Page 81 of A Sin So Pure

“Understood,” I say.

I expect him to leave, but he remains, waiting like a puppy who’s expecting a treat. My lips stretch into a formal, tight-lipped smile.

If he thinks he’s getting my thanks, he’ll be sorely mistaken.

“I can manage from here.”

Silas frowns at my dismissal of him.

“If you need anything, you can give either one of us a knock. There aren’t Royal staff here, just a few of Wrath’s security, the scholars, and a cook whoonlycooks. So, everything else is onus,” he says. I give him an awkward thumbs up, and he snorts. “See you in a bit,neighbor.”

I wait until his steps fade around the curved hall to enter my room. Locking the door behind me, I toss my jacket onto the small table situated in the entry and sink into the nearest chair. It’s a wide-back lounger upholstered in rose-pink velvet placed next to the hearth.

With a passing glance, I scan the room I’ve been given. It’s small, but cozy. The ceilings are low and made of rough-hewn stone. The walls are decorated with pink-toned tapestries, likely to keep the space warm, and the simple four-poster bed sits in the far corner with pale fabric tied to each post. A dark archway stands next to the bed, leading to what I assume is the washroom.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, then sigh at the failed attempt to block the pounding against my skull. I’ll have to take a hot shower, if this place even has running water, to dull the pain before I head back downstairs to meet with Silas.

His behavior unnerves me—the way he regards me as a friend in one moment, then casts out commands in the next. It alludes to a game that only he knows the rules to.

Our deal requires us to place faith in one another, to share each other’s secrets. It’s a risk on both our parts.

The reward will be worth it. That is,ifI can keep the two of them close enough to help with Patience, but far enough away that they don’t notice the cracking mortar holding together every half-truth I’ve ever told.

When I walk into the library, my nose is assaulted by deep notes of mildew, dust, and cedar. It’s a distinct mix of scents that I expect from an ancient cavern that books call home.

My gloved hand skims over the leather and clothbound tomes as I glide through the rows searching for Silas and Wrath. I turn a corner and exit the circular maze of books, stepping into the open area at the center of the mountain complex.

Silas stands over a round table scattered with papers and pictures while Wrath lounges in a chair next to him.

“Ah, Nora, good. You didn’t get lost,” Silas says, quickly glancing my way and waving me over.

His attention falls back to a photograph on the table, silently pondering it and scratching his jaw. Wrath glares at me, not hiding his distaste for my presence. Both men have gotten rid of their outerwear and suit jackets; watch chains dangle from their vest pockets, though Wrath’s is gold and Silas’s silver.

The scratch of a chair against the stone floor echoes through the library as a man gets up from the table next to ours. He slides his reading glasses into his pocket and walks away with a book tucked under his arm.

It registers that Silas didn’t clear out the library. A few others linger between the shelves and at the tables, all dressed in similar black robes.

“Who are they?” I ask, nodding to the few fae with their noses tucked between the pages of their own books.

“Researchers,” Wrath answers.

My lips tip into a frown. He doesn’t continue.

“Not going to elaborate, are you?”

A smug little smirk spreads across Wrath’s face. He stays silent.

“I know we believe Patience to be the same man, but I am curious…” Silas taps the photograph on the table. “Do you recognize him?”

I lean on the edge of the table, peering over the photos.

One is an ancient sepia-toned square of a young woman with hair cropped into a flouncy pixie cut. She’s mid-laugh, her head thrown back and mouth open wide, and behind her, you can barely make out the faint outline of translucent wings. Underneath her photo is a simple label scrawled in ink:Oonagh.

The Seelie Queen.

Below her photograph is a group picture with her and seven others at a banquet, all holding up glasses of wine and spirits and dressed to the nines. It’s a mix of men and women, but some of the faces are crossed out with large black x’s.

A weight settles in my stomach, the dropping of an anchor in the sea.

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