Clotho lowered her head in a bow, but said nothing.
“I—I didn’t know that the priestesses left their temples.”
“A library is a temple of sorts,” Rhys said with a wry smile. “But the priestesses here …” As we entered the library proper, golden lights flickered to life. As if Clotho had been in utter darkness until we’d entered. “They are special. Unique.”
She angled her head in what might have been amusement. Her face remained in shadow, her slim body concealed in those pale, heavy robes. Silence—and yet life danced around her.
Rhys smiled warmly at the priestess. “Did you find the texts?”
And it was only when she bobbed her head in a sort of “so-so” motion that I realized either she could not or would not speak. Clotho gestured to her left—into the library itself.
And I dragged my eyes away from the mute priestess long enough to take in the library.
Not a cavernous room in a manor. Not even close.
This was …
It was as if the base of the mountain had been hollowed out by some massive digging beast, leaving a pit descending into the dark heart of the world. Around that gaping hole, carved into the mountain itself, spiraled level after level of shelves and books and reading areas, leading into the inky black. From what I could see of the various levels as I drifted toward the carved stone railing overlooking the drop, the stacks shot far into the mountain itself, like the spokes of a mighty wheel.
And through it all, fluttering like moth’s wings, the rustle of paper and parchment.
Silent, and yet alive. Awake and humming and restless, some many-limbed beast at constant work. I peered upward, finding more levels rising toward the House above. And lurking far below … Darkness.
“What’s at the bottom of the pit?” I asked as Rhys came up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“I once dared Cassian to fly down and see.” Rhys braced his hands on the railing, gazing down into the gloom.
“And?”
“And he came back up, faster than I’ve ever seen him fly, white as death. He never told me what he saw. The first few weeks, I thought it was a joke—just to pique my curiosity. But when I finally decided to see for myself a month later, he threatened to tie me to a chair. He said some things were better left unseen and undisturbed. It’s been two hundred years, and he still won’t tell me what he saw. If you even mention it, he goes pale and shaky and won’t talk for a few hours.”
My blood chilled. “Is it … some sort of monster?”
“I have no idea.” Rhys jerked his chin toward Clotho, the priestess patiently waiting a few steps behind us, her face still in shadow. “They don’t speak or write of it, so if they know … They certainly won’t tell me. So if it doesn’t bother us, then I won’t bother it. That is, if it’s even an it. Cassian never said if he saw anything living down there. Perhaps it’s something else entirely.”
Considering the things I’d already witnessed … I didn’t want to think about what lay at the bottom of the library. Or what could make Cassian, who had seen more dreadful and deadly parts of the world than I could ever imagine, so terrified.
Robes rustling, Clotho aimed for the sloping walkway into the library, and we fell into step behind her. The floors were red stone, like the rest of the place, but smooth and polished. I wondered if any of the priestesses had ever gone sledding down the spiraling path.
Not that I know of, Rhys said into my mind. But Mor and I once tried when we were children. My mother caught us on our third level down, and we were sent to bed without supper.
I clamped down on my smile. Was it such a crime?
It was when we’d oiled up the floor, and the scholars were falling on their faces.
I coughed to cover my laugh, lowering my head, even with Clotho a few steps ahead.
We passed stacks of books and parchment, the shelves either built into the stone itself or made of dark, solid wood. Hallways lined with both vanished into the mountain itself, and every few minutes, a little reading area popped up, full of tidy tables, low-burning glass lamps, and deep-cushioned chairs and couches. Ancient woven rugs adorned the floors beneath them, usually set before fireplaces that had been carved into the rock and kept well away from any shelves, their grates fine-meshed enough to retain any wandering embers.
Cozy, despite the size of the space; warm, despite the unknown terror lurking below.
If the others piss me off too much, I like to come down here for some peace and quiet.
I smiled slightly at Rhys, who kept looking ahead as we spoke mind to mind.
Don’t they know by now that they can find you down here?
Of course. But I never go to the same spot twice in a row, so it usually takes them so long to find me that they don’t bother. Plus, they know that if I’m here, it’s because I want to be alone.
Poor baby High Lord, I crooned. Having to run away to find solitude perfect for brooding.
Rhys pinched my behind, and I clamped down on my lip to keep from yelping.
I could have sworn Clotho’s shoulders shook with laughter.
But before I could bite off Rhys’s head for the rippling pain my aching back muscles felt in the wake of the sudden movement, Clotho led us into a reading area about three levels down, the massive worktable laden with fat, ancient books bound in various dark leathers.
A neat stack of paper was set to one side, along with an assortment of pens, and the reading lamps were at full glow, merry and sparkling in the gloom. A silver tea service gleamed on a low-lying table between the two leather couches before the grumbling fireplace, steam curling from the arched spout of the kettle. Biscuits and little sandwiches filled the platter beside it, along with a fat pile of napkins that subtly hinted we use them before touching the books.
“Thank you,” Rhys told the priestess, who only pulled a book off the pile she’d undoubtedly gathered and opened it to a marked page. The ancient velvet ribbon was the color of old blood—but it was her hand that struck me as it met the golden light of the lamps.
Her fingers were crooked. Bent and twisted at such angles I would have thought her born with them were it not for the scarring.
For a heartbeat, I was in a spring wood. For a heartbeat, I heard the crunch of stone on flesh and bone as I made another priestess smash her hand. Over and over.
Rhys put a hand on my lower back. The effort it must have taken Clotho to move everything into place with those gnarled hands …
But she looked toward another book—or at least her head turned that way—and it slid over to her.
Magic. Right.
She gestured with a finger that was bent in two different directions to the page she’d selected, then to the book.
“I’ll look,” Rhys said, then inclined his head. “We’ll give a shout if we need anything.”
Clotho bowed her head again and began striding away, careful and silent.
“Thank you,” I said to her.