Page 52 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

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Verda hadn’t thought there’d be a more chilling sound than the click of the vault door’s mechanism locking behind them – that was, until she heard the gravelly rumble of stone on stone. Skreeeek. Skreeeek. Skreeeek. Slow. Methodical. Like foot steps belonging to some thing big.

She unsheathed her shortsword, for all the good it would do. Beside her, Lin loaded his crossbow. A thick cord of silence wound between them, taut and ready to choke.

The Head Librarian successorship test had two parts: the practical exam and the proposal presentation. For the practical exam, all candidates had been informed ahead of time that they’d be facing a replica of the kind of sentinel golem that once guarded the vaults of the royal palace in Aarakarsh – yet they weren’t allowed to destroy it, no; just disable it. It was a test of their finesse, considering how many of the artifacts being re-discovered at various dig sites were highly dangerous – but ultimately worth studying if humanity was to relearn the art of logomancy. They’d been allowed to take with them a partner of their choice; one weapon; and a small leather spell pouch with a notebook, a quill pen, a reed pen, and one bottle each of only two inks: lampblack and cinnabar.

Black for quickness. Red for complexity. Understandable choices, but not nearly enough for this task – even throwing in verdigris or orpiment or lead white would have been comforting, despite the handling risks. Black and red couldn’t even be mixed to create other colors. It was truly a test of wits.

The vault in question looked like any other warren of Reading Rooms in the Library of Vanserai, except that its bookshelves were arranged more like the walls of a maze than in any order that bespoke a cataloguing system. It was also dimmer, with no windows and few lanterns, its farthest ends bathed in shadows.

Out of those shadows emerged the sentinel golem. Carved from prime red granite and terminating in hands and feet of iron, its surface was chiseled with some of the finest calligraphic spell circles the field of logomancy had to offer – a deadly work of art. Looming over them at nine feet tall, its limbs and torso were as wide as wine barrels. One punch or kick would be enough to deal more than a concussion and a few broken bones.

However, its most worrisome feature was the hunk of clear quartz crystal bulging from the center of its chest, glowing brighter and more mesmerizing by the second. According to Verda’s scant readings about sentinel golems from the Aarakarsh empire, she had a five-second window to turn and run during this charging period when the golem’s head swiveled in their direction, its quartz crystal eyes locking onto their target. The next window would come in about a minute. Only problem was, her body didn’t understand the assignment. An ice bath of fear washed over her.

“Verda!”

Before she knew it, the cold of the marble floor was seeping through the back of her robes, in stark contrast to Lin’s warmth permeating through the front. She was on the ground, pinned beneath him.

For the briefest of moments, in the smallest of gestures, she reached up to clutch his sleeves with trembling hands, intending to pull him closer. To envelop herself in the sudden safety of his warm, muscular body. To drown in the deep purple twilight of his eyes. What a reversal of the time she’d found him shipwrecked and unconscious on the shore of Crescent Bay.

But then the stench of burnt fabric stung her nostrils, redirecting the flow of her attention. The blood-red velvet carpet now had a black burn mark sizzling where she had once stood. The same burn mark was mirrored in the hem of Lin’s robe. Crossbow bolts were scattered all around them.

“We gotta go!” Lin scrambled off her and stretched out his hand to pull her to her feet. When Verda clasped his wrist, he let out a muffled yelp. His wrist was sprained.

Well, shit.

They ran, Verda grabbing her sword and Lin grabbing three bolts as they fled.

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They’d claimed a windowless, empty lecture hall on the second floor. It was six rows high and shaped like a half-moon. Verda took a seat in the fifth row while Lin opted to pace as she explained her proposal to him. To her consternation, as she finished, he broke down in laughter, his guffaws echoing around the room.

“I have a condition, Snowflake.” Lin’s accent sawed off Serainese’s rough edges and replaced them with posh, rounded consonants. He wiped a tear from his eye, then repositioned himself atop the teacher’s table, one leg crossed over the other. He resembled a king on a throne.

Verda felt her eyebrows were going to shoot past her hairline. “Let’s hear it, Pretty Boy.”

Lin held up a wagging finger and said, “I would like to dine at Artivisi’s after you’ve presented your proposal to the Council.”

Verda inhaled sharply. Artivisi’s was the most expensive establishment in Vanserai, not least because they imported meats like venison and veal and specialized in at least six ways of cooking them. Depending on what Lin ordered, a whole month’s salary for a senior librarian and the additional allowance from Duke Belegdani would be gone like a dust devil in the desert.

“Isn’t there somewhere else you’d prefer to dine?”

Lin shrugged. “If you don’t like that, then I’ll settle for a long and flowery paragraph praising me in the acknowledgments of the final report you’ll be submitting to the Council. At least five sentences long.”

“… Fine, you exceedingly vain peacock. Artivisi’s it is,” Verda said through gritted teeth. For some reason, treating Lin to a meal that would make her wallet cry was more palatable than that. “And does that apply whether or not I am named Head Librarian?”

“You will be named Head Librarian,” Lin insisted. “I’m no expert, but from what I’ve heard of your proposal, I think you’ve got a really good shot at it. I just want to celebrate with you using some of that sweet Head Librarian salary.”

It was perhaps the first time he’d ever complimented her without insulting her in the same breath. She rose from her seat and descended the steps. When she got within a foot of Lin, she extended her hand.

“Deal.”

Lin slid off the desk and firmly shook her hand, which all but disap peared in his. She could feel every inch of his hand; each and every callous brought on new waves of shame, brought home how soft her own hands were from lack of practice. Not to mention, Lin was a lot closer than she had ever let him be. She caught a faint whiff of his soap: cedarwood and some thing citrusy.

“Deal. And I’ll have the contract ready for signing by tomorrow morning.”

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