Page 13 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely (A Curse of Fallen Stars #1)

Sila

I emerge from the shadows in Mercias’ living quarters.

His space is neat and orderly, as if he hardly spends his time in here.

It is different to mine, a lot of dark wood and ornamental cut-outs, and everything made to feel sturdy and sombre.

There is very little delicate about it. I imagine the most delicate thing in here is likely blond, scribe-shaped, and in his bed.

“Mercias,” I call, crossing my arms over my chest.

There’s an emphatic fuck from the bedroom.

All the Librarians have fae blood— diluted by millennia, but still there.

That is true of most in the Citadel, and it is what gifts them their magical inclinations.

Before he became a Librarian, Mercias had other abilities.

When he had pledged himself to the Library and become a Librarian, he had exchanged them for a greater boon.

Still nothing like the power I wielded, of course, but useful enough.

Unfortunately, he still requires impractical things like sleep. Well, that is too bad. I need him.

“You’re keeping me waiting, Mercias. You know I am not a patient woman,” I call out again.

“You’re not a woman, you’re a fiend,” Mercias hisses as he shoulders through the door, pulling his cloak on. “Sent from the dark as my personal torment.”

I smile at him. “I need you to help with a cleanup.”

Mercias looks at me properly then. Neither of us need light to see by, and the blood is obvious.

“ Fuck , Sil— Librarian. What the King’s name is going on? If this is an overdue fee collection, and you’ve killed them?— “

“It is nothing of the sort. There were intruders in the scriptorium.”

“Oh, of course. The scriptorium that you’re suddenly so interested in,” he says drily.

“Insolence does not suit you,” I say lightly. He snorts in response. “They are related to the poisoning, and given your behaviour with Striger, I hardly think your argument has much integrity.”

That sobers him up quickly. Good. I hate disposing of bodies, and I loathe cleaning up blood.

I would not usually have been so quick to draw a blade.

It was not even my second or third preference— if I was going to get blood everywhere, I would use my talons and tear them open.

It was more satisfying. Still, I could not let the scribes return to work this morning looking the way it did.

“Where are they?”

“Down, Mercias. They are dead.”

“How many of them?”

“Three. Two Lightkeepers and a scribe.”

“Lightkeepers,” Mercias hisses. “And a traitor.”

“Mmm.” I turn and lead him from his rooms, catching the way he glances back towards the bedroom before he goes.

In the hallway, I keep walking when he stops to lock the door. He will catch up if he knows what is good for him. It does not take long for him to fall into step beside me.

“You should be more careful,” I tell him.

“I can handle my own affairs. And the Head Librarian can deal with me as she sees fit,” Mercias says. “You should worry about yourself.”

I arch an eyebrow and look at him sidelong. “I cannot think what you mean.”

“Oh, come on Si— Librarian . Your sudden interest in the scriptorium. Carrying the scribe to her room. The Head Librarian knows what I’m doing, and it won’t be long before she realises you’re doing the same. You’re only getting a pass for now because no one can be certain.”

“I hardly think I need a warning from the likes of you.” He rolls his eyes at me, and I pretend not to see. Alas, he is no longer my student, and I cannot so easily punish him for his insolence. “And I am not bedding a scribe.”

Mercias is silent for a long moment. “Honestly, somehow, that’s worse. It’s one thing to bed her, it’s another to see you being— ” He cuts himself off.

“Being what, Mercias?” I ask. I know he hears the dangerous tone in my voice. I know he always ignores it. It has always been irritating.

“Being soft,” he says. “If you were bedding her, it would at least make sense.”

“I do not see what that has to do with anything. You are hardly soft with yours,” I reply.

“He would hate it if I was,” says Mercias. Then, “Fuck.”

We don’t need to walk far into the scriptorium to find the bodies. They lie where I had left them.

Something seizes my heart in a vice grip, an echo of the agony and fear I had felt when I saw them try to grab her.

If I hadn’t been following her— it hardly bore thinking about.

I can still see the moment those animals had grabbed for her, had dared to lay hands on her.

I clench my fists, the nails biting into the soft flesh of my palms.

Everything feels more intense than it has in an age. My fury is brighter than it has ever been.

I had acted without thinking and now Lorel is in my rooms, my bargain mark on her hand and that other wretched mark on her chest. She had looked at me with such confusion, the poor tired thing.

I half expect her to be gone when I return.

In which case the bargain mark will demand I hunt her down.

I would hardly need the bargain to do that, though. It is clear she cannot protect herself.

Mercias looks towards the desks as he walks around the space, kneeling to examine a fallen sigil lantern.

“Sil— ”

I narrow my eyes at him, and he sighs dramatically.

“ Librarian , why were you in the scriptorium?”

“It hardly matters,” I say.

“The Dawn King strike me where I stand,” he mutters. “I’ll try again— why was Scribe Lorel in the scriptorium in the middle of the night?”

“I suppose she could not sleep,” I say with a shrug.

“And you followed her.” It is not a question.

“She would be dead if I had not,” I snap, flexing my fingers. I dislike the look on Mercias’ face. Something like pity. He shakes his head.

“Fine, your scribe is a touchy subject,” he says, moving to the nearest body. “They’ve not gone stiff yet, so it should be easy enough to take them to the guardians of the catacombs. They can deal with them.”

“Do you recognise the scribe?” I pick up the nearest of the assailants' bodies, throwing him over my shoulder with ease.

Mercias grabs the dead scribe's hair and pulls his head back. He bares his teeth in a snarl.

“Yes, I know this one. I’ll have to notify his kin.” He looks between the two bodies. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No,” I say, moving to pick up the second man. Carrying them is nothing, but touching them makes my skin crawl. They hardly deserve the respect that the guardians will no doubt give them. “They got to him far before I could.”

Mercias hums under his breath. “That makes it easier, I suppose. And then there is no need to mention scribe Lorel.”

“It hardly needs reporting,” I say, as he picks up the scribe.

“The Head Librarian may be unwilling to interrogate you, but she’ll certainly interrogate me,” he says, gesturing me on. “What a mess. And in the scriptorium, no less.”

I lead the way out and down to the catacombs. We’ll come back to clean up the blood after. The thought turns my stomach. How easily I could be cleaning up my scribe's blood instead.

And I cannot figure out why, which is the worst part. I had suspected some plot with Striger, because it had all been far too neat. I had not suspected that Lightkeepers were involved.

Something about her had made her a target. The cursed book she spoke of had almost killed her. The poison had almost killed her. The scribe and the Lightkeepers had almost killed her.

I had almost killed her.

I had held my blade over her heart, like I had so many others before her, at the command of my queen.

My tether to the queen had been stretched, taut and thin.

It was what kept me anchored in the world— that prevented me from fading away— from losing myself.

My constant companion for thousands of years.

And then I had seen the mark on her skin, and everything had changed

Lorel had called it a curse mark. And maybe it is, in a way, but it is also a claim. A claim from someone else, something else. Something that was not me .

Something wanted her, but I wanted her more.

The tether had snapped, then, and I knew I had chosen, and I had chosen her.

She had woken a moment after, blinking softly at me, and I had known I would do anything to keep her safe. And so I will.

“Sila!” Mercias’ voice comes from behind me, loud, as if he’d been trying to get my attention for some time.

“Ah,” I say, realising I have walked too far. Missed the stairwell down. He just shakes his head at me, and says nothing more as he takes the stairs and I follow.