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No disarray, she thought with a return of bitter humor. Even that initial confrontation with Bela Sovic took only moments to resolve. She read on.
Duties of house and kingdom require my attention at this moment. Later, if you would grant me the favor, I would like to escort you and your sister around the grounds, when we can discuss your journey to the east. Should the hours grow long or weary, send word to the stable master if you wish to ride. Or may I direct your attention to the library, where you might find books to entertain or enlighten you.
—Miro Karasek
She set the letter aside. She no longer found the absence of magic sinister. Undoubtedly he did not want to provoke curiosity among his servants. A man of details, he must be thinking of the weeks and months ahead, in case of visitors from Rastov. She would be far away in Morennioù, but he would remain behind.
At the thought of Morennioù, her appetite awakened. She ate quickly as she considered what to do for the morning. A ride might allow her the freedom of exploration. And yet she had spent too many days riding a difficult horse. The library, on the other hand, would contain books on Károví’s history. It might even include books that referenced Taboresk. She could hardly hope for a map to Miro Karasek himself, but his possessions might yield more clues to his character. One unguarded moment, her father had always said, could draw a finer picture than any public declaration.
She summoned her maid. “Do you have word of my sister?” she asked. “The Lady Matylda?”
“She went riding, my lady. She has not yet returned.”
Interesting. And so as she chose to ride, I shall visit the library.
She dressed with her maid’s help in the unfamiliar clothing. Tunic, skirt, sash. The layers themselves reminded her of home, but little else did. The ties instead of buttons or loops. The fine wool stitched with intricate designs along the sleeves and neck. Soon enough, however, she was striding through the corridors after a runner, who took her along a direct route from this half-deserted wing to the ground floor, then through a series of wide halls, one of them large enough for dancing. They were leaving one wing and entering another, before the runner paused outside a large set of doors and bowed. “The library, my lady.”
Valara paused on the threshold, caught by amazement.
She knew and loved the royal library in Morennioù Castle, but it was nothing compared to this vast chamber, which extended the length of an entire wing and rose two stories into the air. Tall windows alternated with broad walls of rose-colored marble, lined with bookshelves.
She drifted forward a few steps, her gaze taking in the lofty shelves that stretched from floor to airy ceiling. Books and more books and even more. She was so amazed by the unexpected sight, she hardly noticed the door shutting behind her.
Her progress soon brought her to a stand, with a large, delicately painted map underneath a glass frame. The parchment looked ancient, its edges yellowed and crinkled, but the map’s crisp inkwork seemed unchanged by time.
Taboresk, read the inscription.
A breathy laugh escaped her. She had wanted a map, though not so obvious a one as this. Well, it was a start. She bent over the glass frame to study her first clue.
The map showed the entire region, stretching from the mountains she and Ilse had skirted on their trip south, to the hills that divided Károví’s plains. Taboresk was a rambling wilderness, dotted with villages and small towns. It was much larger than she had first anticipated, almost a miniature kingdom. The man who ruled here had wealth and influence enough to make good his promises. Valara felt her anxiety ease a fraction.
But there was more to discover.
Leaving the map, she approached the nearest shelves, which held rows of bound volumes. She extracted one, which turned out to be written reports from the Károvín Council. She skimmed the text, reading of land grants and taxes and laws enacted by some elder generation. More reports told her these must date from two centuries past.
Then she came to Leos Dzavek’s name.
Valara snapped the book shut and leaned against the bookcases, trembling. It was the suddenness, coming across the name so unexpectedly. Not cowardice. Or guilt. Her brother was dead, dead by his own magic
. She had paid her own price, as well.
You will never pay the full price. You cannot, unless you undo time itself.
The truth according to her father’s mage councillor, when she once dared to ask him about retribution for past crimes. Her pulse beating too fast for comfort, she returned the book to its shelf and stared at the others.
I cannot change yesterday, she thought. I can only look for tomorrow.
Nevertheless, her hands continued to shake as she plucked out a second book, several rows past those council reports. This one carried no title except the name Karasek.
It was a family history. The first page described how Fedor Karasek, a trusted retainer of Leos Dzavek’s father, received his grant of lands. Two decades later, Dzavek himself elevated the man to nobility during the Liberty Wars and awarded him these holdings.
Four hundred years ago.
Valara paused. She had found her treasure of clues, yet the thought intruded that she had no right to trespass thus. She shook away this odd, new delicacy on her part.
We cannot trust until we know each other better.
She replaced the book and searched through the volumes until she found the most recent one. Quickly, she leafed through its pages until she reached the end.
