Page 23 of A Crown So Cursed
Málik nodded, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he watched her. “It is a repository of everything that has ever been, all that is, and all that will ever be. The Library of Rhakotis was modeled after it.”
Gwendolyn spun to face him, realizing only belatedly. “But you called it the Máistirs’ library? Does that mean…?”
He nodded, and precisely as he did so, out from the aisles came both Emrys and Amergin, arguing like perfect old fools.
“Emrys!” Gwendolyn exclaimed and ran to him. She collided with him, and he gave her an “Oof!”—returning her embrace, laughing so joyfully that Gwendolyn could feel his fat belly quake between them. “They’ve fed you too well,” she said, jesting, and Amergin laughed as well, slapping his ample belly before embracing her too.
“Welcome,” said Amergin, greeting her. “It has been too long since last we saw you.”
“Neither of you has aged one day!” Gwendolyn said jealously. “I can scarcely believe you are here!”
“Where else would we be?” asked Emrys.
Indeed, where else?Gwendolyn had known they’d gone to retire in the City of Light. Still, she wondered why they werehere—in Tech Duinn, inthislibrary.
Málik stood back, watching the three of them together, his expression delighted. After a moment, he said, “I trust the lot of you have much to discuss. May I leave for a while?”
This, he asked of Gwendolyn, and though she was surprised, she nodded. “You will be safe here,” he added. “As I’ve said, the entire premises has been warded. There is no entry without authorization.”
“Yes, certainly,” Gwendolyn said as he came forward, placing a hand to her cheek, leaning in for the briefest, sweetest of kisses, and then lingering a moment too long.
He whispered for her ears alone. “As you can well imagine, I have matters to attend,” he said with regret. “But worry not, my love. I leave you in excellent hands.” He spun then, dropping the hand at his side as he addressed the Druids. “May I impose upon you to return her to my chambers in two bells’ time?”
The Druids nodded, and Málik gave Gwendolyn one last glance, then turned on his heels, and strode away, vanishing into the belly of the archive.
“Well,” she said, turning her attention to the Máistirs. “I suppose we have much to speak of?”
Emrys cleared his throat, his deep-set eyes twinkling brightly. “Indeed, we do,Banríon. There is so much you will need to know to prosper here, and much we hope to learn from you.”
“In fact,” said Amergin, “I believe you are late.”
“Or just in time,” argued Emrys.
Gwendolyn furrowed her brow. “How could either of you have ever imagined I would come at all if the portals were closed?”
Amergin winked at her. “Love always finds a way,” he declared.
ChapterEight
The Druids were eager to recount all that had transpired since abandoning the mortal lands. Gwendolyn listened intently. She knew Emrys better than Amergin, but both had stood beside her against Locrinus, and both had lent their influence to win her grandfather’s favor. They were her allies once, and now, in the Underlands, they would be again. Amergin had already dwelt among the Fae, so his return was almost expected, as though he belonged here more than anywhere else. But Emrys—Emrys had a brother he left behind, and Gwendolyn could sense the ache in him, the way it hollowed out his voice when he spoke. Although he tried to hide it, Gwendolyn saw the cost etched on his face. She understood it, that loss—how it gnawed at the soul. Gwendolyn heard the sorrow and the longing for what had been left behind. No one crossed into the Underlands without leaving something precious behind, but he seemed happy enough, as eager as Amergin to share his stories.
No doubt, Gwendolyn understood the sacrifices he had made, but if their purpose here was any indication of it, their decision had been for the best. Working together, they’d found a shared purpose in creating an academy for the trolls, who’d proven surprisingly eager pupils.
Apparently, the trolls had taken to their studies with enthusiasm. Gwendolyn nodded along. Though, truly, she could hardly imagine any troll doing aught but ripping things in twain or belching.
“Their progress has been most remarkable,” crowed Emrys, his careworn hands folding into the sleeves of his gray robe. “Yestereve, Yavo plotted the trajectory required to hurl a boulder through our practice targets. Impressive indeed, though we’d hoped he would apply that knowledge to somewhat less destructive pursuits.” A smile touched Gwendolyn’s lips.
The image of trolls bent over their lessons struck her as…incongruous. She tried to picture them hunched over their desks, with faces scrunched in concentration, but could not. She had only ever thought of them as witless, lawless creatures.
And no matter. If the Druids claimed success with them, who was she to doubt?
They also saw fit to enlighten her about Lirael and Lord Elric’s long-held quest to see his daughter seated upon the throne. Some months ago, he had inspired the Shadow Court to issue an ultimatum to Málik that he should wed. He had planned to announce the betrothal at the celebration she’d interrupted.
“Were you at the gala?” Gwendolyn asked, wondering if they’d witnessed the affair.
Emrys shook his head.
“We were not invited to the gala,” Amergin said. “It was the Púca who told us.”
