Page 20 of Lore of the Wilds

In any other situation, the guard would have been right about one thing—mice typically loved libraries because they used the paper and cloth for their nests. In theory, everything in the library should have been gnawed through by rodents, but that wasn’t the case. The scrolls that were still rolled and tied were dusty and showed signs of aging, but not amillennium’sworth of aging.

She did not have an explanation for this, so she chalked it up to magic. For what else could slow the aging of an entire library and keep even the smallest rodents from eating everything they could sink their teeth into?

Was it the same spell that kept everyone else out? Maybe if a mouse tried to enter, it, too, would be obliterated.

When she had stacked and sorted the scrolls, she swept, revealing an intricately tiled floor beneath the layers of dust. Someone had taken a lot of care to design this library only for it to be shut away. What would the architect think of the state of the library now?

She moved on to a small shelf just to the right of the atrium, which only held a few books. Here, she was in view of the door, so she cleared finely spun spiderwebs from shelves, dusted, and wiped the books without opening any of them. She wasn’t sure if Asher, the guard, could see her or not. She didn’t want him reporting to the steward that she was reading any of the books.

She moved on from shelf to shelf while staying close to the atrium, where the guard could presumably see her through the windows. Once she was sure he’d seen how thorough and careful she was being—assuming he was watching—she slipped over to a shelf that was hidden from view and cleared a space just wide enough for her to sit and settled down to start sorting.

From this vantage point, it seemed as if the stacks stretched above her for eternity. She had to admit, being surrounded by books was a dream come true. She glanced back toward the door, checking again that the guard couldn’t see her from this angle.

She seemed to be in the clear.

Her stomach flipped with a nervous excitement as she opened the first tome in the Alytherian Royal Library.

The book itself was nondescript—a simple faded green cloth binding covered the tome, and inside appeared to be a collection of children’s tales that were not so different from the tales Lore herself had grown up with and now told to the little ones at the shelter. Each tale had an obstacle or three to overcome and all ended with a moral. Be kind to your neighbors, help those weaker than you, never trust a weasel for they will trick you and take all your food. It seemed as though the Alytherians needed these stories, for maybe they wouldn’t be so inherently awful.

Lore placed the book in a pile for nursery tales and logged the title in the notebook that Tarun and Libb had brought her. She continued to the next book, this one appearing to be an ordinary novel. The turning of pages and the scratching of her quill were the only sounds in the library.

Chapter8

Days later, when Asher’s knock came at the door to her bedroom, Lore was retying the blue ribbon in her hair for the third time. She tightened the knot with a frustrated huff and poked three curls that had already sprung free back into their cloth prison. She gave one last look in the small, cracked looking glass and decided that, without the proper creams and oils for her hair, managing her riotous curls would be an impossible endeavor.

She swung the door open, scowling at the guard.

“Not having a good morning?” he asked.

“No.” Lore slipped past him after closing the door behind her and started heading toward the library. She walked a few steps before realizing Asher wasn’t with her. She paused.

Asher hadn’t moved from outside her door.

“Aren’t you coming with me today?” In the last week she’d come to picture Asher as her shadow. He showed up every morning to walk her to the library, the dining hall, or the baths, before ultimately depositing her in her room in the evening. Then he’d do it all again the next day.

But Asher didn’t have the aura of a shadow today. She tilted her head, waiting for an answer, but instead of giving one, he leanedagainst her closed door and casually pulled a small leather pouch from within his jacket. He flicked his wrist, shaking it, and the sweet sound of clinking coins tumbled through the air.

“Is that for me?” She stepped toward him, her hand reaching for the little purse.

“This was given to me yesterday during my nightly report on your progress.” He dropped the pleated cloth into her outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” She tucked it into her pocket.

He pushed off the door in one fluid movement, his long legs carrying him past her in just one step. He was walking the opposite way from the library.

Lore frowned. “Why are you heading that way?”

“I thought since you have the coin, we could head to the market before the library.”

Market day already? Lore hurried to catch up with him. Asher’s curls gleamed in the jumping torchlight. Meanwhile, she could feel hers frizzing around her head, already escaping the ribbon she’d just tied. She pushed a few stray curls back beneath the ribbon, but it was futile. Fortunately, her anticipation for the market outweighed her annoyance with her hair.

Asher nodded to the guards posted at the western exit of the castle as they passed through and into the garden.

The market here had no similarities to the one back home. The one in Duskmere was a paltry show in comparison. Here, hundreds of vendors must have shown up before dawn to claim their spots. Some were setting up ornate tents spelled to keep warm despite the biting autumn wind, and their owners invited anyone who showed any interest inside to see their wares and escape the morning’s winds. Others had wooden stalls, and others still sold out of covered wagons, opening the backs wide and setting up tables that dripped with gorgeous jewelry, clothing, rugs,quills, personalized stationery, and a thousand other things Lore longed for.

Lore and Asher had to weave their way through throngs of fae. She’d never been around so many people in her life, nor so much variety. Her eyes flitted from one sight to the next. At one stall, a male and female loudly advertised their wares in gravelly voices—they were selling candles they claimed burned for a lifetime. Another one sold daggers, their hilts gilt with precious metals and encrusted with jewels.

Back home, families would mill around the market, browsing at their leisure, often bartering rather than exchanging coins. The wagons would be filled with produce, pelts, mead, clay pottery, and other simple wares. The apothecary’s table had boasted the most variety of them all, with their goat’s milk soaps, wines, poultices, and perfumes.

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