Page 7 of Crown of Ashes and Awe

I rolled my eyes and turned for the door. “It won’t matter much if we’re laid waste by dragon fire, will it?” I paused, hoping he’d assure me that fire wouldn’t be the manner of our death. I couldn’t imagine anything more painful.

“Take your time,” he said instead. “Be thorough. If it grows dark, stay the night in the safety of the keep.”

On the way up the hill, I thought back on Demius’ lingering stare and realized he might not have been hoping for a confession from me, but perhaps had been tempted to confess something himself. After all, we might not live much longer. Perhaps he thought it time he expressed his appreciation for me.

And the more I considered, the more determined I became to express my own appreciation for him as soon as I returned to the house. He’d taken me in as a wee babe left at his door. He’d kept me alive, educated me, and as keeper of his priceless library, he’d declared me his apprentice, though my access to the books was restricted.

But most importantly, he’d kept me under his protection, shielded me from the Prospectors—an association that scouts for female younglings in an attempt to increase the population.

With time running out, I realized I wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore…

4

A HANDFUL OF CAKE

The idea of searching the keep excited me nearly as much as the dream of leaving the canyon had. In addition, I’d been obsessing over that abandoned cake for days. Surely, the Semels hadn’t taken something so large nor so delicate on the back of a dragon. But as I reached for the door, a cold shiver ran down my back, and I nearly turned around and went back down the hill.

No need to knock. Despite the bratach and a sign on the door declaring the keep “occupied,” the family wouldn’t return, no matter what they’d left behind. And soon, they’d be dead just like the rest of us.

I pushed my way inside, and after a silent debate with myself, I barred the door behind me. Absolute silence waited for me inside the cavern where Demius and I had spent mere moments eight days ago, before the party was cut short.

Trinkets lay toppled and rejected on their shelves. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and seats alike. The massive sword that usually hung above the hearth was gone. Two empty brackets extended from the stones as if waiting for someone to hand it back.

I was relieved the holding was built well enough to keep most of the vermin out, as proven by the fact that the sweet celebration cake hadn’t been touched. Here and there, berries had turned to tiny soppy puddles, leaves had wilted and curled.

I dug my fingers into the unsullied side of the stack and scooped out a still-soft chunk. Bits of parfruit, baked inside, were still moist, but I still needed water to wash it down. Thankfully, the reserves hadn’t completely dried up since the party.

I wasn’t sure what Father Semel had done to gather enough wealth to acquire such a fine home for only occasional use, but the sculpted, cushioned furniture wouldn’t do him any good now. I imagined there were plenty of luxuries in the city, though, so maybe the family wouldn’t be too uncomfortable while they waited out our collective doom.

The day after their abrupt departure, I’d suggested to Demius that we move ourselves up the hill to enjoy what comfort we could and put some distance between ourselves and the steady flow of travelers, but Demius insisted we must protect the library.

It was a lie. I knew it despite his convincing tone. His large ears always turned red when he bluffed, and they’d been flaming hot, as red as the canyon walls, before the words ever crossed his lips.

There had to be another reason.

The library was protected by a spell and the key now hanging around my neck. Even if someone knew about the caverns and their priceless treasure, the key alone couldn’t open the entrance hidden beneath our floorboards. Access also required a touch of magic. So, although I’d heard the spell a hundred times and memorized every word, in my hands, the key wasn’t much use.

Maybe, he would explain over supper how an Uncast like me was supposed to make it function.

Over supper and a piece of slightly dry cake.

There was only one thing Demius treasured as much as his library and that was his sleep, as if his life depended upon it. This was his only weakness, like a man addicted to fermented drink. So, if he didn’t explain over our evening meal, I would take advantage of his weakness—after he was good and weary—and demand the truth. And I wouldn’t let him near his beloved bed until he explained.

And I would press him about the blue dragon. If the history of the prophecy were buried in his most ancient books, the details of our doom had to be there too. I was wrong not to have demanded answers that first night.

Patience be damned—I refused to be tortured any longer.

How soon would we die? Was it pointless to store more water? To tend our meager crops? And how would it happen? Would it be painful? Would it be slow? Would it take only an instant, like a beheading?

I’d witnessed a beheading once, and though I’d watched closely, I couldn’t see any signs of pain on the face of the man’s head as it rolled away. If I learned our deaths would be more painful, maybe I could commit some crime so my end would come faster.

Such thoughts made my hands slow as I dug through the many rooms of the keep. I started with the servants’ quarters and found little of interest. A bundle of papers with the details of a life, the scrawling barely intelligible. Soon, it might be the only evidence of that life, so I left it where it was instead of taking the pages for our fire.

The house held surprisingly little food. But why horde dry stuffs when you can afford to bring fresh things with you from the city?

There was a finely crafted water skin of dragon leather I hung by the door so I wouldn’t forget it. Too heavy to be practical, but it would make a worthy gift for my master, to go along with my gratitude. The beautiful bowl of carved and polished stone was too heavy to carry on my first trip down the hill and too frivolous if we only had days to live.

In the back hall, I found slings and other types of weapons, but like the musical instruments in the great hall, with no time to learn their use, they were worthless to me. If Demius had ever tested himself against another, his weapons of choice had been mere words and rain, though there were two blades in our little house if we needed them.

---