“No, please—I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.
“My lord, you collapsed—” the healer began, but Cillian’s voice grew sharper.
“I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”
The healer hesitated, concern written plainly on her face, but she obeyed, backing out of the room without another word.
Once alone, Cillian pressed his palms against his eyes and exhaled shakily. “What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered furiously, the words half plea, half curse.
With a frustrated sigh, he flung the sheets aside and strode to his desk. He needed to see it again—the tree, the moon. Grabbing a piece of parchment, he quickly began sketching the vivid images burned into his mind. His hand worked quickly, almost unconsciously, until the lines took shape beneath his fingers.
Cillian stared at the drawings, a mix of awe and dread settling in his chest. He couldn’t let this go unanswered. Shoving the papers beneath a nearby book, he stood and headed for the door.
The library. If there were answers to be found, they’d be buried in those old, dusty tomes. For too long, he had relied on healers who treated him like a fragile thing to be coddled. But this didn’t feel like an illness anymore. This was something darker, something ancient. As he navigated the halls, his determination solidified. If no one else could uncover thetruth, then he would. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t steal another year of his life.
Cillian eased open the heavy oak doors of the library, the hinges groaning in quiet protest. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, checking that the hallway remained empty. Once satisfied he was alone, he stepped inside and shut the doors behind him with care, sealing himself within the library’s silent refuge.
Bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling, packed with volumes steeped in generations of knowledge. Cillian moved swiftly, his boots thudding softly over the polished floor. Meanwhile, his thoughts raced with flashes of swirling energy, cryptic images, and the eerie power that had surged through him.
He needed answers, and he needed them now.
His hands moved urgently, pulling books from their shelves with little regard for the organized system.History of the Southern Territories, a heavy tome with a worn spine, was tucked under his arm.Ethereal Bonds: Magic of the Old World, its cover etched with arcane symbols, followed suit.Heraldry and Sacred Signs, a slim volume with a gilded edge, was added to the growing pile. Cillian had often wondered about the strange titles lining the library shelves, but never voiced his curiosity. Now he wished he had.
His heart pounded as he moved deeper into the labyrinth of books. He found a small, secluded table tucked away in a corner and deposited his haphazard collection with a sigh of relief.
The first volume he opened was filled with intricate illustrations of sigils and symbols, but all the images were unfamiliar and only seemed to dance and writhe before his eyes. He let out a frustrated groan, dragging his fingers through his hair. He needed to piece together what had left him so unsteady, but someone would come looking for him soon.
Privacy could only be found in his bedchamber, so he gathered the books into a towering stack that wobbled just beneath his chin, his arms aching under the weight.
As he turned toward his room, he nearly ran straight into Evelyne. The unexpected encounter startled him, but he quickly masked his surprise, trying to appear unfazed despite the teetering pile in his arms.
“Just need to keep myself busy tonight,” he mumbled, offering a weak smile as he adjusted his grip on the books.
Evelyne’s brow lifted in amusement. “I think all those will keep you busy for weeks,” she quipped lightly.
Cillian chuckled nervously, nodding in agreement before hurrying past her toward his room.
“Don’t forget to eat,” she called after him. He gave a quick wave of acknowledgment, steadying the books in his arms, and didn’t risk turning around.
Inside his chamber, Cillian placed the stack of books on his desk with a thud and rubbed his aching arms. The images he’d sketched earlier stared back at him. He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting from the images to the books and back again. The answers were there, somewhere within those pages. And he was determined to find them.
***
By the time his family had returned home from the Stonebridge feast, the hour was late. Yet Cillian remained awake, his attention still captivated by the open books across his desk.
He heard the soft padding of footsteps approach his door, but he didn’t need to see to know it was Evelyne. Her footsteps always carried a gentle rhythm that set her apart from the rest of the household. Heimagined she was coming to check on him, perhaps to share stories from the feast, to recount the conversations and laughter that had filled the evening. And as much as he yearned for her company, he also craved solitude. He needed to lose himself in his books and unravel the mysteries hidden within their pages.
With a swift motion, he blew out the candle on his desk, plunging his room into darkness. He held his breath as a knock sounded on his door.
“Cillian? Are you up?” Evelyne’s voice was barely a whisper.
He remained silent, feigning sleep. After a moment’s hesitation, he heard her footsteps retreat, fading into the distance.
Chapter 9
Afaint bustle of activity echoed from the hall as the servants began their morning routine. Evelyne stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes as the familiar rhythm of the household signaled the start of the day. Knowing Seraphine would soon barge in, ready to yank the curtains wide and drown the room in daylight, she tossed aside her sheets and reached for her robe before the inevitable intrusion.
Downstairs, Evelyne gave her parents a brief nod before sitting beside Aurelia, who offered a quick smile before returning to the letter in her hand. The slight lift in her mood was telling—an explanation was surely coming.
