Page 15 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely (A Curse of Fallen Stars #1)

Lorel

If I had thought that searching Sila’s desk was too intimate, then I don’t know what level of intimacy it is to sit and read her research journals.

I circle around, first leaning over the desk to flick through the book currently propped open on the stand.

I stare at it, mouth slack and eyes wide.

It is a book on curses. Its pages record known cases and their details, and as I flick through it, my stomach churns. Very few of them end well.

I set it aside. Sila’s desk is a place of orderly disarray and beautiful things.

Everything seems cared for, but the only thing that appears to have its place is an exquisitely turned dip pen.

It’s worn soft where Sila’s fingers must hold it, and sits nestled against the ink well on a stand.

Sila favours a deep red ink, apparently. Somehow, I thought she’d use a black.

I finally come back to the journal. I remind myself I have permission to read it, even if it will take some time to decipher her handwriting with its elaborate curls and occasional shorthand.

Her shorthand is archaic too, but as the hours wear on, I start to pick it up.

Near the beginning, I notice my name and flick back to the start of the entry.

Known:

Lacerations to torso. Bruising, shoulders, neck, waist, knees, fingers. Broken fingers. Broken ribs. Fever.

The mark was found in her room, jammed against the wall in the corner. Assumed that she was trying to cool her skin with the stone.

The mark had dug her nails into her skin. Assumed that the broken fingers are because of her grip.

The mark would not let go. The mark did not make a single noise despite obvious injuries.

Additional information:

Burns to the throat.

The mark has woken, seems unaware of her surroundings. Unable to speak, the physician confirmed burns to the throat. Affliction is clearly magical in nature.

The mark is listless. Concerns about her mental state.

The mark continues to recover well physically.

…

Additional information:

Silenced.

The scribe has returned to work in full health.

After further interrogation, the scribe confirmed they are not only unable to speak, they cannot make any verbal sound.

Scribe confirmed silencing related to prior events.

I don’t believe this to be related to the burns in the throat. Requires further research.

The scribe was sent back to the infirmary after cutting hand with a sharpening knife. While the scribe appears in full health, she seems unsettled. Neglecting needs. Clearly did not partake of the morning meal, appears to be sleeping restlessly.

Additional information:

Memory loss.

Lorel relates loss of voice and cause of prior violence to finding and reading a book. Confirmed loss of memory between reading a book and waking in the infirmary. Must try to locate said book to confirm suspicions.

Additional information:

Curse mark growing. Fever, repeated.

Lorel and her peers were poisoned. One scribe has died, and two are in recovery.

Lorel has unusual symptoms not present in the surviving two.

She is feverish again, and I have learned there is a curse mark upon her skin.

She has confirmed it is growing at a rapid pace, and began six and a half weeks ago, when I found her.

Unsure if the curse mark is damning or protecting her.

Need to confirm where the curse mark comes from.

Book is still missing, in spite of a thorough search of the scriptorium, Library, and Lorel’s rooms. Suspect I know the location of the book.

There is space for further notes below, and then it continues on with her research and theories.

Almost two months of questions and answers that lead to more questions.

Notes from books she’s read on curses, magical ailments, anything, it seems, that she thought might be relevant.

The curse stirs in my chest, as if it can hear me thinking of it.

It settles again quickly and I feel as if I have been admonished for waking it.

There are further notes about me scattered throughout.

They start with ‘the mark’ and end with ‘Lorel’ and I don’t want to think too hard about what that means, because it was hard enough to believe that she was an ancient true fae.

I had no need to entertain any other thoughts about her that I could not believe to be true. That way madness truly lies.

Her most recent notes in the journal grow increasingly frustrated as each researched recounting of a curse victim ends in violent death.

Only, as I read, I wonder if Sila’s frustration has clouded her thoughts because in every historical account of a curse mark, the violence is always at the end.

Mine began with violence, even if it came from my own hand.

There is not a single mention of a curse victim almost dying at the inception of their curse— only ever at the end.

In fact, by these accounts, they are almost always in good health and spirits at the start.

It doesn’t change that Sila is right that the only place left to look for the book is in the Heart of the Library.

The Heart terrifies me as much as it excites me.

You don’t live in the Library and not wonder at its secrets.

Wonder at going down all those flights of stairs and down again into the dark, where the gateway to the Heart of the Library sits.

Only those attuned to the Library’s Heart could open it, and the only ones attuned to the Library were the Librarians themselves.

The Library is, by all accounts, an endless, living labyrinth with a mind of its own.

I have been told in the Keep that the Dawn King had made it to keep all our history safe.

The Library-dwellers believe otherwise, saying that it had grown from a magic older than the Citadel’s founding.

Either way, the Dawn King’s only interest is ensuring each year during the Ascension, the annual celebration of his coronation, that the Library continues to bow to him. And thus far, it has.

I look back at the journal, tracing the shapes of Sila’s letters across the page with my fingers. There is no use worrying over it; the Library, the curse, Sila. If I have learned only one thing these past few weeks, it is that my fate is no longer in my own hands.

I pick up the next nearest book and start reading.

“Learn anything interesting?” murmurs a voice at my shoulder. I’d scream if I could. I’d been so engrossed in Sila’s research notes on old faetales I hadn’t heard her come in. Or, more likely, I’d missed her materialising behind me.

“Oh, that’s an old one. Hmm.” She’s distracted by the book, mumbling about how something isn’t correct anymore, and it gives me a chance to regain some sense of composure. “I should make a note and update that.”

Sila reaches for her pen and ink, leaning over me so that I am swallowed by her hair and perfume, her arm and cloak slung over the chair back.

The curse stirs again, as if opening one eye to check that all is well, and then settles.

I grab at Sila’s shirt, fingers wrapping into the soft silken fabric.

My fingertips brush against her skin. It’s as ice cold as the rest of her.

I’d never thought on it before, but was that also a Librarian thing?

Sila goes very still, hand poised to take up her pen, and then turns to look at me. She narrows her eyes at me and I hold my breath, unsure if I’ve overstepped.

“Have you been in the same spot all day? Did you remember to eat at all ?”

I release her shirt.

You only instructed me not to leave.

Sila makes a noise through her teeth to express her disappointment. “Your ability to care for yourself is woeful. Are all scribes like this?”

Are all Librarians like you?

“So it’s only you that is so obstinate as to be reckless,” she says. She turns back to her desk and quickly makes a note, blots it, and tucks it into the book I was reading.

It’s hardly reckless to miss the midday meal.

Sila makes a sound that indicates she strongly disagrees.

“Up, I won’t have you starving on me, little mouse.

” I give her a look to indicate that I think she’s being tiresome, but I get up.

It has been some time since I sat down. I should have at least gotten up to stretch.

Sila brings through a tray again, and it suddenly becomes very clear to me that Sila must not eat.

The tray is a mix of things that one would never usually serve together.

There is a round of bread, but the only thing to put on it is more of the soft cheese drenched in a puddle of golden syrup.

A selection of very specific pickles. I don’t know what has possessed her to pair it all with my favourite sweet bun.

It’s the strangest meal I have ever been served.

My hesitation must be obvious, because Sila frowns.

“Hmm, have I chosen wrong? I’m sure these are your favourites,” she says. “You seemed so pleased with the cheese yesterday.” She is entirely uncowed, studying me with all the seriousness of a Librarian wondering why a book has been mis-shelved.

It’s fine.

I try not to think about the fact that right down to the pickles, each of these is a thing I love. I had never thought to put them all on the same tray at once, though.

You have a lot of notes on me.

“Is that your discovery for the day?” she settles across from me again. She seems pleased when I start to eat, and for the barest moment I wonder what I have been so afraid of. And then I remember her standing over the Lightkeeper corpses.

I don’t know why you’re so interested in me.

“Hmm, it is curious, is it not?”

Yes.

She doesn’t give me any further answer, and I don’t quite know what question I need to ask to get one. For the first time in my life, the silence makes me uncomfortable.

Are all these books your research journals?

“Most of them. There probably is a Library book or two in there somewhere,” Sila says, looking around. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

If Sila doesn’t know, then surely no one else ever will. It could be the beginning of its own library, if only it had any kind of system to it.

Do they mostly cover faetales?

The few I had looked in had, the last had been the most interesting to me because it cross-referenced faetales with historical records as Sila tried to make connections and highlight missing details.

It was certainly not the kind of study that the Dawn King would sanction, so naturally it was entirely engrossing.

“Mostly. It’s all you folk really have left of the oldest history.

I’ve spent years at a time searching the Heart for more, but if it has what I’m looking for, it hasn’t shown it to me yet.

” She’s silent for another moment, and I wait for her to tell me what exactly she is looking for.

Instead, she deftly changes the subject.

“But no matter, we will find what we need for you because if we don’t, I will raze the Heart myself. ”