Page 26 of Killian
“They’ve gathered the council,” he said with a pompous air. “And now you will go and explain yourselves.”
“Great!” said Moira, standing up. “About time.”
The jailor’s arrogant expression faltered, and Killian guessed that Moira’s response hadn’t been what he’d expected.
“It’s the Council of Librarians,” he said, attempting to regain his lofty air.
“So, they’re the people in charge? Fantastic. I love going right to the top. Saves so much time.”
Once again, Moira was not conforming, and Killian had to repress a laugh as the jailor seemed to struggle for an appropriate response. Killian suspected that even when they weren’t in a mystical library, most people probably didn’t have an appropriate response to being steamrolled by Moira.
Two more guards marched into the room—their long spears crowding the space.
“Let’s do this,” Moira said, clapping her hands together like it was a sporting event.
“They are important personages,” said the jailor.
“Then you don’t want to waste their time,” said Moira. “Move it along.”
Killian realized then that there was probably nothing more upsetting for a jailor than having a prisoner tell him what to do. The problem was that she had just told him to do what he had already intended to do, and now he couldn’tnotdo it.
“Thanks,” said Killian as the jailor opened the door. That didn’t appear to ease the sting any.
They allowed the guards to guide them out of the building, where they were joined by four more guards. Flanked and herded, they passed through covered courtyards full of lush plants and burbling fountains. People peered cautiously at them from doorways, but everyone kept well out of the way.
They finally arrived at a large structure. Killian wouldn’t have called it a palace. It seemed more like a municipal building, but way, way more attractive than any government building he’d ever seen. He paused at that thought. He couldn’t actually remember any, but the impression in his head was concrete and puke-colored paint, so that was probably accurate.
They were led to a broad set of double doors made of the same golden bronze metal and adorned with a relief of elves and other individuals with Egyptian-style animal heads. They appeared to be handing each other scrolls.
The massive doors opened, revealing a circular room with tall pillars and a colorful mosaic floor inlaid with a pattern of papyrus blossoms in a circular medallion. Around the floor, chairs were arranged in a circle, and in each sat an elf, or possibly a dryad—Killian couldn’t tell the difference. Although,he did notice one woman with an enormous set of gossamer fairy wings. The general state of dress seemed to be togas and draped fabrics with wide bejeweled collars in the Egyptian style.
The head librarian’s chair was on a raised dais at the apex of the circle and below her on the steps sat a man with an Egyptian-style headdress and white pleated sarong. Their bags had been placed on a silver plate that emanated an iridescent bubble to encapsulate them. Cynog stood nearby wearing a long toga, but he kept hitching up the shoulder, and Killian guessed that it was his dress toga, if there was such a thing. In fact, Cynog looked both nervous and defiant, although Killian wasn’t sure which emotion was reserved for them—the circle of Fae watching them was enough to make anyone nervous.
The guards marched them into position and then left them at the center of the mosaic floor medallion.
The man in the headdress stood up and glared at them.
“The Council of Librarians is called to order. Branch Librarian Augusta verch Rhys heads the order.” Then he picked up what looked suspiciously like a clipboard and addressed them.
“Your names are Moira and Killian?”
“Moira DeSandre and Killian Adeche,” Moira clarified snippily, and Killian thought it was because she disliked clipboards. However, instead of looking offended, the scribe looked pleased and made fresh notations on the paper.
“You are charged with invading the library, property damage, destruction of knowledge, and murder.”
“What?” gasped Moira in shock. “We did no such thing!”
“But you do admit to being here?” demanded the scribe.
“Of course we’re here!” she snapped.
“So, you admit to invading the library,” said the scribe.
Moira stared at him open-mouthed. “No!”
“You just said yes,” he objected, his quill hovering over his paper.
“Write that down, and the property I will be damaging is your face,” said Moira.
