“There are no true immortals anymore,” she says. “The Old Ones cursed the fae to lose their immortality. Some say it was the true reason we hunted them to the edge of extinction.”
“Artemius says there were other immortals,” I reply and notice her expression warm. “I’ve read some of his work, though he never states precisely who or what cursed the fae, he mentions that Arcaedia had its share of immortals before the fae arrived through their portals.”
“You’ve read Artemius’s scrolls?”
“Only the first three. My mother had the last two burned.”
Her eyes widen in horror.
“I know.” All that history, lost. And for what reason?
Maybe she didn’t like what Artemius wrote. Or maybe my mother wanted to rewrite history herself.
I push past Imerys, running my fingers over a sexy grimoire that wants me to read it. “I was studying the Hallow in Ceres and realized some of the runes carved into the sentinel stones are symbols that represent the Old Ones. But there are only thirteen Old Ones locked away in their prison worlds, and nearly sixty-one different runes. Do the runes merely represent the names and locations of Hallows? It would be easy to think so, but the runes themselves give some hint of the Old Ones those Hallows are tied to. So I began to wonder if there were more Old Ones who haven’t been recorded and then….”
Down the rabbit hole I went, says my rueful smile.
Imerys closes the grimoire I’m stroking with a pointed look. “I’ve only ever heard of the thirteen.”
“That doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.”
Oh, now I’ve got her.
She looks at the shelves that rise into the darkness. The library at Ravenspire fills one of the circular towers, and this level alone seems to house more books than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime.
“I was reading a grimoire from Prince Kyrian’s library and saw mention of the Morai. They existed on Arcaedia before the fae arrived, but they’re not classed as Old Ones. And I was wondering what the difference was, because the Morai are certainly powerful in their own right.”
Also, horrifically terrifying.
“He allowed you in his library?”
“Allowed is a strong word. I thought I’d ask permission afterwards.”
Imerys snaps her fingers, and her trio of faelights appear again. “You steal one of my books, and I’ll break your fingers.”
“I wasn’t planning on stealing anything. Just knowledge.”
“Hmm.” Imerys takes off through the shelves, her faelights chasing after her like playful kittens. “Down here, I think.”
Chains bind the heaviest of the books to their lecterns. Demi-fey flutter through the air in this section, and a phoenix feather burns within a warded glass dome.
“Halt, foolish intruders,” hisses a little demi-fey guard, lunging forward with a tiny spear. The flutter of her wings is so fast they’re transparent, and she wears a smock made of nettle thorns and thistledown.
I’ve never heard one of the demi-fey talk. They’re mischievous sprites and sylphs who tend to congregate around the fae, but most of them lack the intelligence to follow basic orders, unless they’re well-trained like Thalia’s little squad.
“It’s just me, Gossamer.” Imerys clicks her fingers, and one by one, faelights spring to glowing life throughout the stacks. “I have a friend with me, though if you see her here alone when I’m not around, you have to let me know. She steals books.”
“I don’t steal books—”
Imerys shoots me a long look.
“I borrowed it. And Prince Kyrian was more than aware of that fact.”
Gossamer starts to glow. Golden at first, before she turns a blushing pink. “Steal books?”
Great. Now a fluttering moth is chiding me like I’m three. “I. Do. Not. Steal. Books. I borrowed it and then he said I could have it.”
The pair of them exchange a look.
“Old Ones. And runes.” Imerys slides the ladder along the shelf, thoroughly caught up in the quest now. “Here. This is Anduluvian’s Myths of Arcaedia. It’s old. And hungry.”
She tugs on her mesh gloves and then takes the fat book from its shelf, where it rustles a little as if it can sense her. A thick chain rattles over the shelf, but Imerys unlocks it with the key around her neck.
“Some of the books bite,” she admits, flipping the pages. “And you don’t want to get blood on any of the spellwork contained within, or you might find yourself with some company you’d prefer not to keep.”
“Lucere?” I say jokingly, because I’ve read the mood of the court. “I’m fairly certain she’s hunting in the woods with my husband, so I’d say we’re safe.”
Imerys’s eyes go wide. And then she chokes on a laugh. “I was talking about daemons, though they might be preferable to my sister at times.”
“You don’t back her claim?”
“I back her claim.” Imerys places the book on one of the lecterns. She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Don’t mistake me, Your Highness. I am loyal to my family. And I think my sister will make a powerful queen. But she and I do not always see eye to eye. Lucere is bold and wishes to prove herself a threat to be watched by the other queens. And princes,” she adds belatedly.
“She has to,” I admit, thinking of the state of the Alliance. “She’s found herself the bystander in a war that will sweep her up and use her, no matter which way she chooses to cast her allegiance.”
“She could abstain from war.”
“I wish we all could if I’m being honest, but I know my mother. I know her ambitions.” I see it all laid out in front of me. “If Lucere doesn’t bare her claws now, my mother will sweep her off the board. She’s wanted war for a long time, and I…” Regret sours my tongue. “I’m the reason she will use to provoke it.”
Imerys watches me. “If you could make your choice again, would you side with your mother?”
“No.” It’s not even a choice. “I love Thiago. And it doesn’t matter if I did not—Mother would have found some reason to cast
