A Thief in the Night

chapter Eighty-three

Perhaps discomfited by the story she’d told them, Aethil took her leave of them for a while. She went and sat with a group of children struggling over a history lesson, and coached them through the hard words and the complicated tenses of elfin writing. Malden saw how much love and reverence even these children showed their queen, and he thought he finally understood her place in elfin society. She gave the workers something to believe in, an emblem of their traditions and heritage. The Hieromagus must find her very useful, he thought, for keeping the workers in line. So then why, he pondered, had he gone to the trouble of making her fall in love with Slag, which could only discredit her with these people?

Speaking of the dwarf, Malden looked around and saw him climbing on a high bookshelf. A ladder had been mounted on the wall for this purpose. Slag drew one slim volume off a top shelf, then scrambled down to floor level and started paging through it. Apparently he didn’t find what he was looking for, because he started to climb back up again.

Cythera grabbed the hem of his robe and pulled him back down. “We need to make a plan,” she said. “This tour is almost over. We’ll never have a chance like this again.”

“You mean to make a run for it now,” Malden said, nodding. “We’ll need a diversion. Slag, you could grab one of the children and threaten to—”

“Absolutely not!” Cythera cried out.

Aethil looked up from the lesson to study the three of them with questioning eyes. Cythera made a great show of smiling and bowing before Slag, as a proper shieldmaiden should.

When they were unobserved again, she went on. “I won’t allow that, Malden. These children are innocents. Don’t you believe in anything?”

“Not if it keeps me imprisoned in this pretty cage,” he told her.

“Lad, lass, calm yourselves. We can’t make a break for it now anyway. Where would we go?”

“The escape shaft. The one Balint opened up for us,” Malden insisted.

The dwarf shook his head. “Forget it, lad. That’s clear on the other f*cking side of the Vincularium. Assuming we even made it back to the central shaft, I could lead you there, aye, but you saw those worm tunnels the elves have made. They’d be there waiting for us. No, we need a better plan than just legging it. I still think if we work on yon queen of peons, we can convince her to make a case for us, and get us released. She’ll do anything I—”

He stopped speaking because Aethil had finished her lesson and was coming toward them. “I’m so sorry for that,” she said. “You’ve been so patient, waiting for me. But now, let us return to our tour. I have something very important to show you.”

“Of course, your highness,” Cythera said.

“Sir Croy?” Aethil said. “Now what are you doing up there?”

The dwarf had returned to the bookshelves. He was leaning far out across the top shelf, stretching his arm to reach a book that was just too far away.

“What? I just—”

His fingers snagged the book he wanted and sent it flopping down to the floor. Its spine broke instantly and half its pages turned to silvery flakes.

“Shit-sucking cock bollocks!” the dwarf shouted.

Suddenly every elfin child in the library was staring at him. Slag’s face went bright red and he hurriedly climbed back down.

Aethil had picked up the book he’d knocked out of its place. Carefully, she tucked the loose pages—those that hadn’t turned to dust as she touched them—back inside the loose covers. “What did you want this one for?” she asked.

“It’s a book the dwarves thought didn’t exist anymore!” Slag exclaimed. He reached for it, but Aethil held it out of his grasp. “I can’t believe I found it!”

“A dwarven book? Yes, I can recognize a few of these runes, though not many.” Aethil frowned. “But, Sir Croy, what would a human want with such a thing?”

Slag’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened but no words came out.

What would a human want with a dwarven book?

Malden, never at a loss for a quick cover story, raced to the rescue. “Sir Croy is a man of great learning. He’s studied the lore of all the races of Skrae,” he said. “Even those treacherous cutthroats, the dwarves.”

“F*cking bastards, them,” Slag agreed. “Never trust a dwarf, I always say.”

“I didn’t even know we had any of these,” Aethil said, looking down at the book. “I suppose it must have been left behind when the dwarves abandoned this place. It is of interest to you?”

Slag nodded carefully. “Of—some—small academic interest only, but—”

“Then you shall have it, as my gift,” Aethil said. She knelt down and handed it to Slag. “Perhaps you’ll think of something you can give me, in return.” The look on her face left no doubt in Malden’s mind what she hoped her present would be. “But read it later. We really should go see the hall of the ancients now.”

“What’s there?” Malden asked.

Aethil smiled. “Our ancestors. As promised. I want you to meet them.”