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Hawl’s furry brow seemed to furrow. “The right book always finds the reader.”
“Well, in that case,” I said carefully. “Your library seems to think I need to know the history of the fae monarchy of Valtain.”
“Such would seem useful for one such as yourself,” Hawl remarked, looking me up and down. “Do your people not value their own history?”
I thought about the question. My people? I was only just beginning to realize my people were not only the mortal humans of Pendrath but very likely the fae of Valtain, too.
“I suppose so,” I said, still skeptical. “I can’t say I learned a great deal about fae history from the books in Camelot.” At least, not entirely reliable information.
“Well, then,” Hawl said with satisfaction. “It seems to me the book which chose you was well aware of your ignorance.”
I pursed my lips. “Indeed. Though it would have been more useful if the book contained specific information on how to train an exmoor.”
“Perhaps you are not ready for that level of information,” Hawl suggested haughtily. Clearly they would not even consider the idea that the book had made a mistake in choosing me. I decided not to press the matter.
The Ursidaur turned as if to stalk back down the aisle, then paused. “The books do not leave the library.”
Well, obviously they didn’t completely dislike me or they wouldn’t have brought me food, I thought to myself, as I nibbled the cheese and bread. The plain fare reminded me of the many meals Draven and I had eaten together on the road while traveling towards Valtain.
Remembering that reminded me of Vesper and Lancelet.
There had been some good times before the bad. Though they had been over too soon. And the time I had spent with Vesper was forever tainted.
I turned back to the pages of my book.
“The Felis Bellator has long been woven into the fabric of fae mythology and folklore. Tales recount epic battles fought atop the Bellators' backs, with warriors harnessing the creatures hidden gifts and fearsome strength to secure striking victories.
Behind the glorious tales of battlecats and Fae Kings, whispers of an ancient prophecy stir. It is said that within the Leap of Faith lies the key to unraveling the veiled truths of the realm. Only those who possess the courage to take the leap, to trust in the unknown, shall unlock the secrets that have long been concealed. The battlecats, guardians of the Leap, hold the secrets of both the past and the future, awaiting those who dare to seek the answers.”
This was incredibly cryptic. Perhaps Hawl would enjoy this passage, I thought sardonically. Quickly, I scanned ahead.
“Within the lineage of High King Gorlois, one name shines with a brilliance all its own—Orcades Le Fay...”
My eyebrows shot up as the name seemed to leap off the page towards me.
“... the brilliant tactician, warrior, and daughter of the King. While most famously known for her dominion at sea, Orcades pleased her father by exemplifying the spirit of the exmoor—a tempest of strength and loyalty. Mounted upon her feline companion, she rode fearlessly into the midst of battles...”
“Good book?”
I was prepared. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed an object from the table in front of me and holding it out in front of me at an angle.
“I was wondering when you would show up,” I hissed. “Don’t you know when you’re unwanted?”
The Prince of Claws leaned against a dark wood bookshelf, looking none the worse for wear after last night. As he saw what I held, his lips twitched slightly. “Is that... a letter opener?”
“A very sharp letter opener,” I clarified. “And I won’t hesitate to stab you with it if you come a step closer to me.”
“In that case, would you like me to step closer?” His eyes were dark emerald shadows.
I gritted my teeth. “I’d like you to get the hell out of my life forever.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Sadly, that won’t be happening. You and I are stuck with one another. At least, for now.”
“So you claim,” I snapped. “The problem is I just don’t believe you anymore.”
“No,” he said, eyeing the blade in my hand. “I can see that.”
“Iwillstab you,” I warned, waving the letter opener. It had a mother-of-pearl handle and an edge sharp enough to slice right through skin. When I’d noticed it on the table, I had wondered why the librarians needed such instruments, but now I was armed–and grateful for it. The book I would be returning to its place on the shelf. The letter opener, on the other hand, was coming with me. “I’ve been fantasizing about it all night.”
