Page 47 of Anomalies

Gemma’s eyes flicker with mischief. “Maybe he was…jealous—” she starts, but her words are cut off by the pillow I throw at her face. The material does nothing to smother her laughter.

“Or maybe,” I grunt, pulling open the door to the armoire, “he’s just an asshole.”

“Can’t he be both?” she replies with a smile, and I scowl. “Look, I’m sorry about your door. I can have someone from my coven come by to fix it if you want.”

“Nope,” I huff, rubbing out the wrinkles in my shirt as I pull it over my head. “He broke it, he has to fix it. He can’t just storm in here like a bull and leave… someone else to clean up his mess.”

Gemma grins wider as she rolls out of bed, padding over to where I stand. She brushes her thumb over my temple, effectively melting my hangover without me needing to ask, and I sag in relief. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she replies, and I cock my head in confusion. “It’s about time Callan learned some manners.”

Breakfast was painful, watching the anger ripple off the Captain and watching the guilt ripple off Pax. Neither of them dared look my way, but miraculously, by lunch, the air at their table had cleared. Callan’s disposition remained as usual—stern and tense, but Pax seemed completely unbothered.

Even with his black eye.

They’re boys, they’ll fight about it, then move on.

Gemma wasn’t kidding.

Devon took me to my lesson with the Dame, which, to no one’s surprise, went horribly. I think I might just stop going and see what happens. I’m breaking enough rules as is considering I have a godsdamn Eldral.

“What do you mean the Captain kicked your door in?” Kimber asks, throwing a heavy book down on the table.

Devon took me to the Diviner enclave and left me in the Archives with her so he could talk to Pa. Since most of their records were left behind after the attack twenty years ago, her coven has been working to re-record them all. Everything from ancient myths and battles to family trees and lineage, all of it has to be remembered and rewritten.

Bookshelves tower to the tall ceilings, a few skylights casting bright honeyed streams of light across the caramel parquet flooring. Most of the shelves are filled with rows of neatly tucked away books, their leather-bound spines adorned with intricate writing, while some shelves remain empty. This is, after all, a work in progress.

Notes of cinnamon and nutmeg tangle with the smell of freshly inked parchment as I blow steam off the surface of my tea. “Pax drunkenly slept in my bed last night,” I tell Kimber, and her green eyes flare wide. “Nothing happened,” I assure her. “But the Captain must have seen him through the window, and instead of knocking like any normal person would, he ripped the damn thing off its hinges.”

“That’s—”

“Insane?” I finish for her, and she nods slowly. “Yeah.”

My gaze snags on the half-written novels that lay open on various desks, enchanted quills hovering above them, having been charmed with whatever piece of history a Diviner has whispered into the ink. One moves delicately over the page, beautifully curved letters bleeding across the paper, while another moves at a maddening pace.

“What are they writing about?” I ask, moving to get a closer look. A third quill is letting thick blobs of ink drip onto the page, shedding tears over whatever tale it’s telling.

“That one is writing about the Fosse,” Kimber points to the crying quill. “Ancient creatures that the Lakelets descend from. They live their entire lives underwater, and their life’s purpose is…tragic.”

My stare catches on the quill that writes frantically, the pointed tip leaving bent indentations across the page. “And what about that one?” I ask.

Her green eyes harden in some emotion I can’t place as she watches the quill move wildly. “The Fall of the City of Light,” Kimber replies finally, moving to stand beside it. “The story of Streatham falling to Rogues.”

A soft rumble starts beneath my skin, and a cool breeze nips at the back of my neck, pulling—no, pushing me towards that harrowing story. The story of a once glorious people, having no choice but to flee their kingdom. The story of families being ripped apart, the story of sacrifices, and—my eyes catch on the word the quill has just scribbled across the page: Traitor.

The story of betrayal?

The word rings through me like an alarm I can’t silence. “There was a traitor?”

Kimber’s eyes flick up to mine, some sort of resignation flashing across them before she silently pulls a large book off a nearby shelf, pushing the kettle of tea aside so she can lay it open across the coffee table. She flips through to the back of the book, and I plop down on the couch beside her. Each page is a different family tree, and Kimber seems to know exactly which one she’s looking for.

Some are extensive with many branches, while others are sparse and short-lived. Solian children are rare, a blessing from Vita herself, so it doesn’t surprise me that some bloodlines aren’t as extensive as others.

The section Kimber flips to is lined in gold detailing, the names of the Disciple Born powerlines listed in elegant calligraphy: Feroy, Rhanes, Samora, Vitale, and Van Reenan. Kimber flips past the first few, but I slam a hand between the pages when I see Pax.

His name is right underneath… Ceres Samora.

I blink at the page. “You’re lying.”