He knew better by now than to question Professor Selandyn’s research, no matter how tired or innocuous or ludicrous her topics might seem at first. He’d once helped her compile a list of lesser-known swamps around the world and was awed at the brilliant paper she then produced on the varying effects of salt water and fresh water used in bloodletting practices. And last year, when she had researched the influence of blood moons over the mating tendencies of bloody-belly comb jellyfish, Baz thought she might have finally gone mad; the award she received for that paper proved him wrong.
Beatrix Selandyn’s mind was praised in every academic circle there was. At Aldryn, at least, she didn’t experience the kind of antagonism other Eclipse-born did, and was instead widely respected. Baz knew how lucky he was to be her assistant. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why she’d decided to research a myth that pinned their very own house as the villain.
Once, before the Tides vanished, as the myth went, magic was said to have been accessible to all, no matter the moon phase one was born to. People could divine the future and make plants grow and produce light and darkness and walk into dreams and reap lives all at once, so long as they made offerings to the Tides. But when the deities left their shores, they splintered magic into lunar houses and tidal alignments, making it so that those with magic could only practice the single ability they were born with.
And because the Tides were thought to have forsaken their world in order to defeat the Shadow of Ruin—the dark, unhallowed figure associated with House Eclipse—naturally, the Eclipse-born had shouldered the blame for centuries. People believed Eclipse magic was stolen from the Tides, something that should never have belonged to them. They were the outliers of magic wielders, a rarity not entirely belonging to the sacred lunar cycle the world revolved around, and as such, everything about them was made to be contrary:
Where others had their sigils tattooed on their right hand, the Eclipse-born had theirs on their left.
While each of the four main lunar houses was associated with one of the Tides, theirs was linked to the Shadow, the bringer of bad omens, the great eye in the sky that shadowed the world and gave those like Baz their odd, twisted powers.
And while the other houses’ magics followed a careful cycle—a fully formed thing only during one’s ruling lunar phase, thus only accessible for a few days every month unless called upon through bloodletting—Eclipse magic could be accessed at all times, no matter the moon’s position. No bloodletting needed.
That kind of relentless power… some people were envious of it, but it was a burden. A curse. It was why Baz kept to books and knowledge, choosing to hone his mind rather than testing the limits of his time-bending ability. He knew many would kill to have such a gift even if it belonged to House Eclipse, seeing it as power unmatched, a force to rival gods, a way to unmake the very fabric of life as they knew it. Baz himself had thought of using it to undo the things that haunted him most—his sister’s death, his father’s Collapsing—but he would never dare risk it. Time was of a slippery nature, and Eclipse magic was not to be trifled with. It was because of this that Baz wished to become a professor here at Aldryn, why he’d wanted to be Professor Selandyn’s assistant. He’d seen one too many Eclipse-born consumed by their power, and maybe this way, he could help prevent more of them from Collapsing.
Baz lugged the heavy book back to the center of the Vault, where he glanced around for the other aisle the clerk had mentioned. It was only a couple of rows down, and there was no sign of her colleague, nor anyone else, for that matter.
He couldn’t resist: he headed down the C aisle.
The Song of the Drowned Gods manuscript was displayed on a delicate easel inside a locked glass box. It was nothing but flimsily bound yellowing pages, but the sight of the fading title on its battered cover made Baz’s soul stir. How he longed to feel it in his hands, to read the words as Clover had initially thought them.
He looked over a shoulder, then the other. Would it be so wrong of him to break the rules just this once? He might never get another chance to step foot in the Vault…
Without thinking, Baz set The Tides of Fate and the Shadow of Ruin next to the glass case and unclasped the silver cuff around his wrist. Power thrummed in answer, deep in his veins. Before he could change his mind, he called his magic forward, ever so carefully. It was a small enough thing to reach for the threads of time linked to this particular lock, to seize the one that led to a time where it was unlocked.
With a click, the mechanism on the case gave way, the glass panel opened at his touch, and there was Song of the Drowned Gods, his for the taking.
Baz felt like the scholar in the story, reaching for a strange book that might carry him to other worlds. He put on a pair of white cotton gloves meant for handling old texts and took it reverentially between his hands, flipping to the first page.
“There is a world at the center of all things where drowned gods reign over a sea of ash,” he read aloud. He held his breath and waited to find himself beneath the colorless skies he’d read so often about, a foolish, childish part of him daring to hope it might actually work.
But there were no such things as portals, no matter how transportive a piece of writing might be.
Baz laughed at himself. Curious, he flipped to the back of the book, where there was evidence of a single ripped-out page, all that was left of it now a torn fringe scarring the spine. He’d heard the rumors, of course, of an apparent epilogue discarded before the story ever made it to print. Kai had talked about it all the time, obsessed with theories on what Clover might have written.
“Maybe it ends with it all having been one big fucked-up dream,” he’d joked. “Or maybe the scholar inhaled too much moldy old book fumes and went on some wild psychedelic trip.”
Baz had rolled his eyes at him. “Like Clover would have stooped so low.”
“Guess we’ll never know, will we?”
Baz gently flipped through the rest of the pages, conscious of the time slipping past. He thought of using his magic again to make the minutes stretch just a bit longer, but one bent rule was already too much. He was about to put the manuscript back in its glass box when a piece of paper fell from it, landing at his feet. For a delirious moment, Baz believed it might be the lost epilogue, but it was only a note scribbled in haste, ink bleeding on a torn bit of paper. And the penmanship…
He knew those curving letters, that needlessly elaborate question mark:
The call heard between the stars = DOVERMERE?
FIND EPILOGUE
The floor pitched beneath his feet. He read the note again and again, his throat constricting with the impossibility of what he was holding, something even more delicate and precious than the manuscript itself.
It was Romie’s handwriting, no doubt about it.
She had underlined DOVERMERE multiple times, with such vigor Baz was shocked her pen hadn’t pierced the paper. The note cut off abruptly, that final E in EPILOGUE trailing into a messy scribble that told Baz she’d been in a hurry.
He couldn’t make sense of it. His sister had never cared for Song of the Drowned Gods, or at least had long since grown out of it, always teasing him about his obsession with what was essentially a children’s book. So why the sudden interest in Clover’s manuscript and its lost epilogue? How had she even gotten permission to come down here?
He ran a finger along that scribble, wondering if she might have been here without permission. If she’d been startled or caught while writing this note, leading her to leave it in the manuscript’s pages.
His insides thrummed as he recalled a conversation he’d had with her a few months before the drowning—before everything between them had soured. They’d gone home for the Winter Solstice, and Romie had been whistling a maddening tune under her breath the whole week they were there. When Baz finally snapped and asked her what in the Deep that gods-awful singing was, her eyes had sparked with that dreamy look she’d often get.
“It’s this song I hear in my dreams sometimes.” She’d grabbed his dog-eared copy of Song of the Drowned Gods from his hands, laughing at his indignation. “Just like in your precious story.”