Page 67 of Court of Wolves

Isak moved around the desk, scanning the neatly organised papers, the books stacked along the edge, the pots of pens and needles and thread.

This is it,Viskae breathed, almost reverent.I can feel it. It’s calling to me.

There’s no box here,Isak sighed, a frown digging into his forehead. There wasn’t even a tiny snuff box.The inkwell?Hesuggested. But that was silver, not gold. Other than that, there were writing materials, tools he only half recognised—he was proud to be able to name an awl—and a half-bound book left in the middle of the desk, clearly Tynenn’s current project.

The book,Viskae whispered, urging Isak to reach out, to touch it. The second his fingers brushed the edge of the pages, she inhaled sharply and shuddered within him. Isak tore his hand away. So this was what she’d led them to. Not a box. Not even a fragment of it. A book.

There was a trace of magic clinging to it—that was what he’d felt as he drew nearer—but nothing like the wealth of power Viskae was supposed to lead him to. Isak clenched his jaw, a muscle feathering in his cheek.

“Ah, you’ve found my current obsession,” Tynenn said with a fond smile—at the book, Isak realised. Huh. He supposed these projects took so long they were almost like the librarian’s children. “This book is over a thousand years old, and it was in such a poor state the pages were falling out, the stitches all frayed. It’s very fragile, so please don’t touch it.”

“There’s magic here,” Isak said, glancing up when Tynenn and the others reached him, Harth peering over the desk to inspect the book. The look he shot at Isak was easy to understand—is this what we’re looking for?

He didn’t know. This was what Viskae had been following all through the city, but it was abooknot a box of unlimited power.

“I’ll state the obvious if no one else will,” Anzhelika said, her arms crossed over her chest and her hair especially black under this dim lighting. “This is not a box.”

“No,” Harth agreed.

Isak shook his head, struggling to put it into words without sounding like a madman. Or explaining that he had a saint talking inside his mind. “There’s something here. Like the magic we can all feel in the air—there’s more of it around this book.”

Telling them he sensed random ominous magic was better than explaining he was a saint reborn. Isak adjusted his grip on his stick and glanced to Tynenn. “Can I read it?”

“If you’re exceptionally careful,” the librarian replied. Isak blinked. He’d expected more resistance. Maybe he came across as a responsible young gentleman.

Maybe the librarian’s so desperate for company he’ll settle for keeping you here longer,Viskae countered.

Rude.Probably true, but rude.

Isak accepted the gloves Tynenn thrust at him, smiling a little when Harth, Anzhelika, and the guards crowded around him to read over his shoulder. Even the Grumpies looked intrigued by the book. As if they could feel the faint thread of power running through it, too.

Isak turned the page with his gloved fingers, being exceptionally careful as instructed. “What sort of book is this?”

“It’s a catalogue of royal possessions, from many monarchs back,” Tynenn explained, peering at the book through half-moon glasses. “Everything in the castle was recorded in this book.”

Huh.And you’re sure this is the thing you’re looking for?he asked Viskae.

There is where I was being pulled. This is it.

Well, far be it from Isak to judge. He turned another page, glancing at a sketch of a fancy dinner plate set, then a glass fruit bowl, then an ewer painted with animals.

“Shifters,” Grumpier murmured, drawing their attention.

Isak glanced at the dark-haired fae, surprised to find his glare replaced by something heavy and sad. “Shifters? You mean beastkind?”

The guard nodded. “Look, there they’re drawn as men, and near the rim they become wolves and bears and birds.”

Isak wondered if his own ancestors were recorded anywhere in these relics. Although they were probably lost eons ago. Just because a catalogue remained didn’t mean the items did. He understood the sadness on the guard’s face—it was depressing to think of all the things that had been lost to time and war and saints. Whole family lines in some cases.

“Why does that wolf have a crown?” Anzhelika asked, leaning on Isak to see more. He elbowed her and got a sick sense of justice at the grunt she let out. He’d probably pay for that later; her elbow had far more bruising power than his.

The guard took a moment before answering, that solemn expression making him look older than Isak had first guessed, more like forty-something than thirty. “Before attitudes changed—before they were forcibly turned by propaganda and lies—there were fae kingdoms and beastkind kingdoms. The beastkind were powerful rulers. Their kings and queens reigned over prosperous lands rich in valuable iron and minerals. That’s why that wolf wears a crown. The Wolven Lord was once one of those beastkind kings, able to shift into a wolf form. He commanded an empire, powerful and unmatched but benevolent. He was said to rule fairly and without discrimination even to fae or non-shifters. The title itself is a snub—Lord. He was aking.”

“How do you know this, Rush?” Harth asked, peering closer at the ewer illustration.

The guard—Rush apparently—shrugged, his leather armour shifting with the movement. “I like old stories.”

So did Isak, but he’d never heard of this, a world ruled by beastkindandfae. Even in the stories he’d found, the best beastkind could hope for was freedom and education, not royalty. Not true power.

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