Page 57 of Witch’s Ruin

“Oh.” She hesitated, the hairpin hovering. “Well, I’ll have you know that there were many books in the Citadel’s library that were off limits to witchlings.”

“You broke into the restricted section?” He blurted. She arched her brow. “Unbelievable. How very naughty, Lady Witch.” Even in the torchlight, he spotted the telltale pink flush creeping up her neck.

“If you must know,” she tutted, “I had a curious mind and didn’t like the librarians asking questions.”

“Well, then. Let’s see your work.”

She tsked, but set to work on the old gate. It didn’t take long. Locks like these were merely a deterrent, so he wasn’t all that surprised. But he did appreciate the look of Mina’s pride as she finished.

He stared at her, chest swelling with warmth, until she caught his eye and offered a shy grin.

Beneath the palace, they found a passage that led to the dungeons, then doubled back. Another led to a massive storage room, packed with mountains of old furniture, long forgotten. Mina picked through it for a few minutes, entertained, before they moved on. A number of passages had stairways leading upwards, places within the palace walls.

They left those for later.

Mina used one of his Nebrine blades to scratch tiny Ms into the stonework. These she made much smaller, so they’d go unnoticed. Hours passed in curious exploration.

When they found a locked gate that took them directly into the library’s basement stacks, he’d have thought they found buried treasure. “So this is where they keep all the hidden ones,” Mina breathed. “There are so many!” She clapped her hands together before placing them against her chest, over her heart, blinking with glee. “Let’s explore,” she decided, racing off into the dim light. Here, wall sconces were lit. This area was meant to be occupied more frequently than the rest of the places beneath the palace. But only by the keepers of the library.

“Be careful,” he cautioned, in case anyone lurked. He didn’t want word reaching his father.

Mina crept about, darting down row after row of books bound in aging hides, so worn he could hardly read the titles. He stayed close on her heels, torch aloft. Some sections contained floor to ceiling scrolls, rolled tight, piled atop each other. It was a place lost in time, crumbling with decay.

At the far end, Mina came to a stop. His muscles tensed. “What’s the matter?” he whispered, his lips close to her ear.

“It’s…there’s…” She pressed a hand against her chest—a motion he’d grown accustomed to.

“Demons?”

“No…no.” She shook her head, side to side, a repetitive motion, staring forward. “Something else.”

He followed her gaze, saw the stone wall before her, then frowned. “Well, well, well…”

The space before them was incongruent, the stones a different color. Nebrine. And beside the pattern of Nebrine he found a worn catch. Without thinking, he pressed it. Grating rock made him flinch. The entire section of Nebrine swung inward. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes surveying the deserted stacks behind them.

Mina sucked in a breath, then darted inside before he could stop her. He followed, close on her heels, swinging the wall shut behind them. They’d found another corridor, this one much wider and better lit.

Mina took off at a quick pace, as if drawn towards something. “I can feel it, Rixon,” she whispered, glancing toward him with darkening eyes, glazing over. “It’s calling me.”

He faltered. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He reached for her—

She slipped from his grasp and turned right, down another tunnel. This one looked ancient. At the end, she made a left, then she stopped, gasping. He bumped against her, his hands reaching to grasp her shoulders.

He looked up. “What the fuck?!”

It was an octagonal room nearly twenty feet in diameter, wall sconces flickering, casting long shadows. But that was, perhaps, the least impressive aspect. His lips parted, eyes darting. He didn’t know where to look first. The floor was made of an intricate mosaic stonework, all blacks and grays, with an inlaid five pointed star. He did a double take, then frowned. The walls were a burst of color, as if painted yesterday.

“Demons,” he rasped, searching for his voice.

“What…what is all this?” Mina managed. She took a step forward but he tightened his hold. “No,” she said, pulling free. “I want to see it, Rix.”

He gave a curt nod, though she couldn’t see that he had.

Something in him itched as she stepped into the room, walking to its center, turning in a circle. After a deep breath, he did the same. From floor to ceiling, murals had been painted, telling a story. It took him several moments to figure out what. Battles. They were battles. Legions of human armies, swords raised, shields braced, facing off against hordes of demons. He blinked. Piles of bodies littered the battlefield. At the forefront of the depiction, a man rode on horseback—no, a king, wearing…his father’s crown.

His throat went dry.

He stood there, picking through each one. Minutes passed, or perhaps hours. Each detail was painted as if…as if the artist had been right there amidst the chaos, witnessing every moment. As if something like this had really happened long, long ago.