Page 74 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

But the real question that ate at her soul was: Did that mean she, too, had magic? And if so, could she access it? Did she even want to access it?

Given that you have had the curiosity to find this letter, I fear that I am no longer with you and you have learned about the magic that runs in your blood.

An overwhelming feeling passed through her chest and it forced her jaw to tighten, stopping any vomit that had sneakily climbed up her throat. It was so surreal to even be having these thoughts. Thoughts of magic and new worlds with dangerous possibilities. She would know if she had magic, would she not?

She cursed under her breath.

It was anarchy in her mind. Chaos.

What if being the former Supreme’s granddaughter meant something to the magic community and they held her responsible for her grandmother disappearing? Was she ready for that? Was she responsible?

The Spirit Witch had said that it was believed that Emara was killed in a fire alongside her mother. So that meant her grandmother had to have hidden the fact that she was alive. Otherwise, Theodora would have gone on to rule over the covens for Gods knows how long. Maybe she would still be ruling, were she still alive. The thought nipped in her chest, even though something truly felt off about her grandmother stepping away from her title and coven. Maybe she had done it because of her mother’s death? But she couldn’t be sure of that either.

Her grandmother had to be hiding from someone. Was she hiding from something? The demon that had invaded her home the night of the attack seemed to think she had something valuable.

Emara let out a heavy groan.

Every part of this agonising guessing game had circulated for hours in her mind—for days! If there was anywhere in the city that held answers to anything, other than the Huntswood Markets, it had to be the tower’s library.

Fear was no longer an option, either. She had to know. Taking a deep breath, Emara pushed the solid wooden doors open and stepped inside. It had been lighter when she had first seen it with Marcus, with winter sun breaking through the small windows above. But tonight, only oil lamps lit the walls and sat glowing on small oak tables. Stacks and stacks of uneven shelves housed multicoloured books and unbound manuscripts; the library swept up onto two floors. As Emara walked through each bookish corridor, it was evident which books were new and which ones had been gathering dustin the tower for decades—maybe centuries. She took her time to read over some of the headings which hung above each section, detailing what manuscripts or books could be found there. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure what section she was looking for; she was just aimlessly wandering, hoping to stumble across something that stood out to her. Something substantial enough…

At least at the markets she had the Blacksteels to use for navigation purposes. Here? She was on her own. She wasn’t going to find any hidden messages from her grandmother behind paintings. There was going to be no guidance. Perhaps, just some luck?

Where does an orphan of secret magical origin who has been hidden from her family’s coven for twenty years start looking for answers after burning her only clue about who she was?

She huffed a small laugh at the thought. It was a miracle she found anything funny anymore. Her situation really wasn’t funny, but she feared that if she did not laugh, she would cry.

And she would rather laugh. She had done enough crying.

“Looking for something in particular?”

A deep, authoritative tone had Emara swinging around in a sharp second. The air escaped her lungs as she took in the face of Viktir Blacksteel—the commander of the clan—standing at the end of the corridor she was in.

“I—” she couldn’t think of a lie. Not quickly enough. “If I shouldn’t be in here, I can leave.” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be and she found her cheeks burning instantly.

Viktir’s dark green eyes washed over her, pinning down on her attire. His son’s attire.

She sucked in a breath.

Something about him was so compellingly powerful. Even how he stood in the library of his own home was menacing, yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

“The library is open to any of the humans who are still staying within these walls.” He turned and plucked a manuscript from a section she hadn’t checked yet. “But none of them have taken up the opportunity for reading. Except you.”

“I am an avid reader,” she blurted, wishing it had sounded more controlled. Especially since everything that the commander said or did was controlled with excellence. “I didn’t bring any books with me from my grandmother’s house and I am missing some light reading before bed.”

His stare pinned her where she stood once again. “And what books did you hope to find in a hunting library that are suitable for ‘some light reading?’”

Something glitched in her chest, igniting a feeling of warning. Did he somehow know she was snooping? He couldn’t. She didn’t look suspicious, did she?

Let’s keep the stone, and who you are, a secret. We don’t need anyone else knowing about it. And especially not my father.

Torin’s words surged through her mind, causing conflict. Could Viktir not be trusted with who she was? With what Torin knew? Surely, he was the safest person to know. He was the commander of the people who had saved her. He was put on this world to protect people.

But again, that little twinge in her chest told her to listen to Torin’s instruction.

Begrudgingly.

“An avid reader knows no limits on what they can read, Commander Blacksteel.” She pretended to coast her eyes over the books on the shelf next to her. “I was hoping to find something on the Great War or the Gods, maybe. My grandmother kept some books about their legends. So that might be a comfort to me while I am here.”

---