Page 45 of Red Dragon
Instead of sleeping, Syla had spent the remainder of the night packing for the journey, telling Fel and Teyla to do the same, and was yawning her way through a shelf filled with books on her lineage and notable ancestors. Queen Erasbelladidhave tomes dedicated to her, as she’d ruled for more than twenty years before a ship carrying her to a meeting had disappeared at sea during a storm. She’d been a great beauty, accomplished at diplomacy and politics as well as needlepoint, sewing, knitting, and swordsmanship—apparently, she’d enjoyed all hobbies that included thrusting and stabbing with pointy objects.
As Syla skimmed through the books, seeking mentions of Wreylith or dragons in any capacity, the hair on the back of her neck rose. Had someone else entered the library? Someone who was more than a bibliophile eager to read before first light?
Syla peered up and down the shadowy aisle she stood in, bookcases looming to either side. At the end, on a table next to a lamp, her pack lay stuffed—Fel would sayoverstuffed—with food, water, clothes, maps, and a first-aid kit that includedall the necessities, as well a few antique medical tools she’d taken from her room. Because they might be useful, she’d told herself, not because she worried herroom,as well as the rest of the castle, might be inaccessible to her when she returned. The antique venom extractor had come in handy on her first trip. Itwasn’tasuperfluous piece of nostalgia. The reflex hammer and metacarpal saw wouldn’t likely be needed, but she’d tucked them into her surgical kit in case she once again found herself needing a weapon to help in a fight. She could wield medical tools far more comfortably than swords.
Beyond the high, narrow windows on one wall, predawn light was brightening the courtyard, but the shadows inside the keep lay deep. Syla didn’t hear anyone but couldn’t shake the sense that she was no longer alone.
When Fel had finished packing, she’d sent him to the harbor to try to find passage to Harvest Island for them. She had few whom she could trust and figured he had more experience doing such things than Teyla, but maybe sending him away had been a mistake.
Asnicksounded. A door closing?
Syla started toward her pack, thinking to grab it before someone noticed it.
“Are you sure she’s in here?” a low male voice asked from the front of the library.
Syla froze.
“Yes,” another male speaker said. “There’s her pack.”
“Where does she think she’s going?”
Syla didn’t recognize the voices. She retreated farther down the aisle from the table and the revealing lamp. At the end, she eased behind a bookcase but peeked back toward the light. Two uniformed men came into view, looking down at her belongings.
“A dungeon cell is what I heard. I’d pack a bag too. She might be there a long time.”
“You really think that’s the general’s plan? If he wants to take power, or he’s helping someone else take power… it would be better if, you know.” The soldier made a throat-slitting motion.
“Well, I’m not assassinating a princess, so he’d better not ask. I don’t even want to… She’s a healer. She fixed up my arm a couple of years ago.”
“I don’t want to kill her either, but we have to be realistic.She’snot going to take and hold the throne. The military is going to belong to whoever does, so we have to follow orders.” The soldier lifted the pack, as if Syla might be hiding underneath it, then looked into the aisles to either side of the table.
Syla didn’t move or even breathe. The shadows wrapping about hershouldkeep the men from spotting her, unless they had eyes like Vorik’s. But it was getting lighter outside, so she might not be as fully hidden as she wished.
“Not orders to assassinate her.”
“The general didn’t say anything about that. We’re just supposed to lock her up.”
Since Syla didn’t want to suffer either of those fates, she backed away. After turning down another shadowy aisle, she debated on circling past the bookcases and trying to slip out through the front door. But they had her pack. In addition to the practical—and nostalgic—items she’d tucked into it, Wreylith’s figurine was inside. She couldn’t leave that behind. It was the only way she could communicate with the dragon from afar.
Syla spotted the stairs in the back of the library that led to the basement. Aunt Tibby had found much of her research material down there, and Syla knew it held tomes that weren’t accessible to the castle staff or visitors who wandered through. In her youth, before she’d moved to the temple and become a less frequent visitor here, she’d enjoyed reading the offerings down there. There was even a small room that took a moon-mark to open. Tibby might have found her books in there.
The soldiers’ boots thumped softly on the thin carpet. It sounded like they were also heading toward the back of the library. They would likely think to check the basement. Or would they? There were no lamps lit on the stairs or anywhere around them. Still, if she descended and they followed, they might trap her.
Unless…
An idea popped into her mind. Unless she trapped them.
Impulsively, Syla dug a kerchief out of her pocket, a monogrammed M on it. She dropped it at the top of the stairs, then hurried down and patted her way to and through the door at the bottom. There were lamps on the walls, and she groped in the tray under one for a dragonspark match. Ah, there was one.
Footsteps neared the top of the steps as she lit the lamp. She hurried away, passing a couple of tables and entering aisles not as long as those upstairs. Down here, no windows let light inside, so it was dark as soon as she left the influence of the lamp. The bookcases, shelves bowed with age, held ancient tomes written by hand before the printing press had been invented. There were numerous scrolls as well, and there… There was the special chamber.
She rested the back of her hand against a silver plate by the door. It opened, revealing more bookcases and scroll repositories inside a single room.
Murmurs came from the top of the stairs. The soldiers had found her kerchief.
She wished the special room were larger. With only a small table with chairs and a couple of bookcases in the center that one might hide behind, it wouldn’t take long to search.
Syla thought about tossing something else inside, like a hound trainer leading animals by putting down a trail of treats, but she didn’t want to be too obvious about setting her trap. The open door ought to be enough to convince the men to checkinside. Besides, what treats did she have? A blackberry cobbler might have lured Vorik in, but she didn’t keep those in her pockets.
