Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

Hali and Osric spent the next several days hunched over tomes, their heads bent close together as they pored over ancient histories, arcane treatises, and long-forgotten legends. Osric was a quick study, his keen elven mind picking up on the nuances of the ciphers and obscure references with remarkable speed. But Hali's encyclopedic knowledge of rare books and boundless imagination were the keys needed to unlock the secrets they sought.

"Hmm." Osric's breath tickled against her cheek, and Hali's heart leapt into a wild gallop as they leaned over the ancient tome. "It's written in the old dwarven script, but the phrasing is elven. I think. It's hard to say."

His face was so close, his golden eyes so intense, and Hali struggled to remember what they were doing. All she could focus on was the heady scent of smoky embers that clung to his skin, the way his long black hair fell in a silky curtain, and the way the words rolled off his tongue with a low, melodic cadence.

"Right. Yes. Elven phrasing," she stammered. "It's like the dwarves and the Emberforged were speaking the same language, but not quite. A missed connection, if you will. Like two stars that long to be together, but are forever separated by the vastness of the heavens."

Osric's golden eyes met hers, and for a moment, just a moment, Hali thought she saw a spark in them, a glimmer of something more. But then he turned his attention back to the page, and the spell was broken.

"Or it could be a simple mistranslation," he said, his lips quirking up in a half-smile.

Their heads were still dangerously close, and Hali's breath caught in her throat. "Yes, well. Where's the fun in that?"

She shifted in her seat, and to her dismay, her shoulder bumped against his. She felt a jolt, like a current of electricity, and she was suddenly all too aware of the heat of his body so close to hers. She was sure he must hear her heart pounding, steady and insistent.

"Hali." Her name was a soft rumble in his chest, and she shivered. "Your shoulder."

"What about it?" She asked, but her voice came out as a breathy whisper, and she knew he'd felt it too, the sudden surge of heat, the pull between them that neither of them could name.

His hand twitched, and for a fleeting second, she thought he might reach for her. But then he returned to the book, and with a small, strangled noise, Hali snatched her hand back into her lap.

"The translation," she said, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "Right."

She had been talking about something. The stars, maybe. Or the way the ancient dwarves used to sing their prayers to the primordials, a haunting melody that echoed through the stone halls. Or perhaps she was just babbling, as she was wont to do, her mouth moving faster than her mind could keep up.

She was so focused on the book, on the words that swam before her eyes, that it took her a moment to realize Osric was staring at her, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"Are you all right, Hali?" he asked, and his hand found hers on the page. "You seem a bit . . . flustered."

She felt like she might melt into a puddle at his feet. His hand was so warm, so steady, and she wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was pounding, how her whole body was trembling with the effort to stay composed.

"I—"

She had to say something, anything, to cover the way she was suddenly at a loss for words. And so, of course, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Dwarven poetry," she said, and then winced. "There's a, um, a great deal of romantic subtext. In the verses. Not that I'm implying?—"

She stopped, mortified, and closed her eyes. She was making an utter fool of herself, and Osric was never going to want to return to her shop, and she was going to have to set herself on fire, right here and now, to spare herself the embarrassment.

But then, to her surprise, she felt Osric's fingers curl around hers, and when she risked a glance in his direction, she saw that his smile had widened.

"Is there, now?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Perhaps you could recite some for me."

Hali quite abruptly forgot how words worked at all, much less words in poems. "Errrrrr?—"

Osric chuckled. "Another time. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

DOCKS. Hali forced herself to concentrate. She was at least somewhat confident now that the sole word she'd managed to decipher in the scrap of paper was DOCKS. And yet it still failed to yield any further clue as to what the message's content was, or what it was doing hidden in a book in her shop. Pippa proposed it was someone leaving a love letter for someone they knew would buy the book (which Hali rather doubted, given how rarely those books sold). Sooty suggested it was some kind of thrilling spy message being left for an agent in the field. Osric, though, thought it was someone's notes for themselves that they'd encrypted in their own private language. Whatever the case, though, it was reluctant to surrender is secrets just yet.

"I have a friend at Luminara University," Hali said, as they emerged from the dusty archives a few days later, the midday sun harsh after the dim recesses of the stacks. "Professor Thornsley. He's one of the foremost experts on ancient languages in the whole of the Heart Realms. If there's anyone who can help us decipher this, it's him."

Osric's hand tightened on the strap of his satchel, the one that never left his side. "Are you certain you can trust him? To keep it a secret, I mean."

Hali chewed on her lower lip. "He's an old family friend. I'll impress upon him the importance, and I'm sure he'll understand."

They walked in silence for a few moments, Osric lost in thought, before he spoke again. "I—thank you, Hali. For all your help with this. I know it's a great deal to ask."

Hali's heart gave a little flutter, but she waved off his thanks with a snort. "Nonsense, my dear. Why, this is the most fun I've had in ages. It's just like one of the old adventure tales Uncle Lysander used to tell me, about brave knights and clever sorceresses on a quest to unlock some great mystery."

Osric's lips quirked up in a half-smile, and Hali's heart did that ridiculous fluttering thing again. "I'm not sure I make a very good knight," he said. "I'm more the brooding, mysterious type, I think."

Hali laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the narrow street. "Oh, please. You're entirely too dour for that. If anything, you're the handsome prince, with a tragic past and a smoldering stare."

His eyebrows shot up, and he looked at her askance. "Smoldering, you say?"

She flushed, but she refused to back down. "Well, perhaps you need a bit more practice. But the raw material is there, I'm sure."

She bumped her shoulder against his elbow, and to her delight, this time, he didn't pull away. And then, to her even greater delight, he laughed, a low, rich sound that made her heart sing.

"Very well, then. If you're the clever sorceress, then cast your spell, and let's be on with the adventure."

As they wound their way through the streets of Luminara, Hali cast her spell indeed, weaving a tale of brave knights and clever sorceresses, of mysteries unlocked and treasures found. She spoke of a childhood spent in the company of books, of her parents' untimely passing, and the uncle who had raised her, the one who had fostered her love of stories and strange, wondrous things.

"You see, he was always off on some grand adventure of his own, scouring the realms for rare tomes and curious artifacts. He'd be gone for months, sometimes years, but he always came back, his pack full to bursting, and his eyes alight with the thrill of discovery."

"And you would sit at his feet, and hang on his every word, I suppose?" Osric asked, his gaze soft.

Hali shrugged. "I'd like to say I did. But the truth is, I was a stubborn thing, even then. I was so caught up in my own stories, the ones I dreamed up in my head, that I didn't always take the time to listen to his. I thought, foolishly, that I already knew everything there was to know."

They had reached the edge of the University district, the spires of the grand buildings rising in the distance. Hali had spent a miserable semester there as a student, and while departing had been the right choice for her, the memories were still a raw, tender wound. But when she glanced over at Osric, he was watching her, his expression open, and it struck her, not for the first time, how easy it was to talk to him, how safe she felt in his presence.

"Take, for example, the time he found the lost library of King Thraedon the Terrible. It was buried deep in the deserts of the Glass Wastes, or so the story went. He'd heard a rumor, you see, from a trader in a tavern, and he set off at once to investigate. He spent months crossing the burning sands, braving sandstorms and scorpions and worse, only to find that the library had long since been plundered."

Hali sighed, the sound wistful. "But he didn't let that stop him. He spent the better part of a year tracking down the thieves, and recovering the tomes, and in the end, he managed to bring back a few precious volumes. Not the legendary cache he'd been hoping for, but enough to make it worth his while."

"And the moral of the story is?" Osric asked, his lips twitching.

Hali laughed. "The moral is, sometimes the true adventure is not in the finding, but in the seeking. Or at least, that's what I like to tell myself. I think he was just happy to have an excuse to spend a year in a tavern, regaling the patrons with his tales."

"Your uncle sounds like he's quite the fellow."

"Indeed. Uncle Lysander—he's my father's brother—says he got all the sense for both of them, but I think he's got more than a little adventurous spirit in himself, too. Don't reckon he wanted to be saddled with a weird child like me, but . . ." Her voice dropped. "Well, I'm grateful he took me in all the same."

"We don't always choose our calling, but we make the most of it," Osric said.

Hali smiled brighter at that. "Indeed. But what of your family?"

"My parents . . ." Osric's voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder, and Hali instinctively leaned in to hear it. "They were both smiths, like me, but they worked in different forges. I used to spend my days with my father, hammering out weapons and armor for the clan. But it was my mother who first saw the fire in me, and who taught me how to shape it."

He fell silent for a moment, and Hali felt an almost painful tug at her heart. She wanted to reach out, to take his hand, to offer him whatever comfort she could. But she sensed that this was a story he needed to tell, in his own way.

"She used to take me up into the mountains, to a secluded grove where the lava flowed close to the surface. There, she said, we could commune with the power of the primordials, and draw on their strength. But for me, it was more like trying to harness a runaway river, or a storm that raged on the horizon. I had the power, but I didn't know how to control it."

Osric's eyes met Hali's, and she saw in them a raw, aching loneliness, a yearning for something he couldn't name. She squeezed his hand, and after a moment, he continued.

"I was still just a child, barely old enough to undergo the Rite of Embers, but already I was a disappointment to my clan. A failure, they called me, and I was all too eager to prove them wrong. So I practiced, day and night, until my hands were raw and blistered, and still the fire eluded me."

Hali wanted to ask how he finally learned to wield it, but they had reached the gates of the University, and the sight of the soaring spires and ancient stone arches never failed to fill Hali with a sense of wonder, of endless possibility. She led Osric up the winding path to Professor Thornsley's office, and as they drew closer, a tiny figure came scurrying out to meet them.

"Miss Brightminer! There you are. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

Hali beamed, and gave the gnome a warm hug. "Never, Professor. I told you, I had a few matters to attend to first."

Professor Thornsley, an antiquities scholar, was a tiny, round-shouldered figure, with a cloud of white hair that perpetually drifted after him like punctuation, and ink-stained fingers that never quite came clean. He was one of the most brilliant scholars Hali had ever known, but his mind tended to race ahead of him, and he often forgot to engage his filter before he spoke, which had led to many heated arguments between him and Hali's uncle over their long friendship. Hali had a soft spot for him, though, and she suspected that he played up his absent-mindedness to lull others into underestimating him.

"Ah, yes, yes, matters, of course. Well, never mind that. What have you brought me today?"

Hali led him over to a nearby bench, where Osric had already set down his pack. "We found this in the archives, and I was hoping you might be able to help us with the translation."

As Professor Thornsley opened the book, his eyes widened. "My stars. This is . . . most intriguing. Wherever did you find it?"

"In the old royal archives, up in the mountains," Hali said. "It's a cipher we've never seen before, but we think it might be related to the language of the first peoples to worship the primordials."

"Hmmm. It could be. Or it could be their challengers—the Obsidian Circle." The professor's hands shook as he turned the pages, and Hali felt a thrill of excitement run through her. She hadn't read much, but she knew that the Obsidian Circle was a secretive cult that had flourished centuries ago, worshipping the primordials and harnessing their power for their own dark ends. Very little was known about them, but what scraps of information had survived hinted at unspeakable rituals and terrible deeds.

"Dark forces, dark forces indeed," Professor Thornsley muttered. "Ancient evils, waiting to be unleashed. You must be very careful, my dear. There are some things that are better left buried in the past."

Hali's imagination was already racing, spinning out wild theories and conspiracies, but she forced herself to focus. "Can you help us with the translation, Professor?"

He blinked, and the absent-minded scholar was gone, replaced by the brilliant mind that lay beneath. "Yes, yes, of course. Let me see what I can do."

He peered at the runes, muttering to himself, and Hali turned to Osric, her eyes shining. He was watching the professor with a furrowed brow, his expression guarded, but she could see the wheels turning in his mind. She knew he was just as curious about this as she was, even if he was loath to admit it.

After a few minutes of poring over the scrap, the professor let out a low whistle. "Intriguing, intriguing. This is quite a curious amalgamation of several different scripts, but I believe I may be able to make some headway with it. The trouble is, I'll need to cross-reference it with a few other tomes in my collection, and I fear they may be at the library."

"The library?" Hali's heart sank. The University library was a treasure trove of knowledge, to be sure, but it was also a bureaucratic nightmare to gain access to, even more so now that she was no longer a student. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Professor Thornsley considered this for a moment, his bushy eyebrows knit in concentration. "Well, if you don't mind waiting a day or two, I could certainly make the trip up there and see what I can find. I'll need to consult with my colleagues, of course, but I think we can make some progress."

Hali glanced over at Osric, but his expression was carefully neutral. She had half expected him to protest, to demand answers right here and now, but to his credit, he remained silent. Still, the tension in his shoulders told her that this was all going against his better judgment.

"The Obsidian Circle," Hali said at last. "What more can you tell us about them?"

"Oh, dreadful business, dreadful. They were a secretive cult, you see, practitioners of dark magics and ancient rites. Some say they were the very antithesis of the First Forgers, but in truth, their origins are shrouded in mystery. They believed that true power came from embracing chaos and darkness, rather than seeking to contain it." He shuddered. "And the things they did to harness that power . . . unspeakable. Sacrifices, necromancy, dark rituals that twisted the very fabric of reality. It's no wonder they were driven underground, but some say they still lurk in the shadows, biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike."

"Or so the stories go," Osric said, but there was a troubled look in his eyes.

"Stories that are based in some semblance of fact, I'm afraid. But rest assured, my boy, the First Forgers' descendants and their devotees are always on the lookout for any signs of their resurgence. It's just that, well, the nature of shadows is that they are hard to pin down, you see."

"I understand." Osric's voice was tight, and he glanced over at Hali. "Thank you for your assistance, Professor. I look forward to hearing what you find."

"Of course, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off. The library, you know. Terribly long lines at this time of year."

He scurried back towards the University, his robes flapping around him, and Hali let out a long breath. "Well, that was . . . interesting."

"Or ominous," Osric said, and the words hung over them both like smoke as they departed.

"Miss Brightminer, you are positively glowing with mischief," Osric said, as they strolled back to the bookshop. "What's running around in that head of yours?"

Hali giggled, the sound high and tinkling. "Oh, nothing. I'm just considering a few . . . possibilities, that's all."

By the time they returned to Folio & Fancy, Hali had worked herself into a fine frenzy of speculation. She was convinced that members of the Obsidian Circle were using her shop as a drop point for their nefarious schemes, and she had a veritable mountain of evidence to support her theory. There was the coded message, of course, and the strange man who had tried to buy the grimoire, and the fact that it was a new moon, which was almost certainly a significant date for a cult of ancient darkness. She explained all of this to Osric in a breathless rush, complete with dramatic reenactments, and by the time she was finished, she was practically dancing with excitement.

"You see? It all fits together perfectly. Well, more or less. But it's a good story, isn't it?" She winked at Osric. "Just the sort of thing to set a brooding, mysterious type like yourself on the path of adventure."

Osric regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Hali's vast relief, he broke into a slow, warm smile.

"It's . . . something, all right." He shook his head, laughing. "All right, my dear. I'll help you get to the bottom of this. If only to keep you out of trouble."

Hali clapped her hands together eagerly. "Oh, thank you, thank you, my handsome prince. I knew I could count on you."

Their good-natured chatter was interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat, and they both turned to see Sooty standing in the doorway of the back room.

"Um, not to interrupt, but we might have a problem."

"What is it, Sooty?" Hali asked, all traces of levity gone. "Is it that same customer from earlier? The one asking about the grimoire?"

Sooty shook his head, his face pinched with worry. "No, it's not him. It's . . . well, it's a whole bunch of them."

Hali followed Sooty into the front of the shop, where a quick scan confirmed her worst fears. The store was packed with customers, more than Hali had seen in one place since the annual Midsummer Book Faire. But these patrons had a distinctly shady air about them, with their tattered cloaks and furtive glances, and as Hali made her way through the crowd, she saw that many of the shelves had been picked over.

"What in the name of the hells is going on here?" she asked, her voice low and urgent.

"I don't know, but they're giving me the right creeps," Sooty said. "And one of them asked me about the grimoire again."

Hali's heart sank. She'd suspected that the book might be the cause of all this trouble, but she'd hoped it was just her overactive imagination getting the best of her. She scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of the mysterious customer who had asked about the book, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Stay here," she told Sooty, and she set off to confront the interlopers.

There were three of them clustered around the reference shelves, all with their hoods pulled low, and as Hali drew closer, she saw that they were frantically digging through the books. Without a word, she planted herself in front of the nearest one and crossed her arms.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone deceptively sweet.

The man let out a yelp and jumped back, nearly tripping over his compatriots. "Uh, no, nothing, just looking, we'll be going now?—"

He snatched a random book off the shelf and thrust it at Hali, before bolting for the door with his companions close behind.

"Hey, you haven't paid for that—" Hali started to say, but it was too late. The strangers were already vanishing into the streets.

"Hold it right there!" Osric shouted, darting out of the shop after them.

"Osric, no!" Hali cried.

Hali raced to the window and peered outside, just in time to see a scuffle breaking out in the street. Osric was surrounded by the three strangers, who had now donned sinister-looking masks, and they were closing in on him, brandishing wicked-looking daggers.

With a furious growl, Hali snatched up the heaviest book she could find—a treatise on dwarvish metallurgy that she'd been meaning to shelve—and charged out of the shop.

"Hey! You there! Unhand my?—"

She never got to finish her threat. One of the strangers had circled around behind Osric and was making a grab for him. With a fearsome battle cry, Hali brought the book down on the man's head.

The blow wasn't enough to knock him out, but it did stop him in his tracks. He staggered back, and the dagger went skittering across the cobblestones. The other two strangers whirled around, their eyes hidden behind their masks, but Hali didn't give them a chance to make a move. She lunged at the nearest one, swinging the book with all her might.

She was a dwarf, after all, and while she might not have the height of an elf or the agility of a human, she had a few centuries' worth of experience when it came to brawling. The book connected with a satisfying thud, and the stranger crumpled to the ground.

The third stranger had regained his feet, and he lunged at Hali, dagger flashing in the moonlight. Hali dove to the side, book held protectively in front of her, and the blade sank into the cover with a sickening thud. With a roar of fury, Hali brought her boot up in a vicious kick, catching the stranger in the chin. He stumbled back, and Hali didn't give him a chance to recover. She pounced on him, raining down blows with the book.

"Stay down, you cur! I'll have your head for a paperweight!"

A sudden blast of fire illuminated the twilight, and the remaining strangers cried out in alarm. Osric stood in the middle of the street, his hands wreathed in flames, his face a mask of fury.

"Get away from her, you bastards."

The strangers exchanged a quick, silent look, and then they scattered, vanishing into the night.

"Damn it. No, you don't?—"

Hali took off after them, her short legs pumping as fast as they could. She wasn't about to let them get away, not after what they'd tried to do to Osric. She caught up to one of them, a burly human, and with a fierce battle cry, she thumped him with the tome.

The man crumpled to the ground, and Hali didn't stop to see if he was still moving. She scanned the street, but the other two strangers had already vanished.

"Hali! Are you all right?" Osric called, jogging over to her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Are you hurt?"

Osric grimaced, one hand pressed to his side. "Just a scratch."

"That is not just a scratch!" Hali cried, assessing the gash on his cheek that had left a molten line of fiery blood across it. "Oh, Oz, we need to get you cleaned up!"

"In a moment. Let me catch my breath. But you . . . you were amazing."

Hali flushed with pride, and she offered Osric a hand. "Not at all, my handsome prince. Just doing what needed to be done."

Hali's hands trembled as she clasped Osric's hands, the rush of battle fading, leaving her dizzy and cold. She studied Osric, her eyes stinging with tears, and saw the same raw fear mirrored in his face. She wanted to be strong for him, to show him that she wasn't some helpless maiden in need of saving, but the truth was, she was terrified. Terrified of what might have happened if she hadn't acted. Terrified of what these strangers wanted with her and her shop. Terrified of the darkness that was closing in around them, and the long, lonely night that stretched out ahead.

"Halizanth," Osric said. "By the flames. Are you all right?"

Hali nodded, her lower lip trembling. "I . . . I think so. But . . ."

She looked down at her hands, still sticky with the strangers' blood, and the reality of what had just happened came crashing down. She stumbled back against the wall of a nearby building, and then she was sliding down, down, until she was sitting on the cold stone of the street. Osric crouched down in front of her, his hands warm on her shoulders.

"It's all right, my dear. You're safe now."

But there was no safety in his eyes, only a reflection of the same darkness that was swallowing her whole.

"It's not all right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "We're in terrible danger."

She laughed, but it was a watery sound, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, the tears coming in a hot, angry rush. Osric held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, and she clung to him desperately, as if he were the only thing keeping her from being swept away.

"It's going to be all right," he said, his voice so soft, so gentle. "I won't let anything happen to you."

But even in her fear and her grief, Hali knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep.

"I don't understand," Hali said. "What does the Obsidian Circle want with me? With my shop?"

"I don't know," Osric said, his face drawn and weary. "But I'm going to find out."

Hali looked up at him, and in the soft, gray light, she saw the same determination in his eyes that she felt in her own heart. This was her world, her story, the one she'd been waiting for all her life, and she wasn't about to back down now. She might not have a suit of armor or a magic sword, but she had her wits, and her courage, and the fierce, unyielding love that burned in her heart. It was enough to make even the most impossible quest seem possible, and she knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that she would see it through.

"Then let's get to the bottom of this," she said, and she felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Let's find out who these people are, and what they want. And then we can make sure they never threaten us again."

She squeezed Osric's hand, and let herself pretend that there was no darkness closing in around them, that it was just the two of them, together. She let herself pretend that the warmth of his hand in hers was enough to keep the shadows at bay.

"Are you with me, my handsome prince?"

"Always, my lady. Always."