Page 77 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
Now Fitz understood what ‘worse’ meant.
He slowed down and kept his eyes on the tree as he circled around it, giving it a wide berth. The thick scent of smoke and burning flesh stung his nostrils. He gagged and covered his nose and mouth, but the stench leaked through his fingers.
His back hit something and he instinctively jumped away, stumbling over his tired feet. He turned around to see what he’d bumped into, worried about a monstrous tree seeking revenge.
It was a smooth wall of white marble.
Unlike the other buildings around Fitz had seen, this one wasn’t covered in vines. It didn’t have any trees sprouting from the windows or the roof. A few flowers and weeds grew along the bottom, but no more than expected.
A bright paradise in the middle of a dark forest.
Fitz kept his hand pressed along the wall as he walked the length of it, following the corner around to the next side. In the distance was a freestanding archway that had once been part of a fence. The gate was intact, the metal door closed against intruders. The rest of the fencehadn’t fared as well. The metal twisted and bent toward the ground like something had trampled it. Vines and other plants covered it, obscuring most of the structure.
Fitz held his breath as he slowly turned to the front of the building, hoping he’d found his destination. Carved into the stone above his head were the words:
The Eramthgin Library
All Knowledge Comes with a Price
Confusion quickly drowned out his elation. He had been looking for the Traumstead Library, not the Eramthgin Library. Did the city originally have two libraries? He pulled out his map to consult it, but only saw the one. The poor thing must have been overshadowed by its larger, more famous cousin.
Would the others find him here? Or would they all end up at the Traumstead Library, waiting for him?
Either way, he wanted to see the inside. Since it wasn’t on the map, he would have trouble finding it again later. Now was the best time to explore it. He might even find information on the curse.
The double doors were made of large, heavy oak, and Fitz had to press his shoulder against it and use his full weight to open one of them. As soon as he stepped inside and released the door, it slammed shut behind him.
After so many years of disuse, he’d expected the space to be dark and gloomy, but several lit lanterns lined the walls.Someonemust have lit them. Likely one of his companions, but Fitz quietly hoped it was a librarian who had valiantly stayed behind to guard the books.
The front room resembled many libraries he’d seen before. Above him was a domed ceiling, covered with a faded mural. Only a few colors and lines of the original artwork remained. To the left was a hallway lined with dozens of glass cases, paintings, and statues, displays of creativity and history. To the right was a long counter with the card catalog behind it, hundreds of tiny drawers filled with information.
And in front of him, as far as the eye could see, werebooks.Thousands of them. Tens of thousands, perhaps.
Fitz floated over to the nearest shelf and chose a random book. It didn’t matter the subject, he only wanted to feel the cool leatherbindings, the reassuring heft of knowledge. A vague, dreamy smile stretched across his lips as he opened the book.
The first page was blank.
Frowning, he flipped through it, desperate to find one sentence, one word.
Every single page was blank.
He put that book in its proper place and grabbed another.
Blank again.
This time he set the book aside, out of order and out of his way, and grabbed another.
The third was blank. And the fourth, the fifth, the sixth. The stack of misplaced books grew taller and taller in his desperation.
“Fuck!” he shouted and chucked the latest book across the room.
It smacked against the desk and tumbled sadly to the floor. A sign hanging above the desk creaked as it swayed back and forth. In big, blocky letters, it said simply: Information.
Perhaps whoever was taking care of the library could tell him what was wrong with the books.
In the center of the desk was a small bell and a dust-covered sign. When he wiped the dust away, the sign told him: “Ring Bell to Speak with a Librarian.”
He rang the bell.
