Page 6 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely
Elris’ face does something strange then. It’s an expression I can’t quite parse.Don’t get attached,he signs.
It’s a warning I don’t need, because I hadn’t even considered something so absurd.
I only hope that she forgets me. The sooner, the better.
Some of the tension eases from Elris’ shoulders. He gives me another apologetic smile before moving off to take up his own seat.
I settle the pages across my desk, deciding how best to tackle them. My desk is wide enough for two pages to sit side by side, so that I can move between them while they dry. At the top of the desk, assorted pots of paint are nestled into cavities to keep them steady. A quick once-over tells me that there’s nothing I need to replace before I start.
My brushes hang where I had clipped them yesterday to dry and I collect them up, depositing them in a glass holder. I’ll need fresh water, and to tuck all but the first two pages into the rack hanging under my desk. The tasks are comfortingly familiar, among all the turmoil. I’ve been doing this for years now, and there is an ease to laying down the colour Elris requires.
Perhaps it is because of the ease of the task that it leaves my mind blank to pick up each and every thought that flits across it. No matter how pleased I am with the way the colour breaks across the paper, or how delighted I am at the way two colours curl together at a particular point, I cannot stop my swirling thoughts. And there are so many of them.
The Librarian, Sila, I can do nothing about, except continue to be my boring self. Even the incident with the book doesn’t make me that interesting. It isn’t like it’s rare to find a cursed book in the Library, after all. It isn’t even unusual for harm to come to the residents of the Library, or to anyone in the Citadel for that matter. It’s just how it is. Surely she will grow bored eventually. Dread settles like ice in my chest at the thought. I tell myself it’s just the curse.
The curseisa problem. Recovering from touching a cursed object is one thing, being cursed by an inanimate object is another. So much for being boring, because the Librarian surelyknowsI am cursed. It’s one thing to think I am unwilling tospeak from shock or hardship or injury. It’s another to know I cannot make a single wisp of sound. I can feel the phantom touch of her cool thumb pressed against my mouth.Fuck, I need to think of something else. I need to think about the curse instead. If I can solve that, then maybe I can solve my Librarian problem.
I go through the motions of the morning, clawing my way through my memories for any clue or hint as I go. Pages set out to dry, new pages started. Brushes cleaned, paints tidied, desk wiped down.
Then comes the midday break, where I notice a sweet bun that was not on the menu has been placed on my tray. I’m tempted to ignore it, but it’s one of my favourites— a sweet bread with the little salty berries that grow in the deep caves under the Glade. I should leave it untouched.
Instead, I eat it with reluctant aggression as signed conversations happen around me. It’s fresh and annoyingly good. I resent its existence in my life.
When we return to our desks, Elris assigns me some pages for copying. I’ll need to do the first pass in graphite, before going over it again in ink. I take up the knife to sharpen my pencil. I’m still thinking on the book and the curse. Maybe if I can find the book, it will have some answers.
I realise I haven’t seen the book since the night I opened it. Someone must have returned it to the shelves. I fumble my pencil and it clatters to the floor.
Elris looks up as the blade passes neatly through the flesh of my left hand. I barely feel it. The knife is so sharp and the shock is immediate. Blood wells in the cut. I can’t make a sound in response, and that makes me want to laugh. I might be tumbling very quickly into hysteria.
I push my chair back with a screech against the stone, trying to prevent the blood from spilling over my desk and the fresh paper.
There are very few reasons a scribe might be allowed to break the work day silence. Fortunately, this is one of them. Elris breaks it with a dignified and emphatic, “Shit,Lorel.” It’s a close enough summary of what I wish I could say. “Trefor, fetch the Librarian—Fuck.” Elris groans as our eyes meet.
It’s too late to stop Trefor, and we’re both kidding ourselves if we thought I could sneak out of here unnoticed while my hand is bleeding everywhere. Dawn King have mercy, so much for not drawing attention to myself.
Sybri has grabbed a clean paint rag, one of the clean, crisp white ones. She takes my hand, wrapping it as tightly as she can over the wound. My blood is thin and bright red as it soaks through.
“We’ll need to take you to the infirmary,” she says.
Elris carefully takes the knife from my other hand, as if I can’t be trusted with it any longer.
“At least it’s a clean cut,” he says. “Sybri, are you able?— ?”
Librarian Sila appears in the walkway, Trefor looking pale and apologetic behind her. “Illuminator Elris, you may return to your work. I will take this from here.” She says this like she might be talking about any number of unpleasant tasks— like being civil or politely asking someone to keep their voice down. Elris clamps his mouth shut, nodding.
Of course, Librarian,he signs, stepping back.
Sybri lets go of my hand like she’s been burned, and with the look the Librarian has just levelled at her, I don’t blame her in the slightest. The Librarian’s eyes drop to the stone at my feet, taking note of the blood on the floor and my poor abandoned pencil. I eye her warily.
“Come,” she commands. I have no choice but to follow.
Chapter 4
Lorel
The Librarian stalksdown the corridors like a night terror. I have to take at least two steps to her one to keep up. I clutch my injured hand to my chest. The infirmary is not far, situated where the edges of the Library meet the Glade— another of the Citadel’s factions. The Citadel has five factions, all of them burrowed into the side of a mountain and stacked in together, except for the Dawn King’s palace— the Suntide Court that pierces through the mountainside into the open air.
Lune, the closest person I have to a friend, is stationed in the infirmary today. She’s sitting at the desk that marks the entrance to the room full of rows of beds and illness that I had spent the last few weeks in. I am rather loath at the idea of returning. Not in the least because I cannot speak and have a curse living inside of me and I think this must actually be some kind of divine punishment.
