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Teryn resisted the urge to bark a laugh. Of course the pampered Mareleau wouldn’t realize just what a luxury chocolate was in some places. However, he recalled seeing a chocolatier’s shop in one of the cities he’d traveled through on his way here. He’d stopped before the window and considered going inside to buy a peace offering for Cora. Before he could act on it, he’d talked himself out of the idea, reminding himself that Cora might send him packing before he even got the chance to offer gifts.
Oh, how wrong he’d been…
He shook his head before memories of a kiss beneath a tree—of Cora’s body against that tree—could render him brainless.
“How about this,” he said. “I’ll place an order for chocolate if you do me a favor tonight.”
She threw back her head with a groan. “For the love of the seven gods, not again.”
“It’s a small favor,” Teryn rushed to say. “I need to talk to the royal chef. If all goes well, I’ll simply need your help procuring a spare table and maybe some candles. Perhaps a nice cloth. And, if you’re feeling generous, you can locate somewhere Cora and I might dine undisturbed tonight too.”
“Oh, that’s all,” she muttered with sarcasm. “Why do you call her Cora, anyway? And why can’t you do any of this yourself?”
He ignored the first question, but it served as a reminder to call Cora by her royal name in front of others. To address her second question, he said, “I still have an audience with King Dimetreus to attend once he returns from his hunt, and I’m not entirely convinced your uncles won’t thwart my efforts to enjoy myself while I’m here. They are your father’s brothers, after all.”
She nodded as if to admitfair enough.
“If you do it,” he said, “you can tell your uncles it’s for the sake of teaching the princess proper dinner etiquette. They’ll believe that.”
She narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot rapidly against the flagstones. Finally, she blew out a long breath and said, “You’re lucky I’m bored.”
“And you’re lucky I know of a place that sells cream-filled truffles. Now, sister, if you don’t mind, let us make haste to the kitchen where our mutual schemes might be realized.”
She burned him with a scowl but it lacked venom. “Very well…brother.”
26
Cora’s lips continued to tingle even hours later, forcing her to recall the feel of Teryn’s mouth against hers again and again. It was a pleasant reminder, yet a dangerous distraction considering where she was and what she was doing. She bit her bottom lip, letting the pressure override the far gentler memories, and focused on what was before her—a hearth filled with flame, consuming pages of a very dangerous book.
She hated burning books on principle alone. The thought of permanently destroying knowledge, eradicating words that had been carefully recorded on paper for a distinct purpose, weighed her stomach down with guilt. She knew to cherish knowledge. Stories. Traditions. For six years, Cora had been raised by Salinda, the Forest People’s Keeper of Histories. Passing knowledge of the Arts down from one generation to the next had been Salinda’s job as one of the commune’s Faeryn elders.
But Cora knew even Salinda would approve of her burning this knowledge now. Knew she’d insist upon it.
Cora shuddered with revulsion, recalling the unsettling images she’d found within the book’s pages.
A wolf and a stag, facing off in the forest. One with bared teeth and raised hackles, the other with a lowered head of deadly antlers.
On the next page, the two creatures colliding in a battle of teeth and claws, hooves and tines.
On the following page, the animals collapsing in a heap of blood and torn flesh, eyes devoid of life.
Then, concluding the chapter, a single creature with paws and hooves, a sweeping tail, and a head crowned with antlers emerging from the two bodies…
She hadn’t seen the word Roizan anywhere on the page, but she knew that was what it was. That was how Morkai had created his creature, his vessel for dark magic.
Part of her had been tempted to keep the book for informational purposes, if only to learn more about Morkai, his magic, how he’d constructed his spells—
And that idea had made her slam the book entitledMastering the Etherashut.
Her desire to keep the book hadn’t been sinister in any way. There was logic to learning more about an enemy, even a dead one, especially when his dark magic lingered beyond his death. But the fact that she’d almost felt justified in keeping a book on the forbidden Arts had terrified her.
So now it burned. Just like the dozen she’d burned before it and the hundreds still left to toss into the flames. It was a slow process. She couldn’t simply pick up a volume from one of the many shelves lining the circular room and chuck it in the fire. Instead, she had to extend her senses,feelfor any threat radiating from the spine or cover. Then, handling it with care, she’d have to flip open the cover with the edge of her paring knife, investigate the pages, seek any sign that they were laced with poison or woven with enchantments that needed to be broken with salt or water before succumbing to fire and air.
She glanced around the room at the leagues upon leagues of books, bottles of poisons, and stacks of paper cluttered everywhere. Her shoulders sank with how heavy this task was. How lengthy. How vital. She’d only been working in the tower for a few hours today, and already she was exhausted. Her stamina nearly spent.
But she was the only one who could do this.
It would take time, but shewoulddo this.
