Page 9 of Broken Destiny

I gulp the last of my coffee and decide my stomach can at least handle the berries on the plate. They’re too plump and fresh to ignore and taste a million times better than the gruel the orphanage served for breakfast. If I never have to eat creamed wheat again, I’ll die a happy girl.

The knock on the door revives the nerves I’d slightly settled. Bubbling anxiety makes it difficult to set my forearms into the cuffs and stomp to the door. Ansel waits outside, but he isn’t alone. I stare at the three figures behind him, straightening my back. They look important, and I force my face to stay neutral as their eyes rove over me.

“Really, Ansel?” the youngest one drawls as his eyes flicker up and down my body. They linger a moment on my cleavage, and I suppress the urge to club him in the nuts with my crutch. He could give Ansel a run for his money with how attractive he is, but it’s a cold beauty; his form screams of pompous entitlement. The middle-aged one is Fae, I think, though I’ve only ever seen Rene as an example. He has the same pale skin and slightly pointed ears. The last guy is old and silver-haired with a beard that reaches his waist. He’s the only one who manages to retain his smile.

“Gentlemen,” Ansel starts tightly, “this is Zosia Abram.”

My eyebrows rise as the Fae studies me with renewed interest. I haven’t heard my real birth name in years. The orphanage used the name Michaels because I wouldn’t tell them what my real name was when I was admitted. I couldn’t risk my tormentor finding me. That Ansel knows it doesn’t surprise me, but I narrow my eyes at him anyway. I don’t like losing my anonymity so suddenly.

“Abram?” the old man asks. His fingers stroke his long beard. “Of the Egyptian Abrams?”

“I believe so,” Ansel responds carefully. He’s lying, but it appears to be fooling his counterparts because they don’t eye him like I do. He knows whether I am or not, and I plan on getting the information out of him later. It would be nice to know I have a history, and I prefer the story of my ancestors to that of my childhood. Egyptian bloodlines would explain my darker coloring, with the addition of a whiter person several times over in the family tree.

“Welcome, Ms. Abram,” the old man greets me with a slight bow, but the young man twists his face like he smells something foul. The Fae is ignoring me again, and I return the disregard.

“Zosia, these are representatives from each of the houses. Masters Dighit, Vanna, and Tremayne.” I guess their Houses - Beast, Other, and Mage - as Ansel introduces them from youngest to oldest-looking. Master might be a common title, but I still don’t like it. “They’re here to observe the trial.”

I merely nod. The three strangers turn away, obviously expecting us to follow. The oldest man, Master Tremayne, was the only one who actually looked at my legs for longer than the disgusted second. He doesn’t move as fast as the other two and probably hears Ansel when he leans toward me.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, very.” I force myself to respond. Ansel has been nothing but pleasant to me, and I could use allies if I plan on staying. If not, well, it won’t really matter. Will I die if the library rejects me, or will I be returned to the orphanage with a mind wipe? The prospect terrifies me, making me realize how much I don’t want to go back. I’ve been avoiding being an adult, resisting actually joining life as a living, breathing person. Now that the process has started, I don’t want to backtrack.

“So…what exactly is going to happen?” I ask as Ansel leads me toward the front steps again. The pale pinkish stones glow in the bright, early morning light. The staircase is just as tall as yesterday, though still not as intimidating as the orphanage steps. I almost look forward to climbing them.

The gargoyles appear to lean closer to the ground as if they’re ready for whatever is going to happen. I stop walking to look upward. I learned a long time ago that it’s never a good idea to sightsee and try to walk at the same time. The gargoyles remain motionless, but I could have sworn I saw one move.

The old man chuckles as he watches me. “Ansel can’t tell you because he doesn’t know.” He has a pleasant voice, and I imagine he’s a good grandfather to many kids. If I’d had a grandfather, I would have wanted him to be like Tremayne.

“Does anyone know?” I ask as I rejoin them. The mage shakes his head.

“The library doesn’t share her secrets. Her employees are selected by a secret trial.”

Great. I imagine games of life-sized chess, timed book shelving, or a complicated exam on all the literary greats. I’ve read too many books, but the literary classics always bored me, except Dickens. I could relate to his miserable characters and settings.

“Will this take all day?” the young beastmaster complains, and I resist the urge to flip him off, barely. My impulsiveness earned me lots of sessions with the paddle at the orphanage, but Mother Mary never managed to beat the troublesome nature out of me, though she tried. Nothing could compare to what I’d already dealt with, even if I couldn’t remember. My prickly nature is the best armor I can wear.

“Now, Dighit, no need to be so impatient. This is an important moment,” Tremayne chastises the younger man. I notice he doesn’t bother to add the master honorific either. What kind of name is Dighit anyway? Who wants to be named after a finger? Or maybe it’s a number? Even though it’s pronounced differently, it makes me want to sing the ‘No Diggity’ song, and I start humming it under my breath. The nuns hated 90’s music, and I loved tormenting them. I stop myself before I get too loud, but Tremayne hears me. His lips twitch with amusement.

When we’re standing before the looming staircase, we all stop. I amuse myself by imagining it’s a great trek up to the temple and we’re the Sherpas on an expedition. Well, I might be a donkey, but the others can be Sherpas. Ansel glances at me. I know what he’s thinking.

“Oh, hell no,” I object softly. “I’ll use my own damn feet.” I won’t be carried up these stairs.

I grit my teeth as I prepare myself and arrange my first step. It’s a complicated procedure, but the stairs are spaced wide enough apart that it isn’t as tricky as other staircases. Maybe I’ll never have to leave. My heart soars for just a second until I realize there might be a couple of reasons I’ll never walk down these stairs. One of those reasons isn’t ideal.

I’m sweating when we reach the top, and I shake out the slight tremor in my legs as Ansel unlocks the massive door. He holds it open, but everyone seems to be waiting for me to enter first. I take five steps into the front foyer and stop. The entryway is closed off from the rest of the library. It’s a rectangular space with marble flooring and towering pillars separating massive planks of wood that surround a carved door. The door is beautiful. I sense the magic it hides. Although we’re not even in the library yet, the room fills me with the same sense of comfort and rightness that I experienced sleeping next to its wall last night.

“Is this it?” I ask slowly, anxious to get through that door. None of the other men move.

“This isn’t the entirety of the library,” Ansel explains calmly while the beastmaster rolls his eyes at my blatant ignorance. “We can’t go further until you’re accepted. Only the library’s chosen and her employees can enter when she decides to close.”

My brow rises. “So there are workers besides the librarian?”

Ansel nods. He appears nervous, and I frown at him. “Is something supposed to happen?”

The old man laughs. “The last potential we brought in here didn’t make it farther than that very spot you’re standing in.”

I look down and notice that the floor is patterned strangely; the specks and lines in the fancy marble make shapes. A five-pointed star is positioned a step in front of me. It seems to glow. My body urges me to place my feet onto the star, but Tremayne’s observation stops me.

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