Page 129 of A War of Three Kings

Our footsteps are mere scuffs across the stone floor, but they feel too damned loud, as do our breaths and the hammering of our hearts. Each aisle is headed by a bust of a human on a tall pedestal. My heart skips a beat each time one resolves out of the gloom and I expect to see a soldier instead of marble.

The library is musty and heavy dust irritates my nose, as though this place is rarely used. What a waste of resources, especially if it’s not open to the public.

We make a sharp turn down an aisle labeled as fae history texts. Every single tome looks brand new. None of the spines are cracked or faded. I run my hand along a row and the leather is still firm.

Silvan removes his invisibility ward from around us as soon as we all cram into that small aisle, and Zinnia forms a different kind at its mouth—an illusion that shows the aisle undisturbed. If a guard walks past, they will see the books and the wrought-iron door at its end, but not us. She can project a perfect image of a place if she concentrates hard enough.

“You should hurry,” Prince Niall urges.

I pin him with a hard look. “You wait here.”

I turn toward the wrought-iron gate as Keira breaks its wards and opens it. We follow her down a spiral staircase, each soft clang of boots upon metal making my jaw clench.

The small room below is in pitch blackness, and each of us lights a fire orb. Thick dust motes hang in the air, and it is all I can do to hold in a sneeze. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are crammed with texts, with many tall piles littering the floor. There is an entire cabinet of Living Memory Scrolls encased in quartz tubes, brown parchment visible within.

“We can’t take all of them,” Drake grumbles.

Keira hands out canvas bags, some with straps to loop over our backs and others for our shoulders. “The scrolls are the priority,” she states. “Scan the books and grab anything that looks important. We will only get one shot at this.”

I make quick work of breaking the ward on the glass cabinet housing the scrolls and piling them into bags. The protective tubes are heavy, but at least they are not fragile. When each bag is full, we wrap them tightly with twine to stop the scrolls from moving and clinking. Then we work on the books.

When we are carrying as much weight strapped to us as we can manage and still fight, we climb back up that spiral staircase. I am the first back up to the aisle of fake texts. I only take a few steps before I stiffen, my blood turning to ice.

A man in brown robes stands at the head of the aisle, staring at the invisibility ward. The king’s druid adviser. Zinnia is a statue right before his nose, one hand clutched to the prince and the other on a dagger.

Cyprien comes up the steps behind me, and I throw up a hand to stop him. We all freeze, standing on a knife-edge, not daring to breathe in case he might hear us.

The druid pauses for a long moment before his lips curve up at the edges and he takes a step into the aisle, through the ward.

“Ah, I thought I saw a weave of magic here that was unnatural to this world,” he says softly, triumph on his face. “I had been wondering when you would come. You can imagine my delight when you set off the triggers I had placed here.”

He glances over each of us, seemingly unfazed by the fact that we are reaching for our weapons.

The prince steps out in front of the druid, blocking his body from us, and glances back at me. “Let me talk to him.” There is a note of desperation in his voice.

“Don’t let me delay you.” The druid’s eyes connect with mine as he waves an arm at the people behind me.

“What are you doing here, Murdoc?” Niall’s voice is low and deadly. “Is this a trap you have set for us? Have you alerted the royal guard?”

Murdoc raises his eyebrows. “And why would I do a thing like that? I assume you are here to take and distribute the truths from within that cellar. We druids have been trying to achieve that feat for generations. I have been attempting to nudge you toward this misdemeanor for months now, with little comments here and there.”

Both men stare at each other.

“You won’t tell anyone that I have been here, working with these people?” Niall asks.

A hint of a smile plays on the druid’s face. “I never saw you. There is one request I will make. Leave that door unlocked and the wards down, so my order can have access to whatever texts you leave behind.”

I stalk to the druid and tower over him. “Why would you help us? You could easily raid that room, then inform the king about Niall’s deception.”

“And which king is that?” Murdoc asks, flicking his eyes to Niall. “Because there are two brothers who have a right to the throne of Strathia. One is enlightened and competent, and the other will be the ruin of all of us. Not to mention the third man making a grab for the crown.”

Alarmed voices ring out through the library. The marching steps of heavy boots striking the stone floor and the clash of segmented armor panels make my blood run cold.Someone has alerted the guards.

I narrow my eyes on Murdoc. The thin man would be easy to kill. I bet I could crush him with my bare hands.

“I swear it! The portal lit up as bright as a beacon, just ten minutes past!” A squeaky voice reaches us just before a small academic rushes past, wringing his hands as soldiers flank him.

Plans run through my head. Murderous plans.

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