Chapter 5 FIVE

The rest of the day passed in a tense, slow crawl. Every time the library door opened, my heart jumped, expecting to see either Kaelen’s cold gaze or Malachi’s sly smile. But only Master Fenwick came and went, his nose always buried in a book.

Finally, the witch-lights began to dim, signaling the end of the day. Fenwick closed his ledger with a definitive snap.

“That will be all, Liana. Ensure you put your supplies away neatly.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir.”

I waited until I heard the main doors click shut behind him. I stood alone in the vast, silent library, the only light coming from the soft, fading glow of the orbs. This was my chance.

My plan was simple. I would find the journal, read it quickly, and return it before dawn. If I was caught, I would claim I was working late to make up for my earlier clumsiness. It was thin, but it was all I had.

I moved quickly to the section where I had seen the journal fall. The shelves loomed over me, shadows stretching like long fingers. I found the spot and looked up. The top shelf was high, almost brushing the ceiling.

“Okay, Liana,” I whispered to myself. “Just a quick look.”

I pulled the rolling ladder over, the wheels rumbling loudly in the silence. I climbed, my worn shoes slipping on the rungs. At the top, I ran my hands along the row of books. My fingers brushed against the plain, worn leather. There it was.

I tucked it into the waistband of my dress, under my apron, and scurried back down the ladder. My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against the stolen book. I hurried to the small, windowless cleaning closet at the back of the library, pulling the door almost shut and lighting a single candle.

Sitting on an upturned bucket, I opened the journal. The elegant script seemed to dance in the flickering light. I skipped the early entries, my eyes searching for more about the war, about my people.

I found it.

“The scouts returned today. They confirm the Emberclaw clan is gathering in the northern valley. My father is adamant. He calls it a prelude to an attack. I have seen no evidence of this. I presented the trade agreements the Dragon Lord proposed. My father burned them. He said we do not negotiate with beasts.”

My breath caught. Trade agreements? My father had never mentioned that. He had spoken only of unprovoked aggression.

I turned the page, my fingers trembling.

“The deed is done. The Emberclaw are no more. The field is ash and blood. I led the final charge. I saw their Lord fall. In his eyes, I did not see the fury of a monster. I saw the shock of betrayal. My father is triumphant. The court celebrates. I feel… hollow. This was not a victory. It was an extermination.”

The words blurred as tears welled in my eyes. Hot, angry tears for my family, for my stolen life. But also, a treacherous, confusing tear for the man writing them. He had been a weapon in his father’s hand, just as I was now a weapon in my own.

A floorboard creaked right outside the closet.

I snapped the journal shut, my blood turning to ice. I blew out the candle, plunging myself into utter blackness. I held my breath, listening.

The door to the closet swung open, silhouetting a tall, broad-shouldered figure in the dim light from the library.

“I had a feeling you would be a curious one,” said Lord Kaelen’s voice, calm and deadly.

I scrambled to my feet, the journal falling from my lap and hitting the stone floor with a dull thud. He stepped into the small space, filling it completely. He bent down and picked up the book.

“I had a discussion with my cousin this evening,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “He seems to believe you and I have an… understanding. He implied you were sharing secrets with me. But I think the opposite is true, isn’t it? You are stealing them from me.”

“My Lord, I can explain—”

“Explain what?” he interrupted, his voice rising for the first time. “That you lied about not being able to read? That you lied about your reason for being in my solar? That you are now sneaking around my private library after hours, reading my personal thoughts?” He took a step closer, his face a mask of cold fury. “Who are you? Who sent you? Was it Malachi? Is this his new game?”

“No! It’s not Malachi.”

“Then who?” he demanded, his hand shooting out to grip my wrist. His grasp was like iron, cold and unyielding. “Tell me now, or I will have you dragged to the dungeons and the truth pulled from you, piece by piece.”

This was it. The end. I had failed my clan, my parents, everyone. Desperation clawed at my throat. I could feel the dragon inside me, roaring to the surface, demanding to fight, to burn, to be free.

I looked him straight in the eye, my fear suddenly replaced by a defiant, reckless rage.

“You want to know who I am?” I whispered, my voice shaking with a power I could no longer contain. “You wrote about my father in that journal. You saw the shock of betrayal in his eyes when he fell.”

His grip on my wrist loosened slightly, his own eyes widening in confusion and dawning horror.

“My name is not Liana,” I said, pulling my wrist from his grasp. I took a step back, the small closet feeling even smaller. “My name is Elara. Daughter of Theron and Lyra. The last daughter of the Emberclaw.”

I saw the recognition flash in his eyes, followed by sheer, unadulterated disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” he breathed.

“Is it?” I asked.

And then, I let the shadows rise.

A wisp of darkness, the true essence of my power, curled from my shoulders, swirling around me in the tiny room. My eyes, I knew, would be glowing with a faint, golden light. It was just a glimpse, the smallest fraction of what I was, but it was enough.

Lord Kaelen stared at me, his face pale, his body rigid with shock. He was no longer looking at a maid. He was looking at a ghost. At his greatest sin, returned to life.

For a long moment, there was only silence, broken by the ragged sound of our breathing.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“What have I done?”