I can’t squander this chance to hunt for answers to questions I’ve been asking since I landed here.
Stepping outside for a moment, I turn toward the rising sun. I still haven’t seen a dragon, which surprises me. I assumed they’d be regularly flying above this close to the training grounds. Maybe they avoid this area when they know guests use the estate, which would explain why we have rooms with views and can wander the place.
For now, I’ll focus on the home and then its surrounding buildings. I decide the library’s the best place to start as I walk back into the house and look around. A manor this large must have one, probably better than most. And I won’t rouse any suspicions browsing bookshelves.
It takes longer than it should to find it. I’m nearly ready to give up and head to the second floor when I round a corner and see a set of double doors in front of me. They’re unlocked and when they swing open, I’m stunned by the size of the room. Floor-to-ceiling rows of books appear. There must be thousands of them. I’ll never have enough time to look through everything, but if they’re well organized, I should be able to find areas to focus on.
They’re not. An anarchist must have shelved these books. I can see no rhyme or reason to the order. It’s as if they were simply set into place whenever they were acquired, without any attempt to categorize them as they came in. I scan the titles of a hundred books, maybe more, and find nothing helpful.
The grumble in my stomach could be frustration, but it’s probably hunger. Maybe I’ll have thoughts on how to approach this search with some food in my belly. I turn to leave for the kitchen, and my mouth drops. Snapping it shut, I tip my head toward Knut, standing in the doorway. But this isn’t the kind, welcoming soldier I first met. His lips are set in a thin line, eyebrows drawn together, and back straight. Even his hands appear angry, clenched into tight fists.
Now he looks like one of the Dróttning’s soldiers.
I don’t like this version of Knut, without the mask he normally wears. It’s good to see the real him, though.
“We do not often find bedmates in this room,” he announces in a flat tone. “Perhaps you are lost.”
“Apologies. I enjoy reading and don’t have many options in Revalle. The libraries aren’t nearly as expansive as this one. I thought I might find a novel to pass my days.”
“This room does not hold fables,” he tells me, his voice devoid of the gaiety and charm he displayed at dinner. “Ask the chef. She learned to read in her youth and may have books to share.”
“I also like history. Some of it feels more fanciful than the tales writers spin. Perhaps you can point me toward the legends of this land.”
“Perhaps not. Our stories are written for those familiar with dragon society.” He turns his head toward the door and then looks at me again. “You will find breakfast in the kitchen,” he says.
“And just in time. My searches have made me hungry. Thank you for your help.” I tip my head again—although he probably expected a bow—and stroll into the hallway. The door slams behind me, and a lock quickly spins.
Such a strange place.
I definitely need to spend more time in the library while I’m here.
Breakfast is hearty and quick. I’m relieved because I have more ground to cover. I won’t try the library again—that’ll be my overnight entertainment—but there’s a lot to see.
I head to the stables, another place I might be expected to visit without a purpose.
And it’s worth the trip.
A dragon and its rider have come to join the festivities. I saw plenty of dragons in my worlds, but none this close since I came here. This one is every bit as magnificent as the dragons I knew before. Like them, it appears to be sixty or seventy feet from its nose to the tip of its tail. With wings that probably would span to nearly that length, it exudes power. Its yellow gaze catches mine, eyes narrowing as it spits a small flame from its mouth.
It’s covered in feathers like birds, similar to my worlds’ dragons and the others I’ve seen here. It’s not nearly as nice, though. I never feared any of the Thunder at home. Zaria and Signe—Lia and Freyr’s dragons—even carried me occasionally, spinning me in the air so I could join them in the joy of flight. This creature looks like it would sooner eat me than give me a ride. It emphasizes that disdain with a snort and another burst of fire.
The rider notices and strides over, casting his gaze up and down as he examines me.
“You are one of the bedmates sent by Ulfhild?” He almost sounds bored, as if he’d rather be anyplace but here.
“I’m one of Ulfhild’s girls,” I tell him in the most noncommittal voice I can muster. I don’t want to pique anyone’s interest. Especially him.
He scans his eyes over me one more time, pausing at each curve.
He likes the prestige, the power he gets from his dragon, I realize. He’s probably quite cruel in bed. I’ll warn the girls to avoid him if they can.
“You’re a rare beauty. I’ll consider you.”
I tip my head, loath to let him see the glare his words inspired, and watch his boots stride away. Good riddance.
The dragon and its rider turn out to be the highlight of my day. If there are secrets here, they’re well hidden. I can find nothing of any interest other than the library. Frustration grows as the sun treks through the sky, reaching its zenith and then dropping toward the horizon.
Worse, as the day begins to merge into night, I find myself less and less able to concentrate. It’s been ten years since I escaped the Nest. Those long weeks—the things they did to me—haunt my nights more often than I care to admit. I don’t like being so close to forbidden grounds.
