Page 5

I know there are others out there, people hidden by their families as long as they can manage.

Though I have no idea how many still exist. I’m assuming, for the most part, when someone comes of age, they end up sold out like we were.

Eventually ending up in the hands of the Crown.

But back when magic reigned, it came from the gods, blessed upon the land and the people residing there.

Passed down through blood, it thrived for generations.

Though now, with the gods gone, it dwindled, and we are hunted. All of us.

Sitting back in the chair, I cross my arms over my chest and survey the old man. “Okay then, get on with it.”

He purses his lips and watches my face for a reaction as he speaks. “As I am sure you are aware, Nimai’s birthday approaches.”

Keeping my features neutral, I respond, “Yes, in two weeks. Probably for the best, given the reports Helara has been receiving.”

“Indeed,” he agrees. “I will need to travel to the southern camp before she comes into her gifts fully. She’s going to need training, as much as we can give her before we go after Braddock.”

“Hence the bones?” I question, looking at the book that lies in front of me.

“Yes. You must master the bones before I leave,” he explains. “I’m going to make us some tea. Get to reading.” With that, Cato rises from his seat without a sound and glides out of the room as if lifted by an invisible breeze.

I settle into the chair, trying to get comfortable on the hard wood, and lift the book again.

The pages are brittle with age, and I turn them with a gentle touch, afraid they will crumble to dust between my fingers.

I love reading, but this is more for work than pleasure.

Still, I open the book to begin learning all I can about bones. Whatever that means.

Reanimation. Raising the dead. That’s what it means, as I soon find out after perusing the pages.

Cato returns at some point with tea, but I’m lost in the text.

I vaguely notice him set the cup down and disappear from the room.

The warm steam curls around my hands as I continue reading page after page about armies of the dead raised to help in battle but reanimated for only a short period of time—skeletal warriors who can wield a longsword, zombie soldiers who can kill with a mace.

As long as their soul has departed, they can be brought back, no matter the state of the body or bones they once inhabited.

They could be controlled. My blood runs cold at the thought.

I could bring the dead back to life. At least, that seems to be what Cato is suggesting with this book.

This is a power I didn’t know could exist or had existed at any time.

According to the text, it’s a rare power, only possessed by a select few across the centuries.

Including Lilith and her descendants. No one had told me the extent of Lilith’s’ powers, trying to keep me in the dark lest I turn out not to be the prophecy.

As I read, the light in the room shifts overhead.

Other rebels filter in and out of the library across the day, but they know better than to interrupt me.

They may not know who or what I truly am, but they are all aware I hold a seat next to the captain and am likely doing something important.

At some point I realize the room is darkening, and Cato comes back to the table with a lantern, the oil glistening from the flame above.

“How?” is all I ask, placing the frail body of the book gingerly on the table in front of me.

Cato waves a hand over my tepid tea and steam begins to emanate once more from the cup. Lifting it to my lips, I inhale the spicy scent before taking a sip and letting the honey-tinged liquid pour down my throat—one benefit of his manipulation of air, I suppose.

Cato smiles and his entire face crinkles with the effort. “You’ve read the answer to that, my dear girl.”

“Fair enough,” I concede. “Then why? Why me?” I say, trying my best to remain stoic as I clutch the warm cup in my hands. I brace for the answer I know will come, yet hope anyway—always hoping—that maybe, the answer will change.

It never does.

“Because you are a descendant of Lilith, daughter of the Keeper and goddess of death. You possess the side of magic that resides in darkness and death. You can manipulate the shadows, bend them to your will and create a world of nightmares. You can draw magical energy from others, and with that energy, you can reanimate the dead,” he explains.

“It’s a bit morbid, no?” I snark, my mouth turning upward. Despite the morbidity, I’ve welcomed the dark magic over the years.

“I suppose it is,” he muses, his smile sardonic.

I tap my pointer finger on the dusty book. “Where did you get this? And how long, may I ask, have you been hanging on to it?”

My brow arches as I wait for his response—the mentor who’s been keeping this little secret from me all this time.

“It’s from my...personal library,” Cato responds, casually pretending to swipe lint from his midnight-blue tunic.

“And you waited so long to tell me...why?”

“Because you have quite a temper and an exasperating sense of ethics that tend to get in the way of things.”

A snort escapes my nostrils, and his eyes flick to me, twinkling a soft gray-blue, almost silvery in the light of the lantern.

“Nice,” I reply, my lips curling back from my teeth.

“For someone who is supposed to save our world, you sure are a pain in my ass,” Cato says, forcing a laugh to burst from my lungs. He isn’t wrong. I’ve never made things easy for him.

“Rest up because tomorrow, we try.” Cato stands and turns from me before I can object, vanishing into a silvery mist.

Rolling my eyes, I call into the mist, not even sure he can still hear me, “You’re dramatic as fuck, just for the record.

” I push up from the table and gather my things.

Turning to leave, I see the book and snatch it, tucking it into the pocket on the inside of my fur-lined cloak.

Needn’t have anyone else in the camp figuring out what we were discussing. Not for now, at least.