Night has fallen by the time we leave the pub, and the village seems to have gotten busier while we were tucked away. Students make their way through the cobbled streets. Some are covered in black, and others wear shades of brown and cream.
Separate never mingled.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” a sharp voice calls.
I turn and see Finnley and Mallory making their way toward us. They squeeze through a group of Veils and laugh as Finnley almost slips on an icy patch of sidewalk. Mallory’s face is partially covered behind a thick brown scarf, but Finnley’s is bare and pink from the cold. A huge smile graces his face by the time he reaches us.
I melt into his open arms and squeeze.
I can’t help but smile in return as we pull apart. He just has that effect on people, bringing out their genuine happiness. “Where are you two headed?” I ask, trying to ignore the wayAmbrose stiffened at my side when Finnley wrapped me in his arms.
“There are a few shops we want to hit before heading back,” Mallory answers in a muffled voice. Her signature cut his hidden beneath a plush beanie, and all I can see is her eyes, heavy with makeup, peering back at us.
“How’s it going?” Finnley asks while reaching out to shake Ambrose’s hand.
“It’s going,” he answers, nodding and gripping Finnley’s hand harder than necessary. “I never got a chance to thank you for taking care of Nori in the final trial. It won’t be forgotten.”
“What are you talking about? She took care of me.” Finnley laughs, removing his hand from Ambrose’s rough grip.
“Ambrose is taking me to a shop. You guys should come along,” I suggest, looking back and forth between Finnley and Mallory. I steal a glance at Ambrose and find his eyes narrowed in on me. Right now, I just need some breathing room, and by inviting my friends, I’m granted that. It will change the dynamic, which is exactly what I want.
“Sounds great!” Mallory exclaims as she grabs Finnley’s arm. She’s apparently not giving him a choice in the matter, per usual.
Finnley buttons up his cloak while shooting me a look that tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing.
I shrug my shoulders and start walking. Snow crunches beneath our boots as we make our way down the uneven, cobbled path. The town feels antique, timeless, and quiet. Little shops line the street on each side, their doors closed as the snowflakes fall lazily from the sky. The warmth and aromas wafting through when a student exits a shop greet us as we make our way down the well-worn path.
We pass shop after shop until Ambrose stops in front of one that looks older than the rest. Almost as if it wants to blend inwith its surroundings and only attracts those who seek it out. Numerous books sit in the window, advertised as first editions.
A bookstore.
Excitement skirts along my insides. Maybe they have something on Liminals. The academy library didn’t have much on the subject, and I’m desperate for information.
An old brass bell chimes as we enter, and the smell of musk and broken spines greets us. I inhale deeply.
“It’s the oldest bookstore in the northern portion of Salaryan. Some say the entire realm, but there have been disputes on the subject,” Ambrose whispers over my shoulder.
Turning, I give him a tentative smile. I know he’s trying, so the least I can do is reciprocate.
Mallory and Finnley leave us to explore what the old shop has to offer. The spine of well-used titles hums beneath my fingertips, full of knowledge just waiting to be cracked open once more. A small round table wobbles as I step away, setting a book down, and walk toward a spiral staircase leading to another floor.
Everyone knows places like this keep the good stuff tucked away.
Worn and decrepit metal creaks beneath my combat boots as I ascend the stairs. The air is colder and thicker, as if it doesn’t receive many visitors. The old floor groans beneath me as I step onto the worn boards of the landing. I hover on the threshold, wanting to move forward but hesitating. The entire floor looks like something long forgotten and not wanting to be disturbed. It smells of mildew, faint decay, and old parchment. Row after row of bookshelves line the floor, filled with not only books but maps, old trinkets, and a few sad-looking plants.
Me too, guys. Me too.
Firelight flickers in a small lamp that sits upon a worn-down desk in the corner of the room. I could spend all night hereand not even scratch the surface. My soft footfalls are the only sounds as I push forward and make my way down the center aisle, glancing at each row as I go. Dust rests upon most of the shelves, a clear indication that people tend to favor downstairs.
I turn and walk down a random aisle just past an old grandfather clock that no longer ticks. A large tomb wrapped in orange dragonhide sits haphazardly on the shelf. I carefully push it to the side to reveal an old atlas. Moving farther along, I pick up the next book and open a weary-looking spellbook, flipping through the pages. The ink shifts beneath my inspection, clearly notating the fact that I’m not a witch and therefore unworthy of its contents. I drop it back on the shelf and wipe the dust from my palms onto the sides of my cloak.
Farther down the stacks is a shelf filled with mismatched books and a small sign hanging in front. It says that the books are unreadable to anyone who desires to do so and will rearrange themselves so as not to be bothered. A few books on the bottom look to be ledgers of some sort. I crouch and flip one open to see names and places, some being crossed out violently. Cautiously, I put it back and move back to the main aisle.
The back of the second story doesn’t get much light, since the lamp doesn’t cast its glow this far. It’s harder to make out the titles, but I’m too invested to stop now. I bend down and push a cracked hourglass out of the way to grab a book that almost seems to pulse beneath my palm. It’s thick and intricate in its design.Dark Objects and Their Originsby Sanderson Thurboult.
The first thing that stands out as I flip through the delicate pages is the fact that the majority of the early ones are missing. Pages ripped from their roots. I’m assuming these are the parts that speak of the origins. Other pages feature images of various items, such as a dagger belonging to a past political figure and a compass belonging to a renowned alchemist. The more I flip,the more objects are discussed, including where they could now reside. Every individual in the book wears Noctryn attire issued for active military personnel.
Tucking it under my arm, I stand. This one is coming home with me.
