Page 30 of Void of Endings
Tiernan opened the door slowly, worried he might accidentally walk in on another intimate encounter, then breathed a sigh a relief when nothing but ancient books and the glow of dim light greeted him.
The walls were lined with towering shelves, each one crammed with books, some of them having gone untouched forhundreds of years. There were a few rolling ladders and even an entire second level, which, much to Tiernan’s dismay, he’d never even explored. Faerie fire flickered to life in hanging sconces and candles as he passed, the scent of melted wax and aged parchment lingering in the air. Instantly, his gaze was drawn to the mural in the center of the library.
He moved closer, his footfalls echoing softly in the silent space, until he stood right beneath it.
It moved with a life of its own, displaying nothing but a vast mixture of swirling grays rolling across its canvas like storm clouds.
Tiernan pulled out a chair and leaned back, gazing up at it. The last time he was here, the mural had shown him the Pass of Veils, the only entrance into the heavy mist surrounding the Spring Court. Perhaps it held other secrets, as well.
“It’s a sentient object, not a crystal ball.”
Tiernan jolted upright, spinning in his seat to find Rowan standing near the opposite wall with a stack of books in his hands.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, unnerved not to have realized Rowan was even in the library at all.
Rowan lifted the books he held as though they were proof of some kind. “I’ve been here for hours.”
Tiernan’s gaze narrowed, tracking the fae as he moved closer. “I didn’t sense you.”
Rowan shrugged, indifferent. “Perks of being the Nightweaver, I suppose.”
“Right.” Tiernan huffed in annoyance, returning his attention to the mural, a stab of resentment lodging itself in his gut.
Though he remained focused on the mural, he was well aware of Rowan’s every move, tracking him as he strolledaround the library, humming to himself. Tiernan drummed his fingers along the table, his agitation growing.
“Is there a particular book you’re looking for?” he ground out. “Maybe I can help you find it so you can leave?”
“No.” Rowan drew the word out, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I just have a fondness for libraries.”
“I bet you do,” Tiernan muttered.
The last time Rowan was in here, he had his face buried between Maeve’s legs. The memory seared across Tiernan’s mind with stark clarity. All-encompassing rage followed, nearly snapping his self-control. He’d seen exactly what Rowan had done to her in Maeve’s mind. Her arousal had reeked of his scent. Tiernan had known then that she was hissirra, but she only had eyes for Rowan, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Rowan’s low chuckle grated against the walls while he pretended to peruse the shelves.
Fucking fae.
Tiernan looked back up at the mural. Shades of gray churned across its surface and it billowed like an abyss. A chasm of beginnings. A void of endings.
He shifted, trying to disentangle himself from the trepidation tangling around him like a cluster of strangling vines.
“Maeve doesn’t think we’ll win,” he said quietly, surprising himself.
Rowan took the seat across from him, lowering his pile of books onto the table. The titles all varied, anything from legends surrounding ancient wars to a romantic fairy tale about a mortal princess who was transformed into a siren.
Rowan watched him a moment longer, then looked away, reaching for one of his books. “And what do you think?”
“I don’t know.” The answer was too honest. Too real. And it troubled him. “If we don’t defeat Parisa, it will be worse than before. Worse than the Evernight War.”
Rowan flipped through the pages of one of the books, his eyes skimming but not quite reading. “Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.”
“I wonder how much the mural knows,” Tiernan murmured out loud, not really expecting a response.
But Rowan answered anyway. “I think the real question is how much is it willing to show us.”
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” Tiernan looked up. There were any number of questions he could ask, but there was no way of knowing if the mural would even answer another one. The first time he’d asked, he hadn’t even realized the mural was sentient. He was just musing to himself, trying to make sense of all the terrible things happening around him. But this time, it was with intent. This time, it was purposeful. And there was one thing that bothered him more than anything else. “Show me what lies beyond the shrouded veil of the Spring Court.”
At that, Rowan’s head snapped up, his gaze fixated on the mural.
