Page 163 of Burn Her They Said
His Majesty scoffs as Annovian servers bring the main course, while light conversation fills the otherwise awkward pockets of silence.
Heat creeps up my chest, and I turn to where Varic peers down at me, inducing a flash of the fantasy where he nearly kissed me beneath the fairy lights. My heart hammers, and frustration with the Queen’s commentary travels through the connection I hold with His Majesty, though intrigue unfurls once he starts conversing with Wyrth.
Anxiety spikes inside my stomach, and it feels as if the walls are closing in with the responsibility of keeping the Emperor from making everything worse.
Heat casts over my shoulder, and I do not have to turn to know Varic is staring, distracting me from keeping apprised of the Emperor’s emotions.
How are we meant to exist like this? How am I to ensure everyone’s safety when Varic’s mere presence draws my attention so regularly?
It was challenging enough to tolerate the effect of his presence when it was far more infrequent. But now that we exist within such constant and close proximity, it’s untenable. The intensity of our connection is impossible to ignore, and the longer this goes on, the more likely it seems the sorcerer who has vowed to protect me may bring my downfall, instead.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Tour
“Allow me to give you a tour.” Queen Celine rises from her throne.
“We would be honored, Your Royal Highness,” the Emperor says as he stands with ease, despite having imbibed several glasses of wine.
The Queen and her guards lead, with the Emperor following first. I fall in next with my Guards, then Wyrth with his, and every other witch and sorcerer in attendance trails after us, crowding the corridor with our oppressive presence.
Her Royal Highness remains silent as she turns to disappear through a wide doorframe. His Majesty glances back between his Guards’ shoulders, raking his piercing gray eyes up and down my being before following after our royal host. Anticipation gnaws at my nerves when we round the corner, and my jaw drops in awe of the most magnificent library.
Dark wood shelves rise three stories high, with bookcases housing thousands of leather and cloth-bound spines—all calling my attention with their intricate foil lettering.
The Goddess of Knowledge stares down from a mural on the ceiling, her knowing green eyes and wavy black hair flowing out in wispy tendrils. White muslin wraps around her form, while her feet are left bare over the plush green grass of the rolling hills. She holds a gold magnifying glass down by her hip, while lifting a looking glass up near her eyes.
We walk past the curved staircase, with spindles carved like intricate vines spiraling down.
My eyes widen as I stride further in, and I can’t help but spin in a slow circle, soaking in the details, with the urge to climb the nearest ladder and ask one of my Guards to guide me along the silver rail while I dictate when and where we stop. A tightness clenches my chest with a yearning to see and read all contained in here, grieving the loss of titles and authors I will never discover. Every other being in the room disappears from my focus while I gawk at the splendor—until Varic’s eyes ensnare me, mirroring my admiration without indication he has observed anything aside from myself.
“The Royal Annovian Library contains everything from historic scrolls dating back thousands of years, to those produced as early as this month,” Her Royal Highness announces, while a strong urge to search a nearby section of shelves pulls me toward it. “Please peruse. You may select anything from the open shelves. However, anything within a locked case will remain so for preservation.”
Emperor Aldritch lifts his chin in command, and I pull in a breath before striding over, earning me a glare from Wyrth.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Seek any local botanical texts, then do what you must to convince the Queen of your curiosity so she might allow you to borrow them,” Emperor Aldritch commands.
I bow in response.
“Go,” he commands, then promptly catches his coughing fit within a tightly balled fist.
Lars’ ocean-blue eyes snag mine before I cross the parquet floor toward the section of shelves where I feel something call to me. Rich brown leather spines bearing gold titles prove too difficult to read in the dim light as I skim my fingers over each, waiting for some sense to communicate which to select. I pause on a rather thick tome, which I pry from the shelf to select a page at random.
“Find anything interesting?” Lars asks, facing the open room behind me.
“Just historical accounts of events involving the names of witches and sorcerers with which I am unfamiliar.”
“And I take it from your unenthused response that is not what you were seeking,” Lars says, while I shake my head and skim over a passage about some king and his accomplishments. I give up and snap the cover shut, then struggle to wedge the book back in its place while squinting to read the titles near it, when one captures my attention—Annovian Culture: A Compendium by Analise Baker.
My jaw slackens when I read the name again. If what I assume is true, and Analise is a witch, this means Annovia not only allows witches to write but also grants them credit.
A measure of excitement trills through my limbs as I pull the book from the shelf.
“Which title has captured your attention?” Queen Celine asks.
I instinctively tuck the book under my arm, though she has already seen me holding it.
