With every step down, the aroma of leather and paper grows, as does my excitement. I know I’ve come here for a reason, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a wander first. After all, something tells me Zara isn’t a reader; I should be safe down here.

A gasp escapes me when I finally arrive on the library floor and am greeted by rows and rows of books on wooden shelves. Some are cloth-bound, others leather-bound, and a feeling of awe takes hold. With all the years away from them, I forgot how calming it was to be surrounded by books. At least I know where I can escape to now between the trials.

The issue I have is working out where the hell I’m going to get the answers I need. The area of the library under the court was always filled with staff – archivists, curators, scribes … people who could tell you where to find what you needed. But I’ve no idea how I’d even get to that side of the library, let alone how long it would take me. As I’m trying to work out what to do, an impatient male voice cuts through the quiet.

‘Have you written that down? Did you hear what I said? He took the Sannings’ magic. That’s who they were. Sannings. The first men stripped.’

My attention is piqued. I’m not sure who these Sannings are, and I’ve never heard of people by that name being stripped of magic, but then, I never heard about Estel and her sister either. I follow the voices to a seated area, where a young woman is sitting at a desk with an elderly man. His eyes are opaque, a pearlescent pink-blue sheen covering his irises and pupils.

‘Did you get all that down?’ He’s talking to a young woman with dark skin and warm blonde hair shaved close to her head. She’s dressed in a green robe and is scribbling in a notepad with an inkwell next to it.

‘I did,’ she says softly.

‘If I find out you’ve missed anything from here, there’ll be consequences,’ the blind man snaps.

‘Would you like me to repeat what you just told me?’ she says. Her voice is soft and calm. It’s certainly not how I’d speak if someone were talking to me like that.

‘Fine. Yes.’

‘“In the days after the Great Goddess created the Earth⁠—”’

‘The Great Goddess Aitara! Listen, Caroline! That should say the Great Goddess Aitara.’

‘I shall amend that now,’ Caroline replies, dutifully revising her notes before continuing. ‘“In the days after the Great Goddess Aitara created the world, she birthed her six children. But the world was too big and lonely for the six of them alone, and so they created man. The Gods decided that the humans would have a share of their powers and distributed them among them, gifted for one life only, to be returned to the Gods via Mortidem upon death, and bestowed upon another at birth. But only six of the seven Gods agreed to this. Sanrott, God of Land and Sea, was angered by his siblings’ and mother’s choice, and as the centuries passed and his bitterness grew, he began stealing the magic back. The Sannings were the most isolated and nomadic of the humans, marked as different with their pale skin, pale blond hair, and peridot eyes. Their lives were so hidden in the forests that even the Gods did not notice what Sanrott was doing until it was too late and he had stripped the Sannings of their powers entirely.”’

A cold shiver runs down my spine. It is a compelling story, and her delivery is captivating, but I don’t have time for fairy tales – particularly not ones that are borderline blasphemy. I’m looking for answers and, hopefully, someone to help me find them, so I move into the woman’s line of sight.

As Caroline notices me, a smile – one which looks remarkably like gratitude – rises to her face.

‘I’m sorry, Rohan,’ she says, closing the notepad. ‘We’ve got to finish for today. I’ve other people I need to go and scribe for now. But I can meet you tomorrow?’

A grumbling sound clears from the man’s throat. ‘Already? But I haven’t even got to how Aitara and the other Gods sealed Sanrott up!’

Caroline’s smile flickers. ‘I’m sure we’ll get to that soon.’

She offers me a glance, and I know exactly what she’s saying.

He’s crazy.

Everyone knows that making up falsehoods about the Gods is a surefire way of turning them against you, but then, as he looks close to eighty and they’ve already taken his sight, I guess he’s not that worried.

‘Can I help take you to the west arc?’ she asks as she stands and helps Rohan gather his things. For a moment, I’m shocked by just how tall she is. Taller than me by a head and a half at least. As I try to stop myself from staring, Rohan shrugs her off and grabs the stick by his side.

‘I was walking these halls when you came in off whatever ship you arrived on.’

I stiffen and watch as Caroline does the same, though when she looks back to me, she simply rolls her eyes. I need no further assurances to know that Rohan is an arsehole. A blasphemous arsehole. Although apparently an independent one. Despite his age and lack of sight, he takes his books and strides confidently away from us.

Only when I can no longer hear his footsteps down the hall do I speak.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘Oh, you didn’t. Trust me, I was hoping for a reason to stop.’

There’s a calmness that radiates from Caroline that is so different from the Rettlings I’ve mixed with over the last twenty-four hours. Even the lovely ones. Probably because she’s not worrying if she’s going to survive. It’s refreshing to see.

‘Do you work here?’ I ask.

She shakes her head. ‘No. Normally I work in people’s homes when I’m scribing, and sometimes in the palace or court. Basically, wherever I’m required. It’s just with Rohan that I have to work down here. His family have had enough of hearing his stories, and unsurprisingly, people aren’t too keen to hear him in other parts of the library.’

‘He doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying, does he?’

‘Very much. It’s interesting what people believe, isn’t it?’

Her eyes drift away, and when they return to me, there’s a strange intensity in her gaze. Then it’s gone.

‘I’m not sure you’re going to find anybody who actually works here in this part of the library,’ she says. ‘But I can try to help. I’ve spent a scary amount of time down here over the last five years.’

‘Thank you. I’m Rose,’ I say, stretching out my hand. She looks a similar age to me. Perhaps older, around twenty-six. ‘And you’re Caroline?’

‘Yeah. Nice to meet you. I’m guessing since you came down from the barracks’ arc that you’re a Rettling?’

‘Yeah.’ The word leaves my lungs with a sigh. ‘I am.’

From the way she presses her lips together, I know she wants to ask questions about the Retterheld, but after this morning, I’m not entirely sure I can deal with them.

‘I know you’ve only been here for a couple of days, but have you had a chance to get to know many of the others?’ she asks softly, eyes apprehensive.

‘A few,’ I tell her. ‘Why? Do you know someone who was accepted?’

She lifts her thumb to her mouth and bites the nail. ‘I’m not sure. I have a couple of friends from home who I think may have gone in for the offering.’

‘Where are you from? I might recognise the names.’

‘The Eastern Isles?’ she says hopefully.

A hollowness consumes my stomach and heart, and all I can think about is Coulter’s face as the priestesses dragged him away past Jai’s lifeless body. Though I try to keep the horror off my face, from the way Caroline’s hand flies up to her mouth, I evidently didn’t do a great job.

‘Oh God. This is why I didn’t want to know,’ she says, covering her face as she shakes her head. ‘Forget I asked anything. Please.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean⁠—’

‘It’s fine. It’s better if I don’t know. Honestly, it’s been a mission to avoid people talking about it these last few days. I don’t know why I even asked. And I doubt they’d have been stupid enough to enter.’ She winces. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to imply … I wasn’t saying⁠—’