Page 96 of Revealing Fate

Adder appeared from the front of the cabin. He glanced curiously in their direction, silver hair catching the light.

“I hope you’re right,” Santhe said, turning to join him. “For all our sakes.”

Felíne waited until both Santhe and Adder had disappeared behind the wall of green before picking her way back toward the cabin’s front door. She expected to find Kal on the couch where she’d left him, but the room was empty. As was the hallway, the kitchen, his bedroom, and even the bath. The cabin wasn’t large. There were only so many places he could be.

“Kal?”

“Here,” his voice called. Felíne followed the distant sound back toward the living room and stopped before a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf near the hearth. Odd. The vertical edge of the shelf was askew. She nudged the lip farther out. It swung open on silent hinges.

Felíne stared down into a dim stairwell. Kal had a basement hidden behind his bookshelf. Of course he did. She stepped onto the first descending stair.

It wasn’t a dank, creepy basement. Not like the unused tunnels beneath Asteros. She didn’t breathe stale air. No cobwebs clung to the ceiling. No broken, dusty pavers marked her descent.

No, this was a sleek stairwell of polished mahogany, walls lined in pale stone. Cheerful oil lamps flared with life, their amber wicks ensconced within textured glass cylinders. The floor was smooth tile layered in plush cream-colored carpets. Upon reaching the bottom, Felíne found herself in a long, rectangular room with a surprisingly cavernous ceiling sporting thick wooden beams. The far end of the room was shadowed, but she could see a wide array of armor and weaponry, each piece arranged neatly along one wall. To her left sat an ornate bar. Shelving behind the expansive counter held an assortment of bottles filled with amber liquid. The collection would make any barkeep flush with envy.

But it wasn’t the armory or the impressive selection of liquor that made her breath catch. The entire right wall of the basement was carved with bookshelves bursting with texts. A comfortable, overlarge chaise lounge occupied the center of the space, flanked by a rustic low table. Seated upon the lounge, surrounded by a flurry of parchment, tattered scrolls, and heavy, leather-bound tomes, was Kal.

The man had a secret basement filled with books, liquor, and weaponry. If Felíne didn’t love him before, this settled things.

They stared at one another.

“Having fun?”

Kal ran a hand through his hair, distressing the already disheveled curls. Additional lamplight spilled over his features, gilding his tawny skin. “Not particularly, no.”

Felíne carefully tiptoed around the mess of vellum and crawled onto the wide, plush chaise. “What is all this?”

“The godscripts.”

“What?” Her eyes snapped to his. There had to be a hundred texts alone. Why in the world would one man need that many copies of the same holy book? “All of it?”

Kal leafed through a particularly worn manuscript. “Not all. But most. What I’ve been able to collect the past fifteen years or so, anyway. Many are fragmented translations. It’s been a while since I’ve gone through them.”

“Goddess mercy, Kal. Were you a Faithful Cursed?”

“No.” He barked a laugh. “Though you should know the Faithful Cursed is not the only religion built upon the godscripts.”

“Then, why keep all of these copies?”

He glanced up briefly. “They’re not copies.”

Felíne’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“These are original texts.”

It took a moment for his words to process. When they finally did, the room tilted. “That’s…impossible.”

The Faithful Cursed maintained that the godscripts were based on one sacred book, the original book, kept safely interred deep within the elder’s city of Doceo. The queen’s priests had copies that they referenced in their temple ceremonies, and the royal villa’s library kept its own editions. Every so often, one of the elders would arrive from Doceo with a personal copy.

But this? To have so many purported original handwritten accounts? This was unheard of.

Felíne had a hundred questions, but her brain only seemed capable of producing one. “Why? Why would you need so many?”

“Research,” he replied.

Felíne picked up a scroll and nearly dropped it when she saw the date penned in the corner. It was written five centuries ago. Her skepticism regarding the authenticity of Kal’s collection evaporated. To her knowledge, the oldest copy in Asteros was four-hundred years old. “What were you researching?”

“Nothing that made a difference,” he eluded.