But my search had yielded nothing so far, even when I used my magic.
It may have been that I wasn’t in proximity to anything useful. Some books were in a language I couldn’t even read, despite knowing ancient fae and most of the court dialects. Nearly all the books I could read were on subjects that wouldn’t help me—fighting strategies using magic, land development in River Court, meticulous recordkeeping of tithes—none of them even so much as mentioned Queen Azari, least of all her crown.
I sat back on my heels in a tucked-away library I hadn’t searched before, massaging my temples and humming the songs my mother had sung to me as a child. I repeated the myths and legends in her journal, searching for the jasmine symbol that had been stamped on the inside of her bangles. If I couldn’t find anything in the palace that would help me, I wouldn’t have any direction on where to go next. When I got up and walked around to another bookshelf, I noticed there was a young man sitting in the shrouded alcove in the corner of the room who hadn’t been there previously.
I weighed the risk of using my magic in front of him.
With what I’d seen in the Court of River, it was second nature for the peris to use magic, like lifting their arm or penning a message. It was in their blood.
But that was just it—it came naturally to them. It was part of them andlookedlike it was part of them. It seemed as common as scratching their nose or blinking.
The vines rising out of the earth when the silver-haired fae had saved me. Cook blowing on a fly across the room and having it fall dead. Mishah coaxing extra leaves to grow on the coriander plant in the window.
When I used magic it wasbrightand golden—threads of light bursting from my hands and searching out what I was seeking. And no one had seen me conjure it here.
But I didn’t know what else to do. Nani and Safiyya needed me, the Astolans in the human world still needed me.
I couldn’t stay here and knead rotis in the kitchen for days on end while they were suffering.
Even if there was a chance this scholar would see my magic, it hopefully wouldn’t appear strange to him. Regardless, if I used very small amounts in the corners of bookstacks, he wouldn’t even notice what I was doing.
Making my decision, I pushed my spectacles up and placed my hands on the books in front of me.
I had loved doing this when I worked in the Citadel archives and could feel the same whispered tendrils flooding through the books, searching for what I asked it. The image of the jasmine was at the forefront of my mind, the relic that could help me destroy the wall and bring magic back to the human lands.
Golden threads sprouted from me, my magic touching every book, every piece of parchment, searching for what I needed.
The familiar rush of my power consumed me with giddy elation again, the certainty that I was going to find what I needed, that if anything was here, my powers would locate it.
And accompanied with that was the certainty that I was powerful, something I had never had the opportunity to be except when I used my magic. I couldn’t shoot or fight like Safiyya. I couldn’t inspire crowds like my father had during the rebellion. I was bookish and quiet—but when I used my magic I felt as though I could do anything.
Something snagged on one of my threads and I stopped, lurching toward the feeling. The golden coils of my magic faded from the air like dust, except for the one that called to me. I followed it, a gold light in the dark. There, tucked away at the far end of the shelf, my thread had gathered around a single volume.
I rushed over to the book, lifting it off the shelf carefully. I frowned at the title of it, flipping over the dark red leather-bound tome and holding it up to my spectacles.
Plants of the River Court.
This couldn’t be right.
But my magic had never steered me wrong before, and so I opened the book, flipping through it. But it was nothing—just a regular book. I went through each page, examining the bindings, the ink, the cover. When I was about to replace it, something stayed my hand.
There.
It wasn’t about the book at all, it was what was underneath it.
On the bookshelf where the book had been there was a small catch, almost invisible. I pried at it with my nail, flipping it up so that it became a lever.
I exhaled, my breath rushing through me like a strong tide. All the magic in Peristan, and the peris still relied on rudimentary tricks and mechanical hinges to hide things. It was just like their vaults filled with basic traps when they had the power to do anything at their fingertips.
I wondered if in this case it was because magically hiding something could be detected, but this was something you could only find if you knew about it.
Or if you had power like mine.
I twisted the lever, and then tugged it, so a wooden flap in the bookcase lifted up, revealing a hidden compartment.
And inside, a book.
Loud ringing sounded in my ears when I saw the imprint of a jasmine flower on the top of the spine. My heart hammered in my throat as I stood frozen in the bookstacks. Then, I slid the hidden book out of the compartment.
