Page 75 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

“She did, did she?” A lazy eyebrow pulled upwards, and the dark glow of the oil lamps lit the sharpest lines of his face. “Any book on the Gods in particular stand out to you? I know each and every one that is listed here in the library.”

Somehow, the question felt like a trap that she had to avoid. “I can’t remember specific names. Probably just pictures or illustrations.”

“Mmm.” He turned and plucked another document from the shelf—it looked heavier than Cally. “Most of the humans in these lands know of the Light Gods. But they don’t tend to keep records of the ancient Gods they no longer worship.”

“My grandmother loved ancient history. It was a passion of hers.” Emara’s voice did not falter.

Viktir took a moment before speaking again, “You do know you are in the section regarding witches and not in the section where all the lore you could ever read on the Gods is stored, Miss Clearwater?”

Emara tried to fake a laugh, but her throat tightened. “I didn’t. Which way is that section?” She swallowed hard, looking around herself.

He moved, his tall frame stalking towards a small wooden desk at the edge of the shelving. He turned to face her again. “I never did give you my condolences on the loss of your grandmother. It must be very difficult for you, being an only child.”

A red flag wrapped around her mind. He knew she was an only child. What else did he know about her? Being the commander of the clan, Emara would have assumed he would have done research on every person who had come into his tower. But how much had he learned about her?

“Thank you,” she squeezed out. “It has been incredibly difficult. I am just taking each day as it comes.”

He nodded, his jaw hard. “Forgive me for asking, but what was the name of your grandmother again?”

Emara could lie, but she had a feeling she was being tested. Again. And she had a horrible feeling that she did not want to fail this test, even if it gave away who she was to him. “Theodora,” she answered. “Theodora Clearwater.”

If Viktir knew of her grandmother, he didn’t show it. “Ahh, yes. That’s right. We had to mark down her death. Anyone who is killed at the hand of the Dark Army, we record. Just for our files.” He sat the manuscripts that he had collected on the table. If he was pretending not to know who she was, he was doing a splendid job. “Clearwater…that is an old name. It probably dates back to the deities’ children.”

“Really?” A shiver ran down Emara’s spine, snaking its way into her stomach. “I must look into that when I have time.”

“You should. We have documents that go back centuries. Of course, the originals lie within the Temple of the Gods, but we do have our copies here.” He eyed her, piercing into her skin with those broken-bottle-green eyes. “Did your grandmother ever talk of the origin of the name Clearwater?”

“No, sir.” Emara held her chin up. “She didn’t. She often spoke of her parents, but nothing of where they came from. I don’t imagine they would have been anyone of importance.”

Viktir’s lips thinned, and she knew she had said too much. “I see.” He stalked forward, lifting another manuscript off the shelf. “Did you ever hear your grandmother speak of the magic world? About anything you have learned whilst being here?”

“Never,” fell from her mouth quickly. “I mean, no, Commander Blacksteel. My grandmother never spoke of any of it.”

“Do you think she knew of it?”

Emara could feel her eyebrows furrow over her face and her body starting to warm. Sweat. “If she did, she never spoke of it to me,” she exhaled out the truth. “We lived a very normal life. An incredibly quiet and boring life, sir.”

“Until demons invaded your home and killed your only living relative?”

Hearing it so bluntly punched a hole straight through Emara’s heart and she had to take a moment to gather herself. “Yes, until that night.” She gritted her teeth, trying her best to keep her demeanour as collected as the commander’s. “Did you know of my grandmother?” she asked, not sure she wanted him to answer.

“I know many people, Miss Clearwater. But I don’t believe I ever came across your grandmother. Should I have known her? An elderly woman who lived in a village?” he asked in return.

A stark, thick silence swept through the books, almost suffocating Emara where she stood. “No. Like I said, we lived a quiet life.” She picked a book from the shelf and her eyes skimmed the title, not really taking in what it was as her hands began to shake.

“Weren’t your parents also killed?” The Commander stopped for a second before turning so that Emara could see the cold, hard plains of his face again. His features were so like Torin’s, yet he wasn’t charming or mischievous. Or even warm in any way. He was just…collected. Working. Calm. The Commander.

A small part of her wanted to punch or scream at him for asking such an invasive question. Or maybe she even wanted to cry. How dare he be so insensitive! Viktir knew the answer, or he wouldn’t have asked. But she decided that all irrational options were foolish when dealing with a man like the one who stood before her. He was intelligent and precise. And clearly curious about something. And evidently informed about her.

“I wasn’t aware that I was under investigation, Commander Blacksteel. I was only looking for some light reading that may tire my eyes. As you can imagine, I haven’t been sleeping well since the attack.” She held his gaze, even though she feared her legs had now begun to shake enough for him to see.

A small, wry smirk finally appeared on his lips. “My apologies again, Miss Clearwater. I have been the commander of this clan for so long that I instantly go into hunting mode, even when in polite conversation. Please forgive me for prying. The books that you are after are two sections along.” He moved again, this time to sit at the desk. “Don’t mind me. I will not disturb you, take as long as you want. I am just looking into some ancient history of the witching covens.” An uneasy smile twitched under his lips, revealing his teeth.

It wasn’t a cruel smile, or even one that would be considered passive. But it was one that told Emara Clearwater that the commander of the Blacksteel Clan knew exactly who she was. Or at least he was going to find out.

After selecting three books that weren’t related to anything she had wished to find, she tinkled back along the corridors to her room, just to quickly escape the intense encounter with the commander. Verging closer to the infirmary, she noticed a brass plaque that she hadn’t before, engraved with the word Rooftop. The plaque also had an arrow, pointed in a direction she had never ventured before. She hadn’t been shown the rooftop on the tour with Marcus.

Walking slowly, she reached an unseen turn in the hallway and she peeked her head around the corner to see a set of dimly lit stairs that were carved from uneven brick rising into the darkness.

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