Chapter 33

How does somuch change in just two days? Two days of being in Sharhavva. Two days of being stared at as I walk through the corridors wearing my veil. I try to not allow it to bother me, yet it still does.

On the third morning after our arrival, I adjust my veil and step into the Grand Library inside the palace. Row upon row of towering shelves brim with books, the aged tomes blanketed in a gentle glow from the sunlight streaming through the arched windows overhead.

My footsteps echo against the floor as I wander between the shelves and trail my fingers over the leather spines.

As I venture further inside, the faint musty scent of parchment mingles with traces of beeswax and cedar. I pause to examine an intricate map etched across a scroll laid out on one of the reading tables. My eyes trace the inked mountains and rivers, envisioning all the places I have yet to explore.

I continue my stroll until I spot a nook with an armchair. A contented sigh escapes me as I settle into the seat.

The faint twitter of birds drifts in through the open windows as I reach for the collection of fanciful tales on the small table beside me.

I flip open the leather-bound cover, but before I can begin reading, the sound of approaching footsteps catches my attention. I glance up as Zerah appears from between the shelves.

"Hello," she says.

"Hello." I nod to the chair next to me. "Shall you join me?"

There's a part of me that craves her friendship. Probably the same part of me that misses my sisters.

Zerah nods, then claims the chair opposite of me.

"Isn't this place just marvelous?" Her eyes skim the room as she speaks. "I could spend hours here, lost in the stories and histories."

"It is a treasure," I agree as my gaze follows hers. "Do you have a favorite section?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly choose." With her knuckles, she brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I find myself drawn to the poets of old. There's something about how they weave words together, like a tapestry more vivid than any painter could dream up." She pauses for a breath before diving back in. "And what about you? Where do your literary loyalties lie?"

"I've always been partial to folklore. They make me believe there's more to this world than what we see."

Her eyes light up. "Exactly. Stories let us imagine possibilities beyond our reach." Zerah leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Sometimes I think about leaving my mark on those tales. Visualize being remembered like that. How glorious that would be."

"I think you'd make a fine heroine in any story."

"Thank you."

The conversation lulls as Zerah seems to ponder this new perspective. She looks around the library again before returning her attention to me.

"Tell me about your sisters." She pauses for a moment, as if stopping to think. "Asha, Emerin, and Tahira. Those are their names. Yes?"

Knots form in my throat as I manage a nod.

"I would love to know more about them. I only have one sister, and she lives deep in Bloodstone territory."

A wistful smile forms on my lips as I think of each of my sisters. "Asha is the eldest, and she's always been fiercely protective of the rest of us. She can be a bit bossy at times, but her heart is in the right place. She'll do anything to keep the people she cares about safe."

I pause, picturing Emerin's delicate features and kind eyes. "Emerin has a gentle soul. She's always been the most soft-spoken, preferring her books and art to rowdy games. And then there's Tahira. She's the youngest, and she has boundless energy."

"They sound wonderful," Zerah says.

"They are."

"I hope I can meet them some day." The sincerity behind Zerah's words makes my heart leap with hope that she wants peace too.

"You remind me of Emerin. She loves to read too."

"Oh. What is her favorite kind of book?"

"Every kind," I say with a grin, warmth spreading through my chest as I think of Emerin's insatiable appetite for the written word. "Truly. She'll read any type of book. From ancient histories to fantastical tales, from the secrets of the natural world to the musings of philosophers."

"Then, she must come here someday." Zerah rises to her feet and turns in a circle as she takes in the shelves filled with books of every size and color. "I have heard that this is the largest library in all of Hematite land."

"It is quite large," I agree, nodding as I follow her gaze across the library.

"Here." Zerah pulls a thick book bound in worn leather from the shelf and turns, cradling it in her hands. "This book will help you understand Sharhavva." As she passes it to me, the faded gold lettering on the spine catches the light streaming through the arched windows. She quickly adds, "I hope I'm not being presumptuous in assuming your interest."

"You're not presumptuous at all," I assure her as I accept the heavy tome and hug it against my chest, the leather smooth and cool beneath my fingertips. "I would like to learn about this city."

"That's great." A sudden smile spreads across her mouth as she turns back to me. "Are you hungry?"

I nod.

"Fantastic. Cook makes the best almond pastries. Would you like to go with me to the kitchen?"

"I would love to."

She grabs my hand and leads me from the room. The entire time we walk toward the kitchen, she talks about the different people in the palace. The ones I should make friends with, and the ones I should avoid.

When we enter the kitchen a few moments later, I sit with Zerah at a wooden table near a brick oven. The kitchen is bustling with activity as cooks and servants prepare food, their voices and the clanging of pots and pans filling the air.

Zerah passes me a still-warm almond pastry. The flaky crust shatters as I take a bite, revealing the sweet almond filling within. The pastry melts in my mouth as I close my eyes, savoring the symphony of flavors.

Zerah wasn't exaggerating. These are the best pastries I have ever tasted. The almond flavor is pronounced but not overpowering, perfectly complementing the delicate, buttery crust.

We sit together enjoying the pastries, the sounds of the busy kitchen enveloping us. And for the first time since arriving in Sharhavva, I feel a true sense of belonging.

* * *

After we finishin the kitchen, Zerah and I head out toward one of the many outdoor courtyards that dot the sprawling grounds.

A gentle breeze tugs at the edges of my veil as we pass by flowerbeds bursting with jade plants and plump sedum.

Zerah talks as we walk, eagerly telling me all about her brothers. How Jasce is the eldest and Jude the youngest, and how they've always been so protective of her ever since they were children.

As we round a corner in the garden path, I spot Ellery sitting on a stone bench up ahead, partially obscured by a trellis dripping with fragrant white flowers.

Sunlight glints off the thin silver threads wrapped around her wrist. I glance left and right, expecting to see the formidable Widow Maker somewhere nearby. But strangely, the scarred general is nowhere to be found.

Zerah leans in close, as if sharing a secret. "That's Ellery over there on the bench. She's the woman from House of Silver who had her magic bound to Widow Maker summers ago."

I nod slowly, recalling my conversation with Tristan, how he explained the ritual that now links Ellery's silver magic to Widow Maker's control. It seems cruel to have one's gift stripped away and given over to another. Yet as Zerah and I pass by, Ellery sits with her head tilted back, eyes closed, letting the warm sunlight wash over her face.

"Is it true," I began as I follow Zerah along the path that takes us further from Ellery, "that Widow Maker can control Ellery's silver magic?"

Zerah nods.

I twist my lips to the side as I consider the implication behind such a binding. "Then why wouldn't more people from House of Crimson bind a person from House of Silver to them? Then, they could control everyone they capture with silver magic."

"Because it's rare," Zerah says.

I lift my brow. "Rare? How?"

She slides her eyes to the left, as if she suspects someone might overhear us. Then, she grabs my arm and pulls us to a more secluded area of the garden. "The ceremony is risky. If it doesn't work, both parties trying to bind their magic die."

I gasp. "That's terrible."

She nods. "Yes, I know. I loathe the practice."

My mind races with the dangerous truth she's just revealed. Death as a consequence of failed magic. It's a harrowing thought, one that wraps cold fingers around my heart.

"Have you ever witnessed such a ceremony?" I ask.

Long, dark hair brushes against Zerah's shoulders as she shakes her head. "No, and I hope I never do. The very idea chills me to the bone."

I nod, finding comfort in her shared unease. "It seems so...final."

"It is," she says, "and that's why it's forbidden without the highest consent. Besides, it's not just about the risk of death. It's about control. Taking away someone's magic—it's like stealing their soul."

Her words echo my own thoughts about freedom and autonomy.

As we continue our walk, Zerah points out various plants and flowers, her knowledge extensive and impressive.

"This is foxglove," she explains, gesturing toward tall spires of pink and purple bells. "Beautiful, but deadly if consumed."

I run my fingers over the soft petals, contemplating the duality of nature—so much like people and magic. Beauty on the surface, but danger lurking beneath.

"And these are snapdragons," Zerah continues, moving to a bed of bright blooms that look like tiny dragon with their mouths open in silent roars.

"They're whimsical," I say with a smile.

"They're said to ward off deceit and falsehoods."

A small laugh escapes me as I imagine planting an entire garden of snapdragons around me as a shield against duplicity.

Zerah leads me to a bench nestled between two flowering bushes, inviting me to sit for a moment.

As we chat about trivial things—the best seasons for certain flowers, which herbs are best for cooking—I silently thank Olah for bringing me back into Zerah's life and for giving me a friend like her.