Page 110 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

There were books aplenty, of course—probably tens of thousands of volumes tucked on dark wood shelves in the upper and lower levels. Between them all, in glass cabinets and on top of gilded pedestals, were Grimmorian artifacts in the dozens.

Ceremonial-looking weaponry, carved stone tablets and obelisks, even pieces of jewelry that made my brows climb.

Nothing of the sort was ever left on display like that at our archives in Odessa.

But mixed into all the grandeur was unmistakable disrepair—collapsed shelves and piles of tomes left in tatters, broken glass and displays too.

Devastating that in the seventy or so years since Maksym’s mother was executed, only the last few years had seen the space given a measure of care.

As much as I didn’t love reading about history or being lectured about it by my tutors, one thing they always said was how kingdoms went to exceptional lengths to protect their history, their artifacts, and their knowledge.

That was why there were always records, to some extent, of civilizations that had come and gone in the past.

Clearly, old King Callum hadn’t held interest in such.

Amidst the stark contrast of orderly archives and historical ruins, quiet chatter echoed from two voices whose owners I didn’t need to see to recognize.

I didn’t know if I particularly felt like seeing either of them, but the sprite had taken my hand, as if sensing the precipice of bolting I was on, and was tugging me into the space.

“I would’ve preferred to be the one to give you a proper tour,” Eilir said. “But I was given explicit instructions to deliver you straight to your lesson and nothing more.” They lowered their squeaky voice to a whisper and added, “But I’ll bring you back soon again, I promise. Just you and me. I know more about the inside of these walls than Max or Jasper could ever dream of, trust me.”

Oh, Eilir. I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll trust you.”

They looked so damn pleased before they let go of my hand and zipped on ahead.

The insufferable king and his infuriating mage were at a work table halfway across the space—Jasper lowered into a chair, hoodless and as pensive-looking as ever. Maksym was leaning against the table, talking rather animatedly with his hands.

How they hadn’t noticed the humming buzz of Eilir’s wings, I did not know, but in a blink, the sprite vanished and appeared right beside Maksym.

The king went stiff, letting out a yelped profanity, and the sprite started cackling. Jasper looked pretty fucking amused too, but I didn’t feel like looking at his face, still sporting a rather visible black eye.

“You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you,” Maksym hissed at the sprite as I drew close. “Do not sneak up on me like that. You know better.”

To prove a point, the sprite zipped towards the king’s face, up out of reach in circles around him, taunting him with tiny squeaked clips the entire time.

“I’ll stop sneaking up on you when you can catch me for once in your life,” came Eilir’s final callout from up near the second-story catwalk before they vanished.

For the first time since I arrived in Grimmoria, I thought the king might actually combust. But Maksym’s shoulders heaved as he blew out a groan of a breath and rolled his head from side to side before he glanced back at me. “Welcome, Miss Wynn.”

“Afternoon, Your Majesty.” I made sure not to set any of my attention on Jasper. “Are you taking part in my lesson today or…?”

“Oh, if only. Just the two of you today, I’m afraid. King business and all that.” A couple of lengthy strides carried him over, and he gave my shoulder a squeeze with a lingering look. A little more quietly, he added, “Try not to maim him any further. Or yourself. Or bleed on any of my books. Please.”

I flashed him a tight smile that was hard enough with the ache in my shoulder, let alone the impossible-to-ignore shift in energy in the room. “I’ll try my best.”

Maksym nodded, sighed, and then he was gone.

Just to give myself a moment of grounding, I watched the king’s back and well-sculpted shoulders as he trailed the entire way out of the archives.

When he finally slipped through the door, and it clanked shut behind him, I turned my attention to Jasper.

He gestured at the chair opposite the table from him.

It was probably for the best that we didn’t sit on the same side.

I yanked it out and dropped onto the worn wood seat. I had just opened my mouth to ask what our order of business was, but Jasper didn’t give me a fucking chance.

“Which pantheon do we worship in Grimmoria?” he asked, his face wildly unreadable.