T he rage and hurt I felt at Kaden’s dismissal had crystalized into a gnawing resentment by the time I sensed his night-dark magic slip beneath Imogen’s door the following afternoon.

Although I’d been expecting him, I allowed myself a groan that I knew he would hear before I hauled myself off the couch and slung my short swords over my back. I was already dressed and waiting for him, and I threw open the apartment door before he had the chance to knock.

Kaden was leaning casually against the door frame in his usual black attire. He didn’t have a weapon on him — at least not one I could see — but his gray eyes glittered with satisfaction as he took in me sheathed in all my weapons.

“ Someone likes to be prepared,” he said in that same sultry, amused tone I’d come to associate with him.

I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not as if you told me what we’d be doing tonight,” I countered. “Or what time.”

“True.” Kaden cracked a smirk. “Though if I’d told you we were only looking for a book, would you have dressed any differently?”

“No,” I said, pulling a saccharine smile. “Not as long as I’m with you.”

Kaden’s grin faltered, but he covered his slip so quickly I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so carefully. “Smart little huntress.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, annoyed that he was going to make me ask. “And how exactly is a book going to help us figure out how to work the cipher? Are you hoping we might stumble across an owner’s manual?”

“No. But everything having to do with the Coranthe line is based in runes. Intent alone might be enough for you to unseal a magically locked drawer, but I don’t think it’s going to help you use the cipher.”

I frowned. “How did Caladywn use it?”

Kaden quirked his eyebrows. “I don’t think he ever did. He knew the cipher was a Coranthean relic, which made it interesting enough to hold on to. But I doubt he ever would have let you take it if he indeed knew how to work it.”

I nodded, gritting my back teeth as I strode past him into the hallway. I felt sick that I’d struck that bargain with Caladwyn and furious that I’d let my guard down around Kaden.

I wasn’t angry with him , exactly. It wasn’t his fault that I’d let myself forget what he was — or that he was using me.

I was angry with myself.

Kaden must have sensed my mood, because he kept a safe distance as he followed me down the stairs and out onto the muggy street corner. I stopped. I didn’t actually have any idea where we were going, so I waited for him to lead us down Imogen’s street.

Through the empty Quarter, we wound down side streets and narrow alleyways. Then Kaden slipped into a gap between two buildings, and I saw a small tattered green awning protruding over a doorway with a wooden sign that read Salandar’s Rare Books and Tomes .

Inside, the shop looked dark, and the peeling gold letters on the door announced that it was open by appointment only.

I stared as Kaden let himself inside, a bell tinkling musically over the door as a gravelly old voice called, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

As reluctant as I was to follow Kaden into another strange dark building, my curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed my way inside. The scent of old books wafted toward me, and I inhaled deeply.

There was nothing quite like the smell of a used bookshop, and none was quite like another.

Scents clung to old books like a collection of memories, and my hunter nose could parse them all.

Cinnamon and cigar smoke. Rose water and lipstick.

Motor oil and pine sap. Sometimes I’d smell a book and try to imagine whose hands it had passed through — what sort of things it had seen.

Salandar’s bookshop resembled a store less than it did an overstuffed storage room.

Sagging bookshelves and smudged glass cases covered every inch of available wall space, with more books tumbling over one another in the gap between the shelves and the ceiling.

Heavier tomes were piled pell-mell on the floor, some stacks overflowing.

A high-pitched squawk made my muscles tense, and I whipped around to see a bird with bright red plumage staring at me from a giant cage positioned between two shelves.

When I met its beady eyes, the bird gave a restless flap of its wings, and I heard the chiding click of a tongue.

A stooped old man shuffled into view, his back so badly hunched that I might have guessed it was a condition he’d been born with, were it not for the man’s occupation.

More than likely, the hump had developed the same way his need for those thick round spectacles had — from countless hours spent poring over books.

Tousled wisps of white hair only pretended to cover his overlarge, speckled head, which matched the long, wiry eyebrows that looked in danger of growing together over his forehead.

The man seemed completely unaware of our presence as he clicked his tongue and fed a small biscuit through the bars of the cage. The bird took the biscuit, tilting its head toward the ceiling in a very undignified manner as crumbs scattered all over the floor.

“Good evening, Salandar,” said Kaden by way of greeting.

The old man hummed in reply, still not looking at us as he fed the bird another biscuit. “The stars seem a bit melancholy tonight, but who am I to complain?”

I turned toward Kaden with raised eyebrows. He didn’t look at me, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth told me that sort of comment wasn’t unusual for the shopkeeper.

“I received your missive,” the old man continued. “But I’m afraid the volumes I’ve managed to compile over the years are few.”

“We’ll take anything you’ve got. ”

My gaze slid from Kaden to Salandar as the old man turned, his wild eyebrows scrunching together. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bear to part with them.”

“Are you not in the book business, Salandar?” Kaden asked, a slight lilt of amusement softening his irritated tone.

“Some things are worth more to me than money. The texts are very old and very rare.”

“I’m prepared to pay handsomely for them.”

But the old man just shook his head and went back to feeding his bird. “I’m sorry. They’re not for sale.”

Kaden let out an impatient huff, and my heart sank at the realization that this all might have been a waste of time. “Can we at least see them?”

“Of course, of course. I’ve already pulled them out for you.

” Salandar looked rather excited as he turned and ambled toward the back of the shop.

He didn’t motion for Kaden to follow him, but it was clear that Kaden had been here before.

He trailed after Salandar through a narrow gap between two shelves.

I cast one more uneasy glance at the bird, who was watching me with a predatory stillness, before following them into the shadows.

But just as I turned down the aisle, Kaden and the old man disappeared. Their muffled footsteps sounded to my right, and I turned to find a narrow doorway leading to a steep wooden staircase.

My mind flashed to Silas’s basement, and my shoulders tightened. It seemed unwise to follow a faerie and a complete stranger into a dark basement. My senses told me the old man was mortal, but Kaden . . .

I shook off the sudden surge of paranoia. I might only be a means to an end for him, but he’d had every chance to kill me. Why go to all the trouble of luring me here if that was his intention?

The stairwell was lit by a single flickering bulb, but in the dimness I could see Salandar jangling a thick silver keyring, which looked to hold every size and shape of key imaginable: house keys, skeleton keys, tiny keys that might have gone to a lockbox at a bank, and a few strange scraps of metal that looked as though they’d been pried off an aluminum can with a dull knife.

After several long moments, the old man seemed to find the key he was looking for and fit it into the lock. The door opened with a loud creak, and I padded down the stairs after them, keeping one hand curled around the dagger at my thigh.

Kaden marked the gesture as I followed him through the doorway into the room beyond, and though he flashed a knowing smirk, something dark flickered in his eyes.

Compared to the disorder of the shop above, the basement was relatively empty and sterile.

We were standing in a small windowless room with smooth concrete walls.

A heavy table stood in the center of the room, lit by an overhead work lamp.

A handful of books lay on the table, and my heart leapt at the sight of them.

“These are all the books I have that pertain to the Coranthe witches,” said Salandar. “Take all the time you need.”

I nodded once in thanks, and the old man turned to leave. I could feel Kaden’s eyes on me, but I didn’t meet his gaze.

Although I’d been hesitant to come here, my heart ached with unexpected gratitude toward him and Salandar.

My memories of my mother were faint, and I knew nothing of her witch heritage — my heritage. I’d told myself she must have had her reasons for keeping me in the dark about my witch half. If the Coranthe line had been hunted to near extinction, perhaps she’d thought she was keeping me safe.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel angry that the truth had been kept from me all these years. My foster parents might not have known — they’d all been mortal — but Silas had. I was sure of it. He’d let me believe I was half mortal because it kept me weak.

I stared at the books. Was it possible that this was all that was left of my lineage? All that was known about the Coranthe line?

The thickest volume was about two inches thick and bound in leather — its spine worn and cracked with age. The other two were considerably smaller and thinner, with faded cloth covers of sapphire and emerald.

I couldn’t read the worn gold lettering on the spine. The books looked so old and fragile that I was reluctant to even touch them.

Kaden, apparently, had no such reservations.

Pulling out a rickety wooden chair, he sat down and propped his feet on the table, one ankle crossed over the other. I gaped as he cracked the spine of the smallish green book and began flipping through the pages.

When I didn’t move to join him, he looked up from the book and frowned. “Have you developed the power to absorb knowledge by mere proximity?”

“Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves or something?” I blurted. It seemed indecent to be thumbing through these ancient texts as if they were any other book.

“Relax. Salandar wouldn’t have unleashed us on his precious books if he thought we could hurt them.

Besides . . .” He lifted his gaze to the shop above our heads.

“I don’t see a horde of Coranthe witches lining up to read these.

” His expression softened. “You might very well be the last witch on earth with any interest in what’s inside them. ”

It was a depressing thought, but it alleviated some of my trepidation. I crossed to the table and sat down across from Kaden, pulling the huge leather-bound tome toward me.

An Incomplete Conspectus of Witch Lineage Through the Ages was printed in faded gold lettering across the cover.

My fingers felt stiff as I opened the book and thumbed through the first few pages. They were so thin and yellowed from age that I was terrified of ripping them. The text on the page was uneven and so crowded that it was barely legible.

The book appeared to be something of an encyclopedia of witches. I carefully navigated to the section on the Coranthe line, but my heart sank when I beheld the tiny block of text.

The Coranthe line is widely believed to be the first line of witches created by the gods. Masters of the oldest written magical language, the first coven of Cornathe witches is said to have woven the veil that separates the realms to protect humankind from the creatures who dwell in the Otherworld.

Coranthe witches were said to be skilled metallurgists, capable of forging iron blades with a rowan core — the only known weapon effective against daemons.

These sacred blades were runed with spells specific to their creator or the blade’s intended owner so that no other being could wield them.

Handling a Coranthe blade could lead to madness or even death.

Though their language is considered lost, some scholars believe rune-casting was a skill innate to those with Coranthe blood. Others say the language was so complex that it could take many mortal lifetimes to master.

The Coranthe line was never robust, and most scholars agree the entire line likely became extinct by the end of the fifteenth century.

As I finished reading, a yawning sense of loss threatened to overwhelm me — not just for myself, but for all the knowledge that had died with the last of the Coranthe witches.

If my ancestors had truly created the veil between realms, they’d attained a level of magical knowledge that no other line had even come close to realizing.

“Find anything good?” Kaden’s voice drew me out of my melancholy spiral.

Having exhausted what little An Incomplete Conspectus had to offer, I set it down and pushed it across the table toward him. “Nothing that’s going to help us use that cipher.”

I watched as Kaden read the passage I’d just finished, and his face fell.

“Nothing new there,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“This one is almost equally unhelpful, except it mentions a surviving text penned by someone called Mankara.” He slid the book he’d been reading across the table toward me.

“Of course, this book is at least a few hundred years old, so it might not be up to date.”

A streak of hope went through me, and I looked down at the faded letters.

While the Conspectus had been written in plain English, this text was more like poetry than academic writing. I read the single passage Kaden had indicated four times, and it still didn’t seem any clearer.

Mankara’s last missive lies entombed betwixt worlds under the Watchman’s careful eye .

“What does it mean?” I asked.

Kaden’s expression darkened, and he slammed the cover of the Conspectus closed, releasing a little poof of dust. I knew then that those words had held more meaning for him than they had for me.

It was a long moment before he answered. “It means that the book we need lies in the in-between.”