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But my brother and how he treats those who dwell in his territory are not my concern today. I have a singular goal here. To scour the records in the Fontossian library curated and maintained by the Fates and be sure I have everything I need to repeat the ritual that created and bound the Shadow Realm.
I turn left at a large house flying a banner with my brother’s lightning symbol on it and shake my head. Zanirah must love glancing out the window from the palace’s east wing and being reminded of one of my brother’s many bastards. Then again, she’s rumored to have more than a few herself. The two of them really were made for each other.
My next turn reveals a sprawling two-story building that dominates the entire street. The triple moon symbol of the Fates flies above the rotunda tipped in gold, and despite the late hour, the marble steps are bustling with people. Some entering or leaving the library, others simply enjoying the last of the sun’s rays on the wide, deep steps.
I pace myself up the stairs, barely acknowledging people who call out a greeting or tribute to my brother. The smell of mortals has begun to overwhelm, and I’m eager to get what I came for and leave.
I can’t shift in this form without calling unnecessary attention to myself, even though my patience is thinning with all the stairs and the people. Unless they’ve moved it, the book I need should be in the ancient history room on the second floor in the rare books section.
One of Acaria’s oldest history books, penned at the beginning of time by beings far more ancient than I. Beings I helped my brother defeat and exile when we took over Acaria. I wonder if I would make the same choice to help him if he asked me again.
Not likely, knowing what he would become. A monster who hides behind the benevolent mask of a king.
A woman in a red robe with a white stripe down the front, her golden skin enhanced by a halo of dark, tightly coiled curls, lifts her arm in greeting. I nod, hoping to avoid a conversation, but she slows her pace and smiles.
“Brother, it’s good to see another servant to their majesties outside of the temple.”
“Yes,” I say simply, hoping she’ll take the hint and move on.
“Most everyone is locked away in preparation for the upcoming holy day. But I think it’s good to get out and stretch one’s legs and one’s mind.”
I nod, acutely aware of my brother’s penchant for declaring holy days whenever he has a mind to be worshipped by the entire territory. He must have added one for the winter ball to keep the attention on himself. He does so hate to not be the center of everyone’s focus.
“I couldn’t agree more. If you’ll excuse me. I’d like to get a few hours of reading in before the call to dinner.”
“You mean devotions.”
“Of course. Devotions and then dinner. Thank you for the reminder.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but I give her a curt bow and walk away quickly, disappearing around the next corner. This hallway, at least, is empty of people who might stop me and insist on a meaningless conversation.
The ancient history room is likewise empty, and I take the chance to shift to the shelves housing Acaria’s rarest history books. They look new despite their age, preserved by power and tethered to the shelves to keep them safe.
As much as I would like to take the one I need back with me to study it as thoroughly as I can, even I could not take it farther than the nearest table. The Fates rule this library with an iron fist.
I move down the rows, scanning each book in turn, frowning when I reach the last of them and still don’t see the one I need. I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be here. Or who would have the ability to remove it from the library. The Fates’ power here is absolute.
It has to be here. I must have missed it. Working my way backward, I trace my fingertip over the spine of every tome lining every shelf in this section until I reach the beginning again.
Pushing down the rising anger, I again check to make sure I’m alone and close my eyes. Pulling the image of the book’s brown leather cover, pages filled with ancient, angular script and the occasional drawing or diagram to mind, I attempt to conjure it into my hands. Nothing. Meaning it’s likely not anywhere in the library at all.
The fucking book is gone.
I cannot perform the ritual without the proper instructions. And performing it without all the right steps and potions would be at best ineffective and at worst dangerous. The ritual Kaia and I pieced together is only from our memories. It could have holes or wrong steps or wrong ingredients.
I know the ritual was recorded because I watched the court historian add it to the final pages. I watched him sprinkle sand across the ink to dry it. It should be shelved in this section of the library with all the other books on how Acaria was created. And yet…it isn’t.
Stalking toward the nearest table, I pick up a chair and hurl it at the wall, satisfied when it splinters apart. Turning from the wreckage, I wave my hand to clear it and shift back to the palace, shedding my glamour and using my power to throw open the doors.
I conjure a dagger in my hand, twisting it through my fingers. A long session in Síra would help work out the frustrations—no, the rage—I feel at having gone all the way to Fontoss only to walk away empty-handed. At knowing I’m no closer to solving this problem I have than I was when I left.
Then the faint scent of honeysuckle reaches my nose, and I suddenly have a much better idea about how to spend my evening. As I close my fist, the dagger disappears, and I eat up the distance between me and the end of the hallway with long strides.
By the time I reach the main corridor, Elora is so close I nearly run into her. She steps back, looking me up and down, a grin twitching across her lips.
“Did you give up the black for Fontossian red?”
I glance down at the robes I haven’t bothered to change, moving toward her until her back hits the wall and the grin falls from her mouth.
