Page 47 of Ruby & Onyx

“A book,” I say dumbly.

He lets out a sigh of frustration. “A book? You don’t say! Well, I can help you find ten thousand of those, more if you look beyond this room!”

“A book by the prophet Davina. That’s all I know.”

“Ah, a classic.” His eyes scan the shelves as if he possesses omniscience over the library’s contents. He stops on a section in the center of the far wall. “There you will find The Prophecies and Warnings of Davina. Third from the bottom, fourth from the left.”

I stare at him incredulously for a moment before moving to see if his findings are correct. Sure enough, I see the book glowing like it’s encircled by flame.

“Thank you,” I tell him, doing my best to swallow the note of confusion.

“Pleased to be of service.” He gives a slight bow once again.

I start to ask him how it is that he’s speaking, but his face hardens before I have the chance. Whatever delusion overcame me to believe that a bust could speak somehow led me to the right place. Rather than analyze that fact, I shove the book into my satchel and bolt out the door.

This book could hold all of the answers. It could explain every question plaguing my confused and hallucinating brain.

* * *

Nestled against the cliff, mere feet from the fingertips of the waxing tide, I crack open the book. The pages are worn and studied – the corners frayed and the spine cracked. Some pages appear to be missing, leaving only the jagged edges of sheets long gone.

But as I caress the words before me, it’s as if the book itself is pulling me in, inviting me closer. My hands begin to shake with an odd and unsettling mix of nerves and anticipation. Gods, I don’t even know what I’m looking for, much less whether or not this book will help. But I feel a hopefulness like never before. It’s thrumming in my veins like lightning.

The first page begins with an introduction.

Attoria, God of Wisdom, in his omniscience, knows all that was and is and is yet to come. He shares this knowledge to guide us and to bring us hope. May his words light your feet with faith and fury. May his power shine on you like the moonlight on the open seas. May his ever-flowing –

I skim past the introduction and thumb through the following pages to get a sense of where to look. Each entry that follows is dated like a diary. Davina must have lived over four hundred years ago, and the dates span a time frame of about fifty years.

The first entry, however, is written in an archaic language. The next is smudged beyond recognition. The legible entries, though written in my native tongue and free of smudges, are full of rambling nonsense.

One entry reads:

The unity of the wobbling moon and the setting stars will find its place in the unholy lands once the sealed flower blooms under the crystalline grave. The scent of rot and decay shall waft from coast to coast until the sun shatters the sand. Only when the four pence arrive will the inferior trudge on.

My hope plummets with each word.

It’s all nonsense.

Who is meant to understand the meaning of the wobbling moons and crystalline graves? Why even write a book if it’s going to confuse all of its readers? Gods, even if I could figure out which entries might be relevant to me, I’ll never be able to make sense of it on my own. No table of contents reads “Radya, read this one!”

I slam the book shut, battling the defeat rising in my chest.

Come on, think.

Both Paul and the woman in the market mentioned belonging elsewhere and reclaiming a throne. The only throne that might belong to me, should I accept, is the throne of Mendacia. But I’m already here. How could I be in the wrong place?

The war over the two kingdoms could resume soon. Perhaps I’m somehow involved in uniting Mendacia and Umbra under one ruler? But how could these two strangers have any knowledge of that? Or maybe I’m just delusional, and it really is just a strange coincidence, after all.

But if it is a coincidence, why would Gemma lead me toward more prophecies? She doesn’t seem like the type to mess with me for her own twisted amusement. And that was real terror in Viola’s eyes. If the court swore a blood oath to protect this secret, then the king must be hiding something. Something so big that he’s willing to kill to protect it.

I have to know what it is.

There must be something in here that can at least point me in the right direction.

Could magic can lead me to the right page? Since I have no other theories, I might as well try.

I hold the book tight against my chest and mentally repeat my request, visualizing myself finding the prophecy intended for me. I open the door to the mental chamber that holds my magic and pray for it to guide my fingers.

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