Page 11 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely
“You should go rest,” she says after a moment. “I expect to see you back in the scriptorium tomorrow.”
And with that, I am dismissed.
Chapter 6
Lorel
The following morning,I feel unsettled. My dreams had persisted with dark, shadowy, barely remembered things. The curse in my chest doesn’t stir. At leastitappears to have slept well.
I arrive early to the scriptorium, uneasy and longing for its quiet sanctuary. Perhaps my dreams were trying to warn me, because there is a figure sitting on my desk.
“Lorel,” Orielle says, standing. I feel like I should check her temperature, make sure she’s not running a fever herself. She never stands for me.
Librarian Sila was very explicit that you shouldn’t be here.
I’m not sure why I bother, but some part of me wonders if Orielle knows more than she lets on. She’s vain and rude, but she’s not stupid. She did not reach the heights she has accidentally.
“I just wanted to see my sister, and make sure she was alright,” says Orielle. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so worked up, but not being allowed to see you for so many weeks was intolerable. I still don’t know what happened to you.”
I don’t think it would have helped you to see me.
“You’remysister, Lorel,” she says. “But since you joined the Library, it’s like you’re going further and further away from me. And I cannot follow you.”
I cannot just walk into the Keep, the way you just wander in here.
The Keep would never allow my presence in the way that the Library tolerated Orielle’s. Having the Dawn King’s blessing, they saw themselves as above the other factions. They lived a different life there. Spending time in the King’s Court, entertaining him, entertaining themselves, keeping an eye on the rest of us.
It was where I had been raised, first by our parents, and after they had been taken by the night cough, by Orielle. It had been my home. But my sigils and wards are weak, muted things. Without magic, there had been no place for me there.
Orielle purses her lips. Her eyes are a little too bright and damp around the edges. “I can see you still refuse to speak, though your work day hasn’t yet begun.”
I’m sorry but I can’t.
Orielle wraps her arms about herself, stepping closer with a deep sigh. “I miss you, Lorel. I miss my little sister. I thought you might have died.” She puts her hand to her mouth, taking a deep breath.
I’m sorry.
It doesn’t matter though. If she understands or not, she makes no sign. Just gives me a watery smile and looks like she wants to hug me. I’m a failure of a sibling, because I don’t reach for her. I’m not a little girl anymore, far from it. It would be better for us both if she just forgot about me, but I know Orielle well enough to know that isn’t in her nature.
Orielle takes a breath, and it rattles through her, the noise sparking something like jealousy in me. She brushes past me asthe other scribes start to file in. I don’t think she wants to deal with Sila again. I don’t blame her, honestly. I don’t know what to make of Sila either.
With Orielle gone, I settle at my desk and notice that one of my paint pots is slightly ajar. Curse me for being so careless. Thankfully, it seems unharmed by my lapse in judgement. The paint master, Striger, would have been furious if I had wasted a whole pot so carelessly.
I’m mindful of my bandaged hand as I go about my day. Lune wants me to make sure I keep moving it, gently. With the fractures I had sustained prior, it was just more of the same. Though of course, I am going to be more mindful if I handle a knife again. Though I’m not sure that Elris will let me near anything sharp for some time.
Today’s work is a map in the final stages. It’s a huge piece of work that Trefor has been copying over the past weeks in preparation. It’s divided up into intricate pieces, the original work copied in careful detail. Each of us has a piece or two of the edges, with a beautiful grand border to fill in. We’ll block in the base layers and Elris will complete the finer details. It’s a shame we won’t ever see the final piece assembled. Others will put it together in its final place in one of the Library’s reading rooms, where scribes are not allowed to go. Something this grand will be for the Librarians, rather than the average scribe or researcher.
I point my brush, wetting it with my tongue and shaping it with my lips, and set to work filling in the border with the most vibrant red. Once Elris finishes it with the gilding, it’s going to be a beautiful piece of work. I paint and as the initial excitement of the piece wears off, the day starts to drag.
I stare at my brush, hovering over the page. I try to put brush to paper but my arms feel like lead. Barely half the workday has passed, and I feelexhausted. If Sila finds me like this, she’s going to kill me.
I stare at my hands and at the brush. It feels like I need to use every little piece of my available consciousness to put the paintbrush down. Getting it as far away from the piece as I can before I inevitably drop it. A shiver creeps up my spine and that familiar feeling of dread begins to stir in my chest, as if in warning. It feels as slow as I do.
My fingers start to tingle as I stare at them. It’s as if I have never seen hands before. I try to flex them, but all they do is twitch back at me.
Something is horribly wrong.
I can barely parse the thought. I will myself to turn and look around, to call out for help. I can’t scream, but I don’t remember why. With slow determination, I manage to turn my head. A cold sinks into me as I do, like the grave rising to meet me. Welcome me.
