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Chapter twenty

A fter training on the third morning in Tovick, I waited for Gemma, hoping we might spend the day together, but she and Finn were nowhere to be found. Where they hid away, I didn’t know, but I assumed they weren’t both “sleeping” in the same room as the others.

Gavin remained close but quiet, probably sensing that I was still irked about his surprise attack from yesterday. Training that morning had been awkward. I ran and sparred with Ezra without giving my teacher a single word or look.

After lunch, I sat on a tattered leather sofa in the back room of the tavern, happily out of sight from its daily customers.

The book Ezra had given me for my birthday was informative but dull.

I’d already read through it twice and could recite the Rexus dynasty rulers and the years of their reigns.

Now, in the present, with all that lay ahead, it didn’t feel useful.

And I needed to feel useful.

Eventually, my patience ran out. I asked for more books, and Damond delivered, escorting me and a silent Gavin to a magnificent library a few blocks south of the tavern.

My old home in Warrich didn’t have that many books, and I had read through each one several times over.

But the towering red-brick cylinder with a glass ceiling cross-hatched with iron had thousands.

I almost tripped when I entered, too focused on the lofty black iron staircase spiraling all the way to the top to notice two wooden steps beyond the entryway.

I caught myself and turned in circles, eyes upward, gawking.

I didn’t know so many books could exist in one place at a time.

I didn’t know so many books existed at all.

Every space on the wall was a bookshelf, and not a single ledge was empty.

Volumes bound with black and reds and blues and greens, were all the decor this space needed.

It would take years—lifetimes, maybe—to get through these.

I wondered if Elias liked to read. If, after going to the Caves, I could come back here again. Maybe he’d come with me.

Gavin strode past, sparing neither of us a glance as he grabbed a thick blue book from a shelf and sat, overtaking the majority of a brown leather love seat on the main floor near the door. Forever my sentry.

No , I reminded myself, stomach dropping. Not forever.

I followed Damond to a circular table in the center of a room illuminated by chandeliers crafted with iron and green wax candles lit with bright flames. “Does he not trust you to be alone with me?” I muttered so only Damond could hear.

“He does, actually.” Damond pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit.

“He’s a possessive, jealous bastard when it comes to you.

I’ve never seen anything like it, but I —” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, contemplating how to continue.

“Well, Ary, you’re not my type. I have… alternate interests. ”

My brow furrowed, not quite understanding.

Damond merely chuckled at my confusion, waving a hand. “In any case, with or without you, I’m not sure you could keep him out of this place if you tried. ”

“Why not?”

A twinkling smile gleamed on Damond’s face, his cheek pushing against the bottom rim of his round glasses. “Because it’s his. He built it.”

My mouth fell open. I looked up at the iron features dominating the space. Likely crafted, at least in part, by a blacksmith. “The whole library? He built the whole library?”

Damond nodded. “Blacksmith, stonemason, glazier, carpenter—Smyth is many things.” He gestured around.

“It’s his home, actually, here in Tovick.

He’s got living quarters downstairs. Indeed, he’s my friend and could stay with me whenever he wants, but he prefers to distance himself from The Black Badger whenever possible.

My ‘hedonistic shithole,’ he so lovingly describes it. ”

I frowned at that.

“Although…” Damond leaned forward, folding his hands. “For the last few nights, I believe he’s been lending this place to a few of your amorous friends.”

My jaw dropped so far I thought it might smack the table.

“Gemma and Finn have been here ?”

I glanced over at Gavin—watched him , for once, rather than the other way around.

He sat with his boot resting on the opposite knee.

One hand resting on the propped-up leg. In his other hand, he held his book and read with a furrowed, focused brow.

His hair was clean, tied partially back in a knot. Beautiful and savage. A rugged scholar.

“That doesn’t make sense. He can’t stand them,” I muttered, turning back to Damond. “My friends.”

Damond shrugged. “Seeing your friends happy makes you happy, does it not?”

True. Warmth swirled in my belly at his suggestion .

“I don’t agree with a great many of his choices,” Damond continued, “and I’m unsure if he’s capable of making the smartest decisions around you, but—”

“He’s been committed to protecting me.” The need to defend him felt like instinct. “He’s saved my life on multiple occasions.”

“I said around you, not for you,” Damond chuckled. “Make no mistake—he’d gladly throw us all to the wolves to protect you, and he won’t think twice about dying for you. But you’d be blind to miss, Ary, how you make him lose his wits.”

I forced a swallow and nodded. “I know he cares for me. And I would imagine Simeon has placed a lot of pressure on him to deliver me safely. But I would go to great lengths to protect him too. He’s my friend.”

That word still felt wrong.

Damond studied me with a familiar stern look, giving little away. Finally, he asked, “Did you tell him that?” His mouth twitched. “That he’s your friend?”

“Yes.”

He dipped his head, failed to suppress a snort, and looked up at me through his thick eyelashes. “And how did that turn out?”

“I don’t… He didn’t like it much.”

Damond laughed and continued in a low voice, “Between you and me, Ary, is it a friendship you want from Smyth?”

Blood pooled in my cheeks. “What? I… I don’t… Damond, he has a wife, and Elias Winterton is my—”

“He told you he had a wife?” Damond’s voice was clipped. He leaned forward over the table and crossed his arms, all traces of humor gone. It was clear by the way his eyes narrowed and head tilted that he questioned Gavin’s decision to mention her.

I nodded. Nausea whittled at my nerves. I felt color leaving my skin. “But I—can we not talk about it? ”

After an uncomfortably heavy pause, he answered, “Of course.” Damond gave a soft smile and squeezed my hand. If he felt any lingering unease, he hid it well. “Why did you want to come to the library today, Aryella?”

I looked up, up, up, and around. There had to be something in this vast collection about the prophecy if it indeed was part of Nyrida’s history. Something about the power I was meant to wield.

“Do you know much about my power?” I asked Damond. “I don’t want to wait for Simeon to teach me.”

Casually, he rose from his chair and searched the first floor of shelves. A minute or two later, he returned with a large, black, leather-bound book embossed in gold. I read the title.

The Book of the Selvaren .

“Our lore claims the gods each gave a piece of themselves to form our world. If your power comes from the Selvaren, I would start there.” He pointed to the hefty tome before me. “With the gods.”

For three hours, I scoured the book—without eating, using the bathroom, or rising from that table. I’d known the names of our gods, how they corresponded with each of our twelve months, but I’d known nothing of their supposed powers.

Nevelin, Goddess of Snow and Ice, could freeze anything with a single touch.

Aurana, Goddess of Gravity, could levitate and move items without lifting a finger.

Viridian, God of Healing and Regeneration, could repair the injured and dying and regrow limbs and organs.

Rainar, God of the Seas, could manipulate water into whatever shape, wave, or weapon he desired.

Floris, Goddess of the Earth, could wield the vines and branches of trees like extra limbs.

Aesta, Goddess of Light, could illuminate her surroundings with a flick of her wrist. Helios, God of Fire, could burn .

Soltum, God of Animals, could communicate with creatures.

Effusia, Goddess of the Mind, could manipulate emotion with a touch of her hand.

Autumna, Goddess of the Hunt, could alter her appearance to go undetected by prey.

Sussurro, God of Air, could steer the wind as he pleased.

And finally, the one who had entranced me in the temple with his soothing dark.

Nyxar, God of Night, the strongest of them all.

He could move the moon and stars and engulf the whole world in midnight.

Eclipse every other god and nullify the effect of their powers.

I shuddered. To wield such remarkable power would be intoxicating.

After Nyxar’s pages, there were thirteen more, and they were oddly blank.

“Damond?” I called, turning in my seat to see where he’d gone.

Gavin lowered his book at the sound of my voice. Our eyes met before I could stop myself. The heated, silent plea in his gaze was a catalyst to my pulse. It ricocheted around the chambers of my heart until I forced myself to look at Damond as he approached.

“Yes, Ary?” He sidled up to the table.

I pointed to the end of the book. “Why are these pages blank?”

“It’s copied from the original. I believe all the copies are that way.”

“Well, where’s the original?”

Damond chuckled. “The Selvaren only knows. It would be at least a thousand years old.”

My brow furrowed as I looked down at my hands. There was no trace of these powers in or around the fair, lightly freckled skin of my fingers. They looked as weak and helpless as I had felt in Warrich.

Fuming, I scanned those ancient pages again and again. The Book of the Selvaren had plenty to say about the deities and their histories, but nothing to suggest how a mortal might wield their powers.