Page 5 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely (A Curse of Fallen Stars #1)

Lorel

Lune sends me back to the dorms to rest and so I cannot go and find the Librarian. She wouldn’t be pleased to see me back in the scriptorium, and I don’t want to go and find the Librarian. If I start asking questions, she’ll only grow more curious. There must be another way to find the answer.

I search my room, in case the book is hidden away somewhere.

If I had been found here, crushing myself against the stone, then perhaps there is a chance it had fallen behind some furniture.

I know even as I search that it isn’t. I sit on my bed and rub my hands down my face, thoughtlessly.

The regret is swift and painful. Whatever salve Lune had used to numb the pain is starting to wear off.

The memory of the Librarian’s fingers pressing into my shoulders makes my heart race. Fear, probably. Definitely fear.

No, I could not ask her. I would exhaust all other possibilities first.

I wrack my thoughts.

That night, I had stayed late in the scriptorium to practice, preferring the silence there to the silence of my room. I had just set everything aside and tidied up, and there it had been. The book. A trap set to entice me. And I had fallen for it.

The book had been properly ancient. Slim with a red leather cover, the foil peeling, the spine cracking and threatening to crumble.

By rights, I should never have touched such a book with my bare hands.

I knew better than to open it. I had just wanted to have a peek, to see what kind of illustrations it held.

It had been placed on my desk, after all.

It had no title, or if it did, it had long been lost to time.

There was barely the impression of one, so old even the leather had forgotten the tools that had marked it.

I had cracked the cover ever so slightly— and then there was nothing.

No impression of what the book contained.

No memory of leaving the scriptorium. Nothing at all about what had happened in my room.

But I could remember the book, and that was a start.

It was something . I hadn’t seen any sign of it in the scriptorium.

It was not in my room, and I refused to believe the Librarian had it.

Perhaps even if she had it would have been returned to the Library.

Tomorrow then, during the working hours when the Librarian would be watching the scriptorium, I would go find a Librarian and see if they could help me find the book.

“You don’t know the contents of the book or its title?”

This Librarian looks over his glasses at me with clear disapproval. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Librarian Mercias is tall, broad-shouldered and easily irritated. Under other circumstances, the latter fact would amuse me. Today though, it does not.

He towers over the raised desk, looking down at me. They’re all so cursedly tall, and I have to wonder if this is a boon given from the Library’s Heart. Perhaps it helps them reach the top shelves, or maybe it’s just for looming over scribes.

I rub my glasses clean before setting them back on my nose.

Librarian Mercias’ dark eyebrows twitch in irritation, as if he can hear my thoughts.

Impossible, but for the fact my face has always given me away and my own lack of patience is clear even in my hand signs.

I grit my teeth. This whole conversation has been painful, and not just because of my injured hand.

No. That’s all the information I have.

“Then I’m afraid I cannot help you, Scribe Lorel,” he says.

He settles back into his chair as he says it, lounging.

I know this Librarian well. He often watches the scriptorium, and he’s always an absolute prick.

“Knowing that it may have been returned to the Library in the last six weeks isn’t enough to go on. ”

You must have a record of returns.

“Perhaps,” says Librarian Mercias, examining his nails. “I hardly see the value in the request if you can’t tell me the contents.”

If you would just look ? —

Librarian Mercias holds up his hand. “No. You lack information, have no request permit and are not a researcher. Move along, scribe.” He returns to shuffling at the papers on his desk. A clear dismissal.

I refuse to move. I will bore a hole through his wretched head if I have to. He sighs as he looks up and there is a fracture of something like pure fatigue in his expression— but his eyes aren’t on me. They’re on someone behind me.

No. Surely not.

“Mercias,” croons Sila, draping an arm over my shoulder. I freeze as her fingers caress the side of my face. She’s haughty, in a way someone can only be when they so entirely outrank another. “You cannot possibly be denying my scribe her request?”

Her body is cold where it rests against mine and I feel my heart kick up again. This woman is going to kill me. Librarian Mercias crosses his arms over his chest.

“Sila,” he says coolly. “You cannot expect me to grant this so-called request without the appropriate paperwork.”

Sila laughs, and it’s as cold as she is. “Oh, of course I wouldn’t. No, I will take Scribe Lorel’s request from here, unless you have any objections?”

I cannot see Sila’s face, but hearing her say my name makes me feel like I’ve walked over my own grave. So she does know my name. I direct my spark of irritation at Mercias, who could have just allowed my request and spared us all.

Librarian Mercias’s face is nearly unreadable, but there is something of Elris’ warning in his eyes when they flick to my face. I don’t need the warning. What I need is to get out of here before Sila drags me off into the depths of the Library and feasts on my heart or something.

“None, but you are wasting your time, Librarian Sila,” he says.

I feel the way Sila’s fingers press against my skin a little at that. Flexing. How curious. “We shall see,” she says. Her grip on my shoulders tightens as she turns me towards the door to the Greater Library.

I should be thrilled to walk through them. Instead, I’m only concerned I won’t be walking out of them again.

I’ve only ever seen the edges of the Greater Library from the reception that sits at the entrance. It is not for the likes of scribes to wander about the Greater Library or anywhere beyond it.

The central chamber soars up high. The tall stained glass dome must break the surface far above, and dim light filters down.

The walls are lined with shelves full to bursting with books and layers upon layers of these balconies spiral high up the chamber, and all the way down into the dark as well.

I itch to look over the edge to see how deep it goes.

The Librarian’s fingers are firm as she directs me up the nearest set of stairs.

We walk until she is satisfied, though I could not say if she is satisfied.

She simply decides to stop at some point, finally letting go.

It feels like I might have bruises where her fingers have pressed into my skin.

I back myself against the nearest bookshelf, and instantly regret it as she angles her body to block me in.

“Now, little mouse, why are you scurrying through my Library? I was under the impression I had instructed you to rest.” She runs her finger along my jaw, tipping my chin up.

I had been trying not to look at her directly because it makes me feel breathless. I scowl back at her and raise my hand to sign.

Aren’t you meant to be watching the scriptorium?

Sila laughs softly. It’s joyless, doing nothing to soften her expression. “Why would I bother today?” She lets my chin drop and steps back slightly. “Tell me, what book are you seeking?”

I don’t want her help. I didn’t want to involve her. She makes my skin prickle and my heart race, as if all of my senses are telling me to get as far away as possible.

It might seem she is being kind. Helpful even. But it will come at a cost. It always came at a cost with Librarians.

Why do you want to help me?

Sila tips her head. “Why should I not help?”

You’re a Librarian. Being helpful isn’t usually in your nature.

She smiles at that, and it splits across her face like heartbreak. It turns her into something heartrendingly beautiful. It is a terrifying reminder of how dangerous she is. There are ghastly faetales of beautiful ghosts that exist only to steal souls, and that is what she reminds me of.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re looking for, little mouse,” she says.

I fold my arms, shoving my hands under my armpits.

I’m restless because maybe she has the answer, and all I need to do is ask.

I’m reluctant, because the whole point of this exercise was to avoid her.

My mouth moves to shape the sound of frustration that I can’t utter, and then my hands are out, moving with the same irritated energy.

Fine. It’s an old book, slim, not much bigger than my hand. Red leather cover. It might have been returned some weeks ago.

Sila tips her head back the other way, like a curious bird. “After the incident?”

Yes .

“A red leather cover. With foil?”

Yes.

“Ancient and cracking along the spine?”

Yes—

“It is not here,” she says.

How can you know? You haven’t even looked. Curse this wretched bandage for making my signs clumsy in my frustration. A hot thread of anger lances through me. She’s playing with me with no intention of helping me at all. If you’re not going to be helpful ? —

“I didn’t say I would not be helpful,” she says, pressing a finger to my lips.

I blink at the touch, cold against the warmth of my skin.

She frowns, holding her finger there even though it’s my hands that do the talking.

“What is the connection between the incident and the book?. . .Ah, the book is the incident.”

I purse my lips against her finger.

“You were not found with a book,” Sila says. “But you were reading a book in the scriptorium earlier that evening, weren’t you?”

I stare at her, startled. How do you know that?

Sila smiles knowingly. “I was there, of course. How curious. You know, I had forgotten the book until now. I have not seen it since.” Her finger taps my mouth as she thinks.

Sila must have been watching the scriptorium that day. But I had been there after hours, and I’m sure I’d never seen her until after the incident. I would certainly have remembered her.

Books can’t just disappear .

“That’s not entirely true,” Sila says distractedly. “Books do all sorts of things when the fancy takes them.”

You must be joking .

“I am a Librarian, scribe, I do not joke.” She slides her finger across my lips, taking my chin between her fingertips. I swallow, mouth dry as she searches my face intently. “Something is missing here.”

I don’t know if she means in me, or in the story. Maybe both. It’s probably both.

I can’t remember that night.

That seems to catch her off guard. As if I have given her the wrong answer to a question she did not ask aloud.

“What do you remember?”

I opened the book, and then I woke up in the infirmary.

“Did they tell you how I found you?”

Yes .

There is the smallest fracture of something in Sila’s expression.

There and gone again, too quick for me to know what it was.

Her fingers flex again, grip tightening slightly before she drops her hand to take my injured one.

She lifts it, holding it gently in one hand while her fingers run softly over the bandage.

It makes my breath catch in my throat, silent as it always is now. She looks up at me sharply.

“You should go rest,” she says after a moment. “I expect to see you back in the scriptorium tomorrow.”

And with that, I am dismissed.