“Ellena.” That was it. “I want her removed from Cirri’s chambers immediately. She can live in the keep with the other maids—and she can work in the laundry or kitchens from here on out. Whichever is worse.”

Wyn stared at me, tipping her head. “Ah, I see. I’ll see to it immediately. And, in my humble opinion, she has the makings of an excellent stablehand. Shoveling manure all day should sweeten her mood. The kitchens will seem like a pleasant sabbatical after that.”

She shut the door on me, already muttering under her breath about golems and bloodroses, and I went away with a smile on my face for the first time since I’d seen that damn bruise.

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Chapter 19 Cirri

The hours passed in a blissful daze, all of my attention focused on documenting the trove before me with the level of care the Librarians would have expected. I knew they would be scandalized that my hands weren’t encased in cotton gloves, or that the books were exposed to the light filtering through the high, narrow windows, but the vampires had haphazardly piled these books without a care in the world.

I supposed they had survived not only the fall of the Red Epoch and the bonfires that had dominated those times, but also the centuries since, stored in moldy bookcases, dank cellars, or under altars. One day of touching them without gloves probably wasn’t going to do much further damage.

Even so, it was a time-consuming, painstaking process to gently examine each one, noting the damage—and even worse to have to put each one aside for the next without a thorough examination of the contents. I wanted nothing more than to dig in immediately and begin searching for any text that might unlock more of the High Tongue runes, but the Sisters’ Head Librarian had drilled certain protocols into those of us who studied in her domain.

They really needed a Scrollkeeper for this kind of work. Perhaps, if I became a Librarian, I could find myself aspiring to that lofty position.

I was almost finished with the fourth pile when something touched my shoulder, almost startling me into dropping the precious book I held.

Bane drew his hand back self-consciously, shifting in place. “It’s been hours since you’ve stretched your legs, my lady. Shall we eat before I send you to Wyn?”

I blinked at him, and then at the dark windows. When had night fallen? Someone had come around the library and lit all the fat beeswax tapers, and I hadn’t noticed their presence, nor the exchange of daylight for candlelight.

When I straightened up and stretched my back, there was a dull ache in my spine from hunching over the books.

By the Light, he had a good point. I carefully laid the book back where I’d found it, and flipped in my journal to the conversation page, sucking in a breath as my back protested movement.

Still, I smiled at him before I wrote. It was sweet of him to phrase it like that… for us to eat together, though he would really like to sit and keep me company.

I completely lost track of time, but yes, I’m starving. Why am I going to Wyn?

Bane pulled my chair out for me and offered a hand, which I took thoughtlessly. Somehow the thought of his claws didn’t frighten me quite so much anymore—his hand was as warm and soft as anyone else’s. The sheer size was less of a concern now, and more of a comfort, like being enfolded in an embrace.

“She’s working on new art, and she needs a little more of your blood. She might have questions for you as well. But we’ll worry about Wyn later, shall we?”

I expected him to lead me from the library and to the great empty expanse of the formal dining room, but instead he brought me to a table near the library’s doors, already laid with a cloth, several covered dishes, and well away from any of the books.

“I thought… you seemed to dislike the other room,” Bane said quietly. “I thought perhaps you’d like to stay in here. This is your library now, after all; I can have Cook deliver meals while you’re working.”

I squeezed his hand as tightly as I could, which he probably hardly felt at all, and sat down, laying my journal to the side and uncovering the first dish. The scent of food hit me and my stomach chose to shriek instead of just grumbling.

She’d made a venison stew, along with buttered bread and a dish of roasted vegetables. I dug in with my left hand, writing with the right, a system I was quite used to from my days in the Cathedral.

Thank you so much. It really is like you know me already, isn’t it? It’s much cozier in here than the dining room. 

He read my words as I ate one-handed, trying to rapidly shovel food into my mouth as politely as possible, which I was likely failing at miserably. But I’d skipped the midday break, and now felt ravenous enough to eat an entire horse.

“I agree. Even when there’s more humans living here, no one really likes that room…” He grimaced a little, his fangs glittering in the golden candlelight. “It’s just for show. Have you gotten through the inventory yet, or is there more?”

Definitely more. The books are simple enough, but the scrolls will take some time. They’re far too fragile to unroll without extreme care. But I think within a few days, I’ll be able to start the search for a parallel corpus and hopefully find something to continue the translations. 

“I have every faith in you,” he murmured, and fell quiet, leaning back in the sturdy chair he’d taken for himself. I let my pen rest, taking a few more bites before writing again.

Did you finish your arrangements? You don’t smell like the forest today, so you didn’t go hunting. 

The other night when he’d saved me from my own misery at dinner, I’d caught the fresh scent of pine and cold air on his clothes; now he smelled like himself, the warm, rich scent of smoky woods. Nor was he stripped and messy, like the day he’d been lifting wagons overhead. What duties did the Lord of the Rift have? I had no idea what went on in the life of a noble.

“You can smell that?” he asked, tilting his head.

I shrugged. I can smell the pines on you when you come back from hunting.

He thought for a moment. “Do I smell bad to you?”

I stared at him, wondering why he would be concerned about that. Not at all. You smell like cedar and smoke to me. And warm skin. So what did you do?

“Ah.” He glanced off towards the library proper, avoiding my gaze. “I did finish my arrangements, yes. We’re hosting guests now, and Wyn’s project required some attention… and I already ate my dinner. I thought it best to be well-fed before I asked you to come to bed. I was wondering if you could smell such things.”

Oh. Oh.

He thought I could smell the blood he’d drunk… and yes, I could smell it, the faintest iron tinge to his normal warm scent.

But not enough to bother me.

I took a bite as I thought, wondering when I’d grown used to the tang of fresh blood. Wondering why I couldn’t bring myself to submit to his teeth, if it didn’t bother me to know and fully internalize the fact that he’d bled someone before coming to see me.

I’ve gotten used to the scent of it, I wrote. It’s there, but it doesn’t bother me at all. Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?

Bane gazed down at his hands, folded in his lap. “Yes. I didn’t want to disturb you with talk of my meals during yours.”

But you drink blood, I pointed out, rather obviously. So it’s bound to come up at least every once in a while. I’m still working on the thought of it being my blood, but… it’s not exactly a mystery to me that your kind lives on it. You’re not going to put me off my appetite by mentioning that you ate.