Page 67 of Stolen Songbird

Martin shrugged one shoulder. “Our ancestors were curious about such things. Foolishly, it turned out, believing that human magic was no danger to our kind. They kept records of what they learned, and we also have documents written by witches themselves.”

He tapped the spine of one of the books he’d brought me. “This is a witch’s grimoire. It was found in Anushka’s rooms after she fled Trollus.”

Tentatively, I reached out and plucked the book from the pile, half-afraid the thing would burst into flames at my touch. It was in surprisingly good condition considering it was over five centuries old. I touched the runes engraved on the cover, which was made of a strange sort of leather that I’d never seen before.

“Human skin,” Martin said helpfully.

I dropped the book.

“Try to open it, my lady,” he said.

Reluctantly, I retrieved the book from where it had fallen. The smooth feel of it beneath my fingers disgusted me. This wasn’t something, it was someone. I tugged on the clasp, gently at first, and then harder. It refused to budge.

Martin sighed. “No one has been able to open it. I thought perhaps because you are human it might…” He sighed again.

“Perhaps one needs to be a witch,” I said. “And do I look like a witch to you?”

Martin laughed nervously.

“Do you know where she is now?” I asked.

“No one knows, my lady.”

“She could be anywhere, then. Pretending to be anybody?”

“Don’t ask him to speculate, Cécile. Martin only deals in facts.”

I leapt off my chair, spinning around. “Tristan! I mean, my lord.”

“Your Highness.” Martin bowed. He eyed the two of us as though wondering what sort of destruction we would wreak upon his library. “If you could please keep your voices down.” Then he walked hurriedly away.

Tristan gave a soft snort of laughter as he warded our conversation against eavesdroppers, but I could tell he wasn’t feeling very amused. “I suppose I should consider this an improvement over the mines.”

I eyed him nervously, wondering if this would be the moment of reckoning. “It was something I thought I needed to do. Thank you for not interfering.”

He cocked one of his eyebrows. “Once I realized where you’d gone, there wasn’t much I could do without making a scene and raising more questions than I’ve a mind to be answering. It was reckless of you, though. And dangerous. I have noticed that there is a certain pattern to your behavior, and it makes me nervous.”

“I didn’t get caught,” I said. “At least, not really.”

His jaw tightened.

“A guild member saw me,” I admitted. “But I think he was a sympathizer.”

Tristan went very still. “Tell me what happened.”

I explained, and when I finished, he nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t think we need to worry about him.”

“I don’t either,” I said. “Do you know who he is?”

“Yes.”

I had hoped he would elaborate, but as usual, he was unwilling to divulge any more information than necessary.

Silence hung between us, but I felt his anxiety mount. Though he knew we were allies, he did not trust me. Not completely. Not in the way I found myself trusting him.

“Why are you in the library, Cécile?”

I stepped away from him and back to my table full of books. I cleared my throat. “I was brought to Trollus for one reason, Tristan, and that was to fulfill the prophesy that came from your aunt’s foretelling.”

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