Page 11

Morgana

I pull a book from the shelf, flipping it open to read the index. A cloud of dust rises up from the pages, which doesn’t fill me with confidence. Obviously, no one’s opened this one for a while, which means it’s probably not brimming with useful information.

Since Leon refused to even talk to me about Mistwell, I’ve been back in the library a few times—whenever I could slip away from training or trying to distract Tira from her homesickness.

I haven’t been able to find any new information on what happened that day in the Trovian town, so I’ve moved on, focusing instead again on trying to figure out what Leon and Gallis really want from me.

In our sessions, the proctor has continued to mention the “celestial flame” that burns in all living things—plants, animals and people—the divine spark of power from the gods that gives life.

But there’s been nothing to explain what—if anything—that has to do with me, and I’m tired of wondering if that information’s going to come anytime soon.

I slip the book back on the shelf and check the index of the next one, skimming as I try to spot key words in these books on plant magic and botany.

One of these books must mention a “celestial spark” or “flame” somewhere. Especially if every living thing has one, as Gallis says. If I can read about it with some context, it might help me understand how the concept applies to me.

Rustling across the small side room I’ve retreated to reminds me that I’m not alone.

There’s another fae who’s been studiously examining a stack to my right.

I glance toward him now, taking in his slender frame.

He has brown skin and sharp features, even for a fae, and I frown because they’re familiar.

Didn’t I see that same fae when I was searching through another section of the library earlier?

Could he be following me?

He looks up and meets my eyes now, just as a gust of wind blows the doors shut, cutting the room off from the rest of the library.

Shit .

I try to focus while my heartbeat thuds in my ears. My every instinct screams that I’m in danger. Which means I have to?—

The shelves around me explode.

Books and parchment fly everywhere, enveloping me in a storm of paper.

All I can see is a stream of white, then a sharp pain radiates across my neck, and another rips across my cheeks.

The pages slice at me—slashing a hundred paper cuts into my skin.

I throw my arms up to protect my eyes as the fae’s hand reaches through the blizzard and snatches at me.

Whatever my attacker wants, he’s using his aesteri magic to disorient me. But I have magic too.

I push past the pain to find my power. The heat running through my veins comes quickest, stoked by the burning sensation from the sharp parchment edges still biting into my flesh.

I throw a beam of sunlight in the direction of the snatching hand, searing a hole straight through the whirlwind of books.

There’s a yell and thud as the fae tries to throw himself out of the way. Most of the paper and books tumble to the ground when his concentration breaks, but flecks of ash and smoldering scraps float around me.

I need to be careful using my power in here. I could send the whole place up in flames.

Still, the sun beam was enough to buy me a moment. I can see the sharp-faced fae now. He managed to dodge the stream of light, but he’s fallen and is still in the process of scrambling to his feet. As he does, our eyes meet again, and a fresh spike of fear runs through me.

They’re not the same ordinary brown eyes I saw before. There’s now another presence in them, something black and sparkling with malice. Something hungry . It wants to consume, to endlessly swallow up everything in its path, a kind of darkness I’ve never seen before.

Sensic magic. It has to be.

I desperately call up my training, throwing into place the steel wall Leon taught me about, but I don’t have faith it will last long. I need to get out of here.

Backing away, I turn and run for the door.

More books fly out of the shelves in front of me, blocking my path. I think of safety—the thing I long for most in the world at this moment—and feel an immense tug as my orbital magic surges within me. It spins the books around me and throws them out of my way.

My path cleared, I dart to the left between another row of bookshelves. If I can get out of his line of sight, he won’t be able to use his magic to block me, and I’ll have time to conjure mine.

I stand still, listening carefully for his footsteps rustling through the parchment now littering the floor.

At the same time, I reach again for my orbital magic.

I’ll need to use a fair bit of it for what I’m planning, but I remember what Gallis has said time and time again in my training.

I have the strength—I just need to make sure I’m in control of it.

The rustling footsteps get closer, moving toward the end of the row I’m standing in.

Three…two…one.

The fae comes around the corner, and I release my magic. Two of the huge bookshelves to my right shudder as they respond to my pull. He looks up at the movement, and for a brief moment, I see those hungry, black eyes flicker, his own brown irises returning again in his panic.

He tries to save himself with his aesteri magic, but it’s no match for mine, fluttering uselessly like a butterfly in the way of a charging bull. The shelves crash down, one on top of the other, blocking the doorway, but also pinning him up to his neck.

The noise that comes from him is a horrible, bubbling gasp, and he coughs, splattering blood across the spilled books and paper surrounding him. He’s dying, I realize, and I glance desperately to the door, wondering if I should run for help.

As I open my mouth to shout, the fae rasps something. I step closer, trying to make out what he’s saying.

“ The fall of the faithless…transforms us…the fall of…the…fa… ”

His words peter out as all the air leaves his body. Then his eyes fall shut.

Leon

I shove my shoulder against the doors to the library’s side room.

Of course I’ve known exactly where Ana is at all times in this place, including her visits to the Lyceum’s collection of books.

But I’d thought it was harmless, that she’d be safe in the stacks of scrolls and old tomes.

I thought that right up until the young mage I had keeping an eye on her came running, saying there was some kind of commotion in the room where Ana was last seen.

I throw my full weight against the thick wood standing between me and her, but it won’t budge.

With a grunt of frustration, I summon my terrial power.

The ground beneath the doors rumbles and splits open, their frame warping and splintering.

It takes seconds for the doors to buckle, pulled off their hinges by their own weight.

I yank them out of the way, finally seeing what was blocking them: a huge bookshelf.

Ana stands on the other side of it, and my heart skips a beat.

She’s covered in cuts, little rivulets of blood dripping down her face and neck, staining her sleeves red.

I vault over the shelves to reach her just as my unit crowds into the library behind me, summoned by the mage I sent to find them.

She doesn’t fight me as I take hold of her chin, gently lifting it to examine her wounds. There’s so many of them, but they’re tiny—too small to be made by a normal weapon. The sight of them sends hot rage roaring through me, and when I speak, my voice is a growl.

“Who did this to you?”

She points downward. I turn to see a man’s corpse, crushed under fallen shelves. Despite my anger, there’s room for a surge of pride when I realize she must be responsible. I bend down for a closer look at the fae, but I don’t recognize him.

My soldiers help me move the shelves to search him as Ana explains what happened.

“He just attacked me out of nowhere. I think he was waiting to get me on my own, and then he used his magic to try to disorient me so he could grab me.”

“He had a knife,” Eryx notes, pulling it from a sheath concealed beneath the fae’s shirt.

Ana shakes her head. “Why didn’t he use it? He got close enough at one point, and if he’d just snuck up on me in the first place, I don’t think I’d have had time to defend myself.”

The idea shakes me at my core—because she’s right. This fae could have easily used the element of surprise to strike before she could do anything about it. It sickens me to think how easily he could have ripped her away from me.

“He must’ve not wanted to kill you.” Alastor says what I’m thinking. “Whatever he wanted, he needed you alive.”

“What in the gods!” A fae stands in the mangled doorway, wearing the dark blue robes identifying him as one of the senior mages, and his face is rapidly turning purple with indignation. “What have you done to the library?”

He ignores us, and the body on the floor, and focuses on Ana. From his look of disgust, it’s obvious he doesn’t know, or simply doesn’t care, who she is.

“Who let this witless human into our collection?”

I surge forward, driving him back into the wall, a fresh wave of rage running through me.

“She stands there bleeding, and all you can worry about is the books ?” Now that my face is inches from his, the mage actually takes me in, and his face pales.

“Y-your Highness…”

“ My question would be who let a maniac into the Lyceum?” I thrust my hand toward the body. “Who has been so careless with the security of this place when you’re all on strict instructions to keep the princess’s presence here an absolute, locked-down, no-exceptions secret ?”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but would you mind unhanding Mage Abthorn?”

I look up to see Proctor Gallis in the doorway. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes sparkle with a calm authority that reminds me of my mother. I look down to realize my hand is bunched in the front of Abthorn’s robes, and he’s shaking.

“If you insist,” I say, dropping my grip on the fae and straightening. “But I want answers, Gallis. She was supposed to be safe here.”

She steps smoothly over to the body, examining it.

“I have no idea why this fae would wish to attack Her Highness,” she says. “He was a legitimate visitor here—a scholar looking to do some research into our artifact collections. He’s even published some literature on the subject of divine relics.”

“He said something before he died,” Ana says. Her voice is less shaky than it was earlier, and I’m relieved to hear some of the strength returning. “Something religious. ‘ The fall of the faithless transforms us ?’”

The words don’t mean much to me, but Damia kicks one of the fallen books, making Mage Abthorn wince.

“Shit,” Damia curses.

“What is it?” Alastor asks.

“It’s a Morelium phrase,” she says darkly.

Understanding floods through me, but I can see Ana is still in the dark.

“It’s an extreme religious sect here in Filusia, tied to the god Ethira,” I explain.

Ana frowns. “But I thought none of the fae worshipped Ethira? He wasn’t even that popular in Trova until the Temple came along, just a minor god among many.”

“When Ethiran theology was taking root in Trova, before the war, there were some in Filusia who were drawn to their teachings too,” Proctor Gallis says. “A mortal who became a god is a seductive idea.”

“And once you buy in, you view anyone who doesn’t believe as damned,” Damia says bitterly. “That’s what he meant by the faithless,” she says to Ana. “The Morelium believe that weakening nonbelievers will bring them closer to divinity.”

“Do you recognize him, Damia?” I know she’d likely have mentioned it before now, but I want to make sure.

She bends to look closer at the dead fae’s face.

“No,” she says. “Thank the gods.”

Ana is visibly curious about why I thought Damia might know him, but she doesn’t press the point, asking another question instead.

“So they still have Ethiran beliefs, even though the Temple condemns Filusia and the fae?”

“They think they’re special,” Damia spits. “That all the foul stuff the Temple spews about our kind doesn’t apply to them.”

“What I’m more concerned about right now is how they knew she was here,” I say to my soldiers. “Alastor, get to work finding out who might’ve leaked the news of our presence here. Proctor Gallis?—”

“I will have my mages shore up our existing security and add an extra layer of protection magic for good measure,” she says calmly.

I nod my thanks. Looking at Ana, still bleeding from her cuts, something in me breaks. It could’ve so easily been over. I could’ve lost her, with so much still broken between us. So much unsaid.

“And you are coming with me,” I say. Before she can offer a word of protest, I lift her into my arms and carry her out of the room.

It’s time she gets some answers, especially as I’m not about to let her out of my sight again anytime soon.

She needs to understand the reason why she now hates me.