Page 81 of Unraveled
My heart doubles in speed, and I stare into his eyes. Him speaking without reservation tears away every flimsy layer I had protecting my heart, and now I worry it’s truly his.
I’m not ready for that, but I don’t think it matters...
He’s here.
Our king is here.
Chapter 27
He’s here.Our king is here.
My thoughts stall, and I watch with widened eyes as Ash moves the curtain and studies the party on the other side. The books were always talking about Ash. They must have a connection to him and feel him nearby. Could this mean they’re from his personal library? Written by him, or by an ancestor?
“We really need to go, but crossing the dance floor is risky with my eyes.” He bares his teeth right as he drops the curtain. “I left Yvette in an alcove similar to this, but across the room. If anyone from her team finds her, they’ll turn this place upside down.”
“The grimoires, they’re saying ‘Our king is here.’ Ash, I think we should inspect them. What if one of them is what you were hoping to find in Penumbra?”
“You can hear them so clearly?” Ash tilts his head, as if he’s trying to hear what I heard, inspecting me in a stretching silence. “Interesting...”
I press my lips tight and consider claiming I was exaggerating. I don’t want another person I care about to judge my behavior and think I’m weird. Or worse. He may not believe me, like Irene back home. “I know it sounds strange...”
“Mia, I’m a cursed fae who dreams of stars telling me a future that may or may not happen. I don’t think it’s strange. Where are you hearing them?”
A loud, clearly inebriated group walks in front of us, unable to see us hiding in the shadows of this alcove.
“Down the hall,” I whisper as they pass.
His hand wraps around mine and he drags me close so quickly I can barely brace myself before I hit his chest. “We’re going to blend in with these drunken fools. We have to move fast, Monster. I don’t know how long I have with this glamour.”
The enchantment that hides traces of feathers and wings is quickly fading. He pulls me out of our hiding place, and we blend with the party of friends to stroll around the room toward the same archway I walked through before.
Retracing my previous steps, we move with ease behind the group who seems not to notice us and then break off to turn down the dimly lit hall. It’s empty like before. Quiet enough I can hear the grimoires’ voices.
He’s here.
We move like we know where we’re going, even if that’s a stretch. Ash’s belief in my perception wakes the magic lying dormant within me. But unlike all the other times where it makes me feel like I’m losing control, right now, it doesn’t paralyze me. It gives me confidence knowing I’m not completely defenseless. With my new amulet, I feel powerful again.
It doesn’t take long to find the grimoires as they beckon us forward, right to one specific door. The hinge’s screech is the only sound as we enter a dark space that smells like mildew and dust. Ash waves his hand, and from the tip of his fingers a small ball of fire floats to the gas lamps, and with a quiet whoosh, they each light in succession, burning cobwebs that had made a home inside their glass cases.
The newly illuminated space is small, with makeshift bookcases assembled from old crates. Gold magic waves in the air like summer grasses on a windy day. The grimoires’ magic.
Ash takes a step forward. His lips parting as he takes in the books. “You were right. These are some of our lost texts.”
There are hundreds of grimoires here, and it would take us days, if not weeks, to go through them. “How are we going to take them home without alerting the entire house?”
“Home?” His brows shoot up as he turns to me. “I never thought I’d hear you call it that...”
“I don’t know what home is right now,” I say, and fiddle with one of the long sleeves of my dress. “But right now, the castle feels more like home than Penumbra, where I’ve been lied to my whole life.”
His expression turns dark, and he nods. “I need time to work on the spell that will make it possible to carry these, so let’s hope, for our sake and theirs, that they don’t come looking for us.”
“We aren’t that lucky . . .”
“And here I was, thinking you’re the optimistic one between us. I happen to believe my luck has shifted lately.” He isn’t looking at his stolen books anymore. Instead, his focus is solely on me.
He holds my gaze until my cheeks feel like fire, and I turn away to wander the room, trying to find something to look at while he settles near the crates and magic swarms the place. Long scrolls of gold unfurl from his fingers, calling to the books that grow quiet, as if listening.
I take in the rest of the space, hugging myself to fend off the bite of the cold. The walls once had wallpaper, but it’s been removed, leaving pieces of torn cloth, glue, and scrapes caused by a dull blade. Whoever did it attempted to cover the broken plaster with dark gray paint, though poorly. Artwork of fae engaged in various activities in mismatched frames leans againstthe walls. A handful show them riding their horses in the forest. Probably more depictions of the Wild Hunt.
