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It had been a long time since I’d visited. The library had not improved in my absence. If anything, it had fallen into even dustier neglect. There did not even seem to be a librarian anymore. Instead, the curtains were drawn and the large, cavernous room with its high, stone walls and wooden shelves was empty. The only light came from candles on tall, iron stands.
I was saddened to see evidence of dampness on the stone walls and mildew on many of the books.
Still, it was the largest library in all of Camelot. It was no rival for the one in the Court of Umbral Flames, but I had to start somewhere.
“Beware the dread curse of Three...”
My uncle’s words hung in my mind. He may have downplayed their significance, but to me, they now seemed full of meaning.
As he had said, it all came back to the three objects. The objects of power.
I looked around. Many of the books in the castle library were hundreds of years old. They predated what had happened to the Valtain fae children. They predated what Rychel had done with the grail. They couldn’t help me with current matters. But perhaps they held some wisdom from the past.
After all, the grail, the sword, and the spear—the item I knew the least about—had all been forged long before I was born. Millennia ago.
Surely they must have come up in the history of Eskira before now. Surely someone must have recorded something about them.
I needed more insight into each of the items—what they were exactly, how they could be used, when they alreadyhadbeen used and by whom. Not just legends about Vela and Perun, but solid truth.
For within the castle walls, one of the objects surely lay. It could not be a coincidence that Orcades had taken Excalibur and brought it to Arthur.
Excalibur lay somewhere nearby, and besides spying and avoiding Fenyx’s disgusting hands, my plan was now to get a hold of it. Doing so would surely weaken Arthur.
It might even be able to stop this entire war.
But hours later, as I sat in a hard chair by a dusty table covered with dusty and tattered old books and sneezed for the umpteenth time, I started to wonder if the castle library contained what I needed.
From what I could discern, all of the books that had seemed promising had been written by mortal historians. Very few mentioned the fae. The ones that spoke of magical objects were mostly fairytales.
There was another possibility, of course.
Gaps on the shelves and gaps in Pendrath’s history. It spoke to someone carefully curating the collection and removing books which had made too much mention of the fae. Or which had been written by fae.
Even before leaving on the quest to Valtain, I’d wondered about this strange gap of knowledge. After all, my uncle had said the fae hadmorepower in the past, not less.
Perhaps when fae power had seemed to be waning, mortal monarchs had wished to have that part of our past forgotten as quickly as possible.
Tiredly, I packed up the books, promising myself I would return another day and try again. I reshelved each tome where I had found it, determined not to leave the library in greater shambles, then started to make the lengthy walk back up to my tower room.
I passed guards at their stations as well as groups of chattering nobles bustling through the corridors. All of the nobles seemed to be heading in the same direction.
And then I remembered my uncle’s decree and groaned.
Dinnertime. Everyone was heading to the dining hall. And so that was where I should have been heading, too.
I looked down at myself. My beautiful, sapphire gown was rumpled and covered with dust, not to mention a few cobwebs that had been hanging off the books.
I gritted my teeth. I could go like this and try to avoid Lady Eve’s disappointed stares, or I could return to my room and change into something that better suited me.
I ran up the tower stairs, suddenly eager to remove the gown that contained not only dust but the memory of Fenyx’s groping paws.
Shucking it off into a heap on the floor, I yanked open my wardrobe and pulled out an outfit that was the sort of thing I had worn before leaving the Rose Court. A creamy, wool, long-sleeved tunic that covered my hips and thighs and a pair of dark brown, fitted leather pants that tucked perfectly into soft, ankle-length doeskin boots.
I ran my hands over my hair, swatting away the worst of the dust balls and cobwebs, then yanked the door open and went down to the dining hall.
The hall was already full. I must have been late. I made my way between packed rows of benches. Ahead of me, on the raised dais, was the Pendragon royal table.
As I approached, I realized Arthur was seated there almost alone. Queen Belisent—my sister, Orcades—was not beside him.
