“I thought you already believed I didn’t do it.”
“How can I know for certain?”
He shrugged. “Either trust me or don’t. I truly don’t give a shit anymore. I’m not doing a single thing to prove myself to you. We’re in the guts of a castle that hates me, possibly as much as you do, which as we know is a whole fucking lot, and I want out. I want away from you, away from this place. I’m done, and I mean it.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Lev and Moncho are putting themselves on the line for me, and I’m not going to stay down here a second more than necessary with such an ungrateful bitch while they do it. I owe them so much more than that.”
I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t a bitch—though maybe I was acting a bit like one?—but hesitated. “I do think now … that you didn’t kill my brother. But my source for the information wouldn’t lie to me, so you can see my concern here.”
“No thanks.”
“No thanks?”
“I’m not on your side. I’m not your ally. You tried to kill me, and still I tried to help you. Even after that, if I’d given you the chance, you would’ve set me on fire. So no thanks. I’m not interested in seeing anything from your point of view. From here on out, I only look out for those who’ve earned my loyalty.”
I could be worthy of your loyalty, I almost whispered, which would have been a travesty.
“Don’t cross me or you’ll regret it. I’ve earned every one of my awful nicknames a thousand times over. Every horrible story you’ve heard about me is true. They’re all true. Now, what’s that book about? How did it bring you here? And can it get us out?”
My gut churning with all the things I was tempted to say but knew I’d regret later if I did, I finally offered him his first real look at the book. He leaned down to read gilded flourishes across a cover so old it was impossible to discern how bright of a hue its burgundy might have once been. The book was the size of some of my favorite novels back at the palace.
“Ee-syb-ar Euw-trof,” he sounded out. “What’s it mean? What language is that?”
“I don’t know, but it looks ancient. I think it’s meant to be read from right to left.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because read from right to left, it says Fortü R’Abyse.”
His brows arched, and fuck if I didn’t like impressing him. I scowled at myself.
“You think it means the Abysmal Fortress?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“If we can’t translate the text, how are we supposed to read it?”
For the first time, I opened the book, landing on a random page in the middle. The text was transcribed by hand in a neat, artful scrawl that only loosely resembled familiar words.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s worth a try, right? No other book in that little library seemed to be about the castle. Wait, this place probably has another, bigger library.” Relief started to whoosh in.
“Not that I’ve found.”
“What? No, it must. A castle like this should have a vast library. The one at the palace in Zaraga is beautiful.”
“Ask your good buddy Mauldrene. She doesn’t do a thing to help me, but maybe she’ll help you.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, maybe.”
When I closed the book, he ran a fingertip gently along its cover. “Is that … fuck, it’s not leather. Is this … dragon hide?”
“Looks like scales to me, yeah. Small scales, too, which probably means?—”
“The hide was taken from a dragonling.”
He whistled softly. “That’s … something.”
