Page 98 of Woven Souls

Viktor and I hurry after him.

I have only been to the archived section of the library twice, so finding it again would have been difficult, but after descending three levels into the depths of the library, weaving through row after row of bookshelves, and passing a few long tables that were once used for studying scholars, we end up in front of a wrought iron door.

“It’s in here,” Jonah says, jerking his thumb at the door.

Reaching for the knob, I’m surprised to find the door unlocked. I suppose they thought the single lock upstairs would be enough of a deterrent.

The door creaks open loudly before banging to a stop when it hits the wall. Again, we’re greeted by darkness. I step inside. Dozens of small white globes, no bigger than a baseball, emerge and rise from the wooden floors, slowly drifting upwards until they are about ten feet in the air. They don’t illuminate the entire archive section, but I know if I take another step, more will appear and light the rest of the way. The bookshelves in this room aren’t situated the same way as the rest of the library. This time it’s set up more like a personal library. The walls, not nearly as tall as the ones before, are lined with books. The open space in front of us contains hundreds of pedestals that house, under glass cases, old and ancient texts.

“This way.”

Without waiting, Jonah starts moving around. Viktor and I follow directly on his heels as he walks straight ahead. More orbs drift upwards the further we walk into the room. Interestingly enough, there is hardly a speck of dust in this room. Is it enchanted to keep it out? I tuck the question away with a multitude of others to explore at a later time.

In the far reaches of the room is a wrought iron spiral staircase that leads downwards. As we take each step, the metal groans under our weight, and the air around us grows cold. The subtle drop in temperature is strangely comfortable. It feels like Willow’s nearby.

At the bottom of the stairs, more orbs rise and light the way across a much smaller room, housing fewer books than upstairs. Jonah finally comes to a stop at the other end of the room and stops in front of an empty wall.

“I think your internal tracking system is off.” I step forward, looking from the hard concentration on the man’s face to the blank wall he’s staring at.

“No, it’s here.” His index finger presses to a specific point on the wall at his eye level. “I can feel it. The wall is probably enchanted.”

“Shit, if that’s the case, how are we supposed to get to the book?” Viktor demands.

“Well, given what I know about this particular book, I wouldn’t be surprised if royal blood needs to be spilt in order to gain access to the book.” Jonah looks at me. “Looks like you may have to prick your finger again.”

His theory makes sense.

It would make even more sense why my father would carry it around all the time. Better to keep it on hand rather than continuously having to prick yourself in order to access it. Without hesitation, I bite my finger again and use the blood that wells up to smear along the wall.

I step back and wait.

A second later a section of the wall moves. A perfect square sinks inward. The square splits apart into pieces, rearranges itself, and reveals a key floating in a small, dimly lit glass case. I reach in, grab the key, and step back. The case disappears, and the pieces of the wall rearrange themselves once more. A moment later a safe appears. I insert the key into the only opening that I can see and twist. The door swings open, revealing the Royal Diary.

“Well,I’mimpressed,” Viktor says from behind me.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find it?” Jonah scoffs. “I can find anything.”

“I had my reservations.”

“Excuse me? You were going to hedge this whole mission on me while having reservations?”

Viktor grunts. “Obviously, they weren’t strong reservations, or I would have voiced them before we got here.”

Jonah sputters in outrage, but I ignore the two of them to crack open the book. It falls open to the middle section. The crinkling sound of textured, worn paper and the groan of leather silence both men behind me. Inside, written in the most ancient of Fae language, are stories written by kings past. My eyes travel over the old language, my brain translating. It’s slow, at first, but as I turn the thin pages and read on, the translations become much smoother.

Flipping back to the front of the book, I start with the first story.

My lunges deflate as the world seems to fall away. Making certain I don’t miss a single detail, my finger trails over each word.

“Judging by the look on your face, we hit gold,” Viktor says.

I can’t tear my eyes off the page before me, but I answer Viktor when I can find my voice. “Death was right. We’re behind the collapse and fall of realms.”

“What’s it say?” Jonah appears at my side, trying to read over my shoulder.

I swallow, unsure if I can utter the words out loud.

“These are all entries. Each one detailing moments of our Fae history from a king’s point of view.” I flip back to the first page. I clear my throat and read the first entry, “’It is a cruel trick that nature has, for so long, hidden such sweet nectar just below our feet, to be wasted amongst a world of those unworthy to taste it. But, we have discovered that the life force of this world gives our mortal bodies a longevity others dream about. It is but testament to our superiority over the meek that we are the ones to find this great gift.’”

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