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Anthea forced herself to keep her hand steady, her fingers outstretched.
With a measured pace, he reached out, his hand enveloping hers.
“Very well, Anthea,” Endreth said, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion. But as he tightened his grip ever so slightly, she could detect a hint of apprehension, a touch of skepticism. “We have an agreement.”
13
“You are not required at Prince Endreth’s study for the following week,” Miriel stated, her tone brisk but not unkind. “The prince is away from the Crimson court.”
The morning after the party, Anthea had woken up with a sense of determination. She was eating her breakfast when Miriel approached her. She couldn’t help but wonder if Endreth’s sudden departure was related to their exchange the previous night. Nonetheless, as long as he upheld his end of the deal, it wouldn’t bother her if she never saw him again.
The head servant continued, her gaze steady, “The prince has instructed me to show you to the library. You understand your duties, yes?”
Anthea pushed her half-eaten meal aside, nodding. The excitement for what was to come churned in her stomach, leaving no room for food. Finally, she would have unrestricted access to knowledge.
The library was two stories high with an open center that allowed the upper floor to overlook the lower. White stone walls stretched up toward a vaulted ceiling, their elegant arches adorned with golden motifs and scriptures. Endless rows of bookshelves, carved from a pale, smooth wood, lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Each shelf held countless books and scrolls.
It was beautiful.
Anthea moved toward a row of windows, alternating between clear and stained glass, that ran the full length of the room. The sunlight streaming in through the clear windows was intermingled with the vibrant colors of the stained glass, casting a whimsical dance of light and shadows across the room, painting the stone walls and wooden shelves in vibrant hues, giving the library a surreal, almost dreamlike quality.
Even as Miriel’s words of caution lingered in the air, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the stunning tableau of color and light. Nodding absently in acknowledgment, she moved closer, drawn by the allure of the outside world glimpsed through the glass. Peering out through one of the clear panes, her eyes landed on an inner courtyard. Marble sculptures dotted the lush landscape. Arches of pure white stone created patterns, adorned with vines of vibrant pink and lilac blossoms that climbed up their length, reaching for the sun. At the center stood a grand fountain, from which water cascaded from the mouths of three giant seahorses into a basin below, where lily pads floated idly. Surrounding the fountain, thick bushes bloomed with flowers in shades of pink, yellow, and lilac.
She brushed her fingers against the cool glass, a wave of longing washing over her. For almost two months, she had been cooped up within the castle walls, confined to stone and tapestry. She wanted out. And she would, one day—she would be back at her home, roaming freely, again. No more stone walls. Never again.
Turning around, she surveyed the library with a sense of mounting dismay. The books, beautifully bound and neatly arranged, created an aesthetically pleasing pattern of color and texture. However, as far as she could see, there was no discernible system of categorization or organization—neither Alphabetical, Dewey Decimal, nor any other. The array of books seemed to follow no known order, presenting a seemingly random assortment of tomes and scrolls. Where would she even start?—
It was only then that she noticed the conspicuous absence of Miriel. The female elf had slipped away while Anthea was captivated by the garden beyond the glass. She scanned the grand room for any sign of other occupants.
There was a solitary figure in the far corner of the library, an elven male, engrossed in a parchment at a large oak desk. Dressed in fine garments that suggested a position of importance, he seemed like someone who might know the library’s layout and system.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she approached him cautiously. Her position in this society was precarious at best; she didn’t want to create any unwanted trouble.
“Excuse me, My Lord,” she said softly, “I am sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could help me.”
The elf’s quill paused mid-air as he looked up, his eyes widening at her sudden appearance. It was clear he hadn’t expected an interruption, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was as surprised by her presence in the library as he was by her request.
“I have been tasked with researching certain topics,” she continued, choosing her words carefully to align with whatever narrative Endreth had crafted for her sudden presence here. “But, I am unfamiliar with the organization system of the library. Could you possibly assist me?” She hoped her request sounded reasonable and her explanation plausible.
The elven noble looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You can read?” His obvious doubt stung.
“Yes, I was taught to read . . . by my previous owners,” Anthea said, wrapping her hands around herself. Maybe asking for help hadn’t been such a good idea after all; there was no generosity in his eyes, only haughty smugness.
“Even if you can read, most of these books are in languages far too complex for your simple mind. The books are placed on the shelves by their written language, indicating their origin and the author, then organized chronologically.”
Glancing up at the nearest shelf, she realized why everything had seemed so random to her. She had expected a logical order, something she could understand. Her unique gift of translating Isluma’s languages into English had obscured the true nature of the library's organization. The books were shelved according to a system that considered the original language and chronology—a subtlety lost on her, since everything appeared in English.
The elven noble’s eyes were still on her, a glimmer of suspicion in his gaze.
“I-I see,” she stammered, feigning confusion and distress. She lowered her gaze, focusing on the carvings on his desk. She let out a sigh of apparent resignation, hoping it would be enough to convince him of her innocent ignorance. “I just thought . . . I just thought if they were in order like . . . in my hometown—it would be easier.” She was taking a risk, hoping he would take her confusion at face value and not delve deeper into her inconsistencies.
The elf simply dismissed her with a curt wave of his hand. “Prince Endreth would be better off keeping you to your bedroom duties, rather than involving you in matters beyond your understanding.”
“I apologize for disturbing you, My Lord.” Anthea swallowed down the bitter taste of humiliation, her expression schooled into a calm façade. She bowed her head slightly and turned away from him. There was no use in arguing or defending herself; this was his world, and in his eyes, she was nothing more than a slave.
Leaving him behind, she made her way into a more private section of the library, the beauty of the room temporarily lost on her as frustration took over. The hours ahead seemed daunting without clear direction, but Anthea was not one to give up easily. She grazed the spines with her fingers, each one telling a story of its own, just waiting to be discovered. The frustration slowly melted away as curiosity took over.
Finally, one title piqued her interest. It seemed to hint at a topic she wanted to understand—the trade relationships of Isluma. Understanding trade would inevitably lead to insights about the political and social structure of Isluma. Besides, she wanted to know what the main resources of the elven courts were. Her father had always told her, “The movement of money maps the workings of the world.”
