Page 48 of Enslaved

Nobblin glances behind me. I feel the Prince standing there, though no doubt it’s the wyvern that causes the junior librarian’s brow to pucker. He flicks his gaze back to me. “Mister Creakle is working in the back rooms today.”

“Thank you.”

I take several steps in that direction, when a sharp snap of fingers and an arresting, “Hold on!” stop me in my tracks. I look back questioningly into George Nobblin’s scowling face. “I’ll need to see your library pass.”

“I don’t have one. I’m a librarian.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. Mister Nobblin, it’s me. Clara Darlington. I worked here with you for five years.”

Nobblin reaches into an alcove under the desk and removes a hefty ledger. With quick, practiced efficiency, he pages to the long list of librarian names: all those human Obligates who have served in Aurelis since the time of its founding. Then he turns the book around, pushes it across the desktop, one bony finger pointing to a particular name. My own. With a line scratched diagonally through it.

“Yes, well.” I push the book back. “You can still clearly see that is my name.”

“What I can clearly see,” Nobblin replies in his most acidic tones, “is that while you may haveonceworked here, you no longer do. Therefore, according to the rules of the library, you require a library pass to enter.”

It’s one of the hard-as-stone rules, written by Queen Dasyra herself. The fae are sticklers for laws, and the mere act of writing it down has served as effective protection for the library and its bounty of invaluable texts and manuscripts for generations. I, however, am not fae. Written law cannot prevent me from entering. Time to change tack.

I tip my head, letting my loose hair fall across my shoulder. Granted, it’s bushy with sea-salt and not exactly the glossy mane one would prefer under these circumstances. But it’s all I’ve got. “Come, Mister Nobblin,” I say with what I hope counts as a bewitching smile. “Surely you will allow for extenuating circumstances. I’m only here a short while, and I daresay Mister Creakle would be ever so disappointed not to see me.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Nobblin’s tone suggests I think rather too highly of myself. “What I know is that a library pass is required to enter through these doors. Any attempt to thwart library rules, and I shall be forced to summon the king’s guard.” He slams the ledger shut and tucks it back into place under the desk. “If you would like to fill out the proper forms, I can begin the process of validation.”

“How long will that take?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?Mister Nobblin, please—”

“I have a pass.”

Protests die in my throat as the Prince strides up to the desk, leans on one elbow, produces a small, yellowed card from I don’t even know where on his person, and places it under George Nobblin’s nose. The wordsOfficial Library Pass: Aurelis Library, Court of Dawnare faded and half-smeared away, but still legible along with the scrawl of the Prince’s own signature.

Nobblin’s mouth creases. I’m not sure it’s a smile, but I don’t know what else to call it. “Enjoy your time in Aurelis Library. Please, do not hesitate to ask one of the librarians for assistance.” He waves a welcoming hand.

The Prince smirks and pushes upright from the desk. “All right, Darling, moment of truth. What is the name of the volume you require?”

Part of me wants to persist in the little fiction that I’m here to visit my old mentor. But what’s the use? “Zaleria Zintoris,” I say softly, lowering my lashes so I need not meet his smug gaze. “The Book of Stars.It’s found among Lunulyrian songs and legends. Second floor. The author is Hycis Larune.”

“Indeed?” The Prince snorts. “Will there be anything else?”

“That will be all. For now.” I bite my lip then add, “Thank you.”

He gives me a long, searching look. No doubt trying to discern how a book of songs can possibly connect to Seraphine’s son and the rot he suffers. Let him wonder. I never said my idea was complete. I’d like a chance to refine it before I share. “As it pleases you, Mistress,” the Prince says, offering a sarcastic bow before turning to enter.

Nobblin, however, puts up a staying hand. “No animals in the library.”

“Ah, quite right.” The Prince turns to the wyvern, which stands just outside the doorway. He snaps his fingers. The wyvern ruffles its feathers and makes an irritable mewling noise. He snaps again, and it heaves a long-suffering sigh. Then it folds its wings tight to its body and . . . keeps on folding. I hardly know how to explain it, the sight is so strange. But when the wyvern is through, there’s no sign of the white-feathered beast. Instead a single piece of folded parchment lies on the ground.

The Prince swipes it up and tucks it carefully into the inner pocket of his coat. Then he turns to Nobblin, whose face mirrors mine—slack-jawed and blinking in surprise. “If I may?”

Nobblin nods and motions with a limp hand. The Prince casts me a smug smile. “Shut your mouth, Darling; that’s a singularly unintelligent expression. You said yourself, it’s a spell.” Then he saunters away into the stacks and out of view.

I remain at the entrance. Impatient. Frustrated. Twiddling my fingers, pacing to and fro. Sometimes familiar faces stroll by. They spare me little more than passing glances before hurrying on their way. Apparently, I’d made little impact on my fellow librarians over the years. And the library itself . . . though at first sight, the glorious beauty of it lifted my heart, a second and third glance leaves me cold inside. I simply don’t belong here anymore.

But where do I belong? Among the monsters and nightmares of Vespre? Perhaps. And perhaps in the darkest, truest parts of my soul, I’ve always known it to be true.

I don’t like this. I don’t like these slow moments, alone with my thoughts and feelings. Better to stay in motion, better to be always in action. Better not to allow myself time for doubt. Because now I can’t help but wonder—

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