Page 30 of Crown of the Courtesan

I shake my head, a few loose curls bouncing on my shoulders. “Not seriously, but I wish to leave immediately.”

The chittering crowd gathering around has no qualms about watching our every move. Captain Wellcrest motions to one of his guards, who dismounts his horse. Wellcrest also jumps down, clanking and rustling in his full-body armor, before lifting me onto the volunteered saddle and remounting his own.

Once I’m comfortable with the reins in one hand, I straighten out my black satin skirt before noticing the orc lord still standing there. He gives me an impertinent wink and then bows and murmurs, “Your Grace.”

“I appreciate your efforts,” I tell him, nodding only a little, not wanting to encourage his forward behavior. “You have my gratitude, my lord.”

Before he can say anything in return, Captain Wellcrest whistles, and the horses trot away. Minutes pass as we ride back to the castle in comfortable silence.

I hesitate but ask the question I can’t stop ruminating on. “Do you think General Metalla planned the carriage heist? He was right there before it happened.”

“No. I don’t…”

After a long pause, I breathe words into my fear. “He doesn’t want me on the throne. He’d do anything to put his daughter on it instead.”

“While I agree with you, I still don’t think he’s responsible for this.”

“But why?”

He takes a moment, his voice calm and reassuring. “Because General Metalla’s not careless. If he wanted you dead, you’d already be, and we never would have suspected his involvement.”

“Then who would do something like this?”

“My queen, we have been at war with the Kingdom of Ashland for three hundred years, and the fighting only intensifies with the Witch-King’s attacks across our borders.” My stomach clenches tight. I know nothing about battles or war.

With my veil fluttering in the wind, we crest a hill that overlooks the turquoise sea to our left. Sunlight reflects off the water, making me squint at Alexandria sprawling to our right, with the Hetaira River snaking through the city center before flowing north. The towering castle looms in the distance. I look down at the bloodied handkerchief I squeeze in my fist.

I contemplate Wellcrest’s words and try to remember the facts from my sparse history lessons as a girl, but little comes to me. Alexandria and Ashland have been at war since before I was born, so it’s always been a fact of life and easy to ignore. One that hasn’t affected me much. Not unless you count having to listen to decrepit men in uniforms drone on about naval ships and troop movements at balls.

“Could you bring me some textbooks about the history of our conflict with Ashland?” I ask as we approach the castle gates, the guards scrambling to open them.

“My focus is your safety, not books, but if you wish to learn more, find Mistress Wella in the library. She’ll want to meet you. I think the king also would have desired it.”

Fourteen

A carved inscription above the stone archway reads: Armies vanquish enemies, but knowledge outlasts any victory.

We slowly enter the library, and I’m awestruck by the magnitude of its domed ceilings. Hundreds upon hundreds of neatly arranged bookshelves, two or three times as tall as I am, spread into the cavernous center. Those out-of-reach books are accessible only with the aid of rolling ladders.

There’s a sense of wonder at the vast information within these walls as I trail behind Klara. She effortlessly weaves through the aisles, familiarity light in her footsteps. “Wella should be here somewhere.” Her hazel eyes sparkle as she glances over her shoulder. “Did you know she’s the Mistress of Knowledge, a Master of Bibliotheca and Libraries across our realm?”

I shake my head, breathing in the scent of parchment and ancient stone.

“Oh yes! She trained at the Citadel her whole life before coming here. She’s probably the smartest person in the kingdom. The king always went to her for help—” Something catches Klara’s attention, and her face tightens. With shifting eyes, she quickly mumbles, “I’ll be right back. There’s someone I need to speak with—just a moment.”

I turn around but don’t see anyone. She’s already making a straight line between the two bookcases from which we just came. Her form disappears before I can ask any questions. Shrugging off her strange behavior, I keep going deeper into the library.

Scribes wearing robes push rolling carts full of books in every direction, like a whirlwind of worker bees. I gently stop one with a tap on their shoulder and inquire, “Do you know where I may find Wella?”

He looks taken aback, then jerks his chin toward the farthest, darkest corner. “That’s Mistress Wella to you, you little snippet!” he snaps, returning to shelving the pile of books.

Choking on a laugh, I head in the direction he pointed. This far-off library section is dim, with lantern sconces attached to the wall casting a shadowy, half-lit effect. There are fewer people. Even the turning of pages seems quieter. More secretive.

I search for a long while, almost giving up before contemplating asking a different person for help.

But then a billowing robe crosses between the aisles.

I slowly follow, watching as she pulls a giant tome off a shelf. After scribbling on a list attached to a clipboard, she reaches for another. And another. Her quickness in exchanging the books makes her seem one with the library. As I approach her, she turns to greet me, a modest smile spreading across her careworn face. She’s an older woman with ebony skin and a short halo of ivory coils bouncing above her discerning eyes that lock with mine. “At last, we meet, Your Grace.” She dips into the curtsy only highborn ladies practice. “I am Mistress Wella; how may I assist you?”