Page 85 of House of the Raven
I turn to look at him. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
“Um, feel what?”
“There’s… power in this room.”
“Is that what it is? I thought it was the smell of old dust making me dizzy.”
“Sit and be quiet.” For once, he doesn’t argue. He sits at the table and bounces his knee.
I ignore the nervous tic even if it makes the table rattle a bit. Instead, I focus on the book, too nervous to sit. I turn the pages slowly. They are soft and shine like mother of pearl.
My gaze roves over the words. They’re written in the blackest ink, in a scroll I can hardly comprehend.
Tirgaelach became a dead tongue centuries ago—the same as Castellan. Fae and humans alike speak Tiran now.
For the first time, I regret all the lessons I ever skipped. If I’d been present, I might be able to comprehend more than an odd word here and there.
The tome contains illustrations. They’re skillful beyond belief, lifelike depictions that play tricks on the eye, artfully melding shadows and light to convince the reader that the objects portrayed are tantalizingly within reach, as if one could touch them.
“I’ve never seen illustrations like that,” Jago says.
“Me neither.”
I keep going, admiring the images, representations of royal crowns, daggers, swords, suits of armor, and more.
Jago leans closer. “Is it some sort of military book?”
“Maybe. Too many crowns and tiaras, though. Could be about their monarchy.”
A few pages down, my theory is confirmed.
“Look, it says Theric.” I point out one word that seems to jump off the page, and I immediately recognize from my history lessons.
“That’s the surname of their royal family, right?”
“I’m surprised you remember that.” Jago and I sat in lessons together when we were little.
“Ididpay attention. Sometimes.”
The fae king at the time the veil disappeared was Korben Theric. In our lessons, we learned that he was a fair king, the great-grandson of Aldryn Theric, the male who found the rip in the veil and opened it wider.
Vaguely, I wonder what King Korben thinks of the veil’s disappearance. Is he glad contact with humans has been cut off? Does he worry about the fae folk trapped in this realm and unable to go home?
Father said that when humans and fae used to cross the veil freely, things were better. Per his account, things weren’t perfect. There was still tension between our races, but the benefits far outweighed any squabbling. Trade was good. Espiritu flowed freely from their realm into ours, giving our family the power to maintain a peaceful kingdom for centuries. Now, we’re in constant conflict with the fae and are being attacked in the south by our old enemies, who wish to regain control over Castella and its vast resources.
“So this book is about the fae royal family and their accoutrement?” Jago says.
“It appears so.”
As I continue to flip through the pages, my heart suddenly seizes in my chest when I reach the midpoint. There, before my eyes, is an incredibly detailed rendering of Mother’s necklace, nestled within the pages of a tome of untold age.
“That’s it!” Jago exclaims. “I haven’t seen the thing in a long time, but I remember it.”
I nod, breathing shakily. My eyes rove over the page. The Tirgaelach scroll unravels before me, but I can only read a few of the simplest words.
Jago points at the book. “You have to take this to Maestro Elizondo. He can decipher it for you. If you can trust him, that is. What do you think it says? Maybe your mother was a Theric.”
“No. She wasn’t. She was born in a small village.”
