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Nine
Baine
Lord Demious had explained that morning his idea to bring the prospects to the crone. Every tower had a mage, but only one had a crone. Crones were a particular odd race in Saol. At one point they had been human, then the magic twisted their bodies, turning them into creatures who walked and talked like a human, yet resembled the raptors who flew in our skies.
Crones held a deep affinity for magic, scenting it like they would a flower, able to determine the type from a single drop of blood. Lord Demious was taking this bridal competition way too seriously, even for him.
The group stopped on the third floor before continuing to the top to the crone’s laboratory.
“Ms. Begalia,” Lord Demious called out over the talking females huddled together. “Take the girls into the library while I make sure our host is ready to meet us.”
I nodded at the young human guard I brought in, Aster, to go in first and do a quick sweep. He waded through the throng of females until he disappeared inside the room.
Rosalie spoke with another girl, whispering quickly. She bunched the sides of her dress in her hands. Was she nervous? Did she know about the crone? If my tattoo allowed me to sense her magic, the crone would identify the magnitude of it.
The servants had braided Rosalie’s long hair into twists on the top of her head. The style displayed the soft curve of her neck and the open back of her dress. Most of the girls dressed in similar attire, with the Haalow females seeming to show off any asset they could, but none of them had the womanly curves like Rosalie, and not just curves. Hands rough from working, toned arms reflecting hours spent toiling the land, and a hardiness that could only be earned by spending years in the wilds.
Aster whistled from the open doorway and nodded that we were clear.
“Everyone inside,” I said, walking forward.
The group’s chattering increased, and the females eagerly went into the massive library, except Rosalie. Her eyes widened as I approached.
“What is it?” She had no cause to look so terrified, yet she did.
Once her friend had ventured into the library, Rosalie shuffled closer until only I could hear her speak. “Why are we here? What is he going to do with us?”
“Nothing. Why are you rattled?”
She gripped the front of her dress, gaze flitting all around the area, almost searching for a hidden threat. “It doesn’t feel right. There’s something wrong about this place. Don’t you feel it?”
For a moment, I closed off my mind and used my fae senses to listen, to scent, and find the cause of her unsettled behavior. I had been to this tower many times, and the only thing odd about it was the host who lived here.
Taking Rosalie’s elbow, I turned her toward the library. “Nothing will harm you here. Go with the others.”
“But . . .”
Realizing she would need a little more persuasion, I placed a hand on her back and walked with her. “You need not worry here. Lord Demious would not have brought any of you to the tower if he thought you’d be in danger. I wasn’t lying when I said he protects his people, and right now all of you are under his protection.”
The tips of my fingers touched her soft skin where the dress tied together. The connection sent a spark through me, and I didn’t know if I wanted to remove my hand or keep it there. Regardless of my desires, Rosalie calmed at my touch and entered the library. Only after she stepped over the threshold, did I remove myself and take guard by the door.
Instead of joining the others while they gawked at the rows of ancient texts, Rosalie drifted deeper into the library and out of my sight. I motioned for Aster to take position by the entrance, and I followed her.
The library resided in the larger steeple of the tower. Ceilings high enough to accompany birds and long narrow windows brought enough sunlight to not need any type of lantern or candle inside. Iron railings surrounded the second and third floor of the library, accompanied by paintings so old dust cluttered the images. If this had been any other tower, the host mage would have had servants cleaning every sacred place. The crones worked and lived alone for hundreds of years. They desired only quiet and darkness, and the company of others like them.
They had only one desire: magic.
Some of the more ancient crones lived off consuming rare magics. The only item they seemed to crave were life crystals, the golden gems of the All Father scattered across Saol to protect itself and its citizens from darkness.
Crones hated anything that put those gems at risk, more than they hated anything else, which was why they made excellent allies against the darkthings. The life crystals were not only used in objects to combat darkthings, but they healed any wound from the creature. As darkness continued to creep into the land from the Rift in the Never, the amount of life crystals diminished. No one, not even the magi, could replicate the mineral and the crystals seemed to take decades to regrow on their own—and Saol was running out of time.
Examining the area, I noticed Rosalie had wandered away from her friends. She trailed her fingers along the rows of books, staring at them with a keen interest. A brass spiral staircase led to the second floor, and without hesitation, she climbed up the stairs.
What is she doing?
From my vantage point, I could still see her until she went down a row and the iron railing obscured my view, forcing me to chase after the precarious human.
When I hit the second floor, I headed toward the last place I saw her.
Empty.
Walking down another aisle, I peeked around the rows of books.
Empty.
I stopped, listening to the sounds around me and ignoring the talking below. Scurries of a mouse, a rustling of curtains from one of the nearby windows, but no breaths, no footsteps.
Rosalie had simply vanished.
