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“Do what?” Sharlyne came to a stop in front of a set of double doors and peered back at me. She did bear a resemblance to Rivven, but she felt far more approachable.

“Display affection so…blatantly?” I hissed under my breath. “Lou nearly touched his privates right in front of us. Wait.” I set a hand against the wine-colored wallpaper to steady myself. “They weren’t inviting us to—” I swallowed off the rest of the sentence.

Sharlyne smiled kindly and opened the doors behind her, backing inside without looking. “It depends on the people and the culture of the area you are in. I don’t think so in this case. But they may be open to it if you want to go back in. Come.”

Flushing even hotter, I joined her in a new room, larger than the last. Every wall was filled with shelves from floor to ceiling, each chock-full of books. I spun on the plush, blood-colored carpet, trying to take it all in. A couple more worn leather armchairs sat in the center of the space with a small table set between them, piled high with more volumes.

“A little library,” I exclaimed, inhaling deeply. I found the scent of musty pages oddly comforting. The palace library may have been ornate and impressive, but the scent was hidden beneath the dust of time. This reminded me more of the books Nyah would smuggle into my rooms in the palace when we were younger. I’d loved when she read to me and told me stories of old. It made me feel less…alone.

“Indeed,” Sharlyne said, running a finger across the spines on the nearest shelf. “Not a very large one, but still quite impressive for an establishment such as this. Do you read much?”

“Not as much as I like anymore.” I joined her, studying the multi-colored offerings stuffed on the shelf behind her. The sizes and widths varied greatly, as did the condition and titles of each. A short, fat volume bound in dark leather caught my eye. The gilded lettering announced it as The Truth Amongst the Myths. I tugged it into my hands, smiling. Since the book I had already requested had no information about creating a shadow hand, there was little use in asking for another. Perhaps this one would have something in it about the subject. It would be nice to find a way to experience the ship side by side together with Nyah instead of taking turns.

“Lou said she doesn’t mind us borrowing them as long as we return them before we leave,” Sharlyne said, hands clasped behind her back. “You like mythology?”

I glanced down at the book. “I do. I used to make Nye read me stories all the time. How do you suppose the author knows what parts are real and what aren’t?”

“Maybe they’re a seer.” Sharlyne shrugged. “You could always take a peek. Or maybe you’d prefer to go back and try to join Lou and Galan?”

Clutching the book to my chest, I shook my head. “Oh, no. I prefer the company of a particular Astridonian.” I bit my bottom lip, recalling the previous nights we’d spent in our room. He was supposed to have gone off with Rivven this morning, hunting for more supplies for our voyage, not knowing Nyah was going to relinquish my body so soon. I’d have a surprise for him when he came back later.

Sharlyne nudged my side, nearly knocking me off balance. “Good for you. Oh, I think it’s almost time to head upstairs before Lou’s girls come down and see the missing princess roaming around.”

The bedroom I’d been staying in was a small space compared to my home, but it was bright and cheerful, and we’d already filled it with memories. I smiled as I tossed a cushion on the rug and curled up on top. I had hours until Torvo returned, so I decided to busy myself with the book I’d borrowed in the hopes of sparking some ideas about releasing Nye.

Flipping the linen pages, I scoured the chapters until I found the one that interested me most. The True Story of Illio. I ran the pads of my fingers down the curling ink of the page. I actually felt nervous about what I might find. I’d always felt a kinship to Illio despite him being a villain. After all, he’d been the last person before me to wield more than one type of magic. And he’d created a shadow hand, something I’d done too, albeit accidentally. If this author knew the truth somehow, then perhaps there would be hint about how to go about it. What else might they know about? It had been no accident I’d created a shadow hand when I felt most hopeless. I’d identified with Illio.

Illio’s story was the one that I thought about most. It was the reason I was so frightened to unleash my full magical potential. What if the gods were displeased and came for me? What if I hurt someone? What if I was destined to be corrupted by magic?

Was it possible the truth of Illio’s story could set me at ease? What if he wasn’t a villain at all but a person much like me who meant well but was put in a bad situation?

“So many questions, Rune,” I scolded out loud. “There’s only one way to find out.” But my fingers shook slightly as they trailed beneath the words on the page.

In the stories told today, Illio is a cautionary tale of a man with too much power who supposedly used his abilities to force others to obey his every whim. But historical records show no evidence of such tyranny. In fact, the ruins of the old palace hint at a very different truth, with faded murals depicting joyful subjects, lavish galas, and a general sense of harmony. Is it possible these were for propaganda purposes? Yes, but this author finds that unlikely. For whom would such a tyrant be attempting to convince?

I readjusted my legs and flipped the page, heart beating rapidly.

Furthermore, there is no record or depiction in any format indicating that a shadow hand was ever made. It is likely this portion of the tale was entirely fabricated. The difficulty of such a spell or complete illusion makes it as probable as fairy dust.

I shut the book and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. I’d been so hopeful that I’d find the answers I’d been searching for. I’d hoped the author had been right, that Illio was not the villain of legend, but a kind and benevolent king. But now I knew the author, whoever wrote this, knew little of the truth. Because shadow hands did exist, as complex as the magic was. I’d proved it when I’d created Nye. And this was no help trying to find a way to repeat that feat.

With a shake of my head, I stood and paced the room. The book no longer held interest for me, and I was already stir-crazy. I used to be able to while away my days in my head, but not anymore. Not now that I’d seen what I was missing. Part of me wished I could speed up time and get us to the Synbari Isles already. I had questions that clearly only the gods could answer. But sadly, that kind of magic really was beyond human ability.

Grabbing a cloak, I hurried to hide my hair and slipped down the stairs to return the useless book. But when I went to leave the library, I stopped with the door ajar. The sound of heavy boots clomped down the hallway, and the last thing I wanted was to be found and endanger our hostess. I pressed my ear to the door and listened.

“I already told you, Fiorge, you are no longer welcome here until I’m confident you will respect my wishes and my girls,” Lou said.

“Aye, but your compatriot hired me to do a job,” a gruff male voice answered. “And I have a message for him.”

“You can deliver it to me and be on your way then,” Galan said.

I relaxed slightly, knowing he was there. He seemed more than capable of diffusing a difficult situation.

“Very well,” Fiorge agreed, though it was clear from his tone he wasn’t thrilled. “But first we should take care of eavesdroppers. One can’t be too careful when discussing delicate matters.”

Before I could puzzle out his meaning, the door was thrust open, and I stumbled into the hall, hood falling from my head. My cheeks burned as I looked from Lou’s horrified expression to Galan’s mask of a smile to the scarred face of a man I immediately wanted nothing to do with.

“I—” had no idea what to say.