That evening, after playing several rounds of cards with Flint and Elaith, in which we all let Renly win every time, I leave my little brother fast asleep in my rooms with Elva watching over him, and walk the familiar route to the Golden Library in search of a book about the Thavenian royal family, thinking that maybe I can find out more about this Princess Mirade. Only when I get there, I discover that my armchair is now, once again, occupied.
‘Good evening, girl,’ says the old man, not even bothering to look up from his book. ‘How’s the wave carving coming along?’
I swallow my stubbornness. ‘Fine.’
‘Figured out your anchor, then?’
‘Apparently. About that – how do you know about Melding?’
The old man turns a page. ‘I know everything.’
‘Right,’ I say flatly, sensing a dead end. ‘Well, great chatting with you again, but I’d best be going now.’
‘The Storm Weaver seeks a book.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘You can hardly put that down to your all-knowingness. I mean, we are in a library.’
He chuckles, closing the volume in his lap, which is entitledAncient Curses and How to Break Them, and places it carefully on the table beside him. Only then does he glance in my direction. ‘I have a story for you, girl. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Not particularly.’
The old man smiles crookedly at me. ‘The girl is a strange little creature. Cold. Closed. The girl needs to open her mind.’
‘Does she?’ I say. ‘Well, maybe the old man needs to learn how to mind his own business.’
A wheezy laugh. ‘The girl has spirit. I can certainly see why the emperor’s son has taken a liking to her.’
‘I’m going now,’ I snap.
‘Sit down.’
I almost topple over at theauthorityin the old man’s voice. Not a request – an order. One I find myself obeying.
‘There now,’ he says, resuming his former tone. ‘That’s better.’
I try not to scowl.
The old man clears his throat with a dull rasp, and begins.
‘There once lived three sisters who were some of the most powerful Magi ever to walk the earth. Round her neck each sister wore a talisman. It was from these talismans that the sisters drew their power.’
I tuck my feet up and settle back into the cushions. This could be a long night.
‘Sifa, the first sister, had the power to see the past. She could scour the secrets of history, discover that which was once lost in time, ease the pain of mourners with memories of their loved ones. She saw all that once was, all that had come before.
‘Seera, the second sister, had the power to see the future. She alone knew the outcome of every harvest, the winner of every battle, the path each soul would tread on their journey towards fate. She saw what lay ahead, fragments of what was to come.
‘And then there was Syla, the third sister, the most powerful of them all. For her powerwaspower. She had the power to take power. To return it. Wield it. Protect it. Possess it. Power belonged to her. It ran through her veins.’
The old man closes his eyes for a moment, as though lost in recollection.
‘For many years Etheri and Magi maintained a tentative peace, until one day that peace was broken, never to be repaired. You know, of course, the events of which I speak?’
‘The War of the Empires,’ I say.
‘Precisely. Yet with her gift of sight, Seera was able to see glimpses of this future before it came to pass, thus buying herself and her sisters time to flee.’
‘And did they escape?’ The question slips out, betraying my curiosity. I’ve spent years studying the Magi, and yet this is a story I’ve never heard before.
