Quill of Thieves

Chapter 3

Abel fanned herself with the pages of the book she'd kicked earlier, batting her eyelashes. "Why, Sebastian, is that how you go about sweet talking a woman?"

A piece of folded parchment fell from between the pages of the book and onto the floor, right beneath Abel's foot. Sebastian leapt from his chair. He'd only noticed it because of how closely he'd been watching Abel mishandle Elements of Fables; it had been one of Imogene's favorites to read to him as a child. 

"Don't move!" 

Abel paused mid-sentence, no doubt shocked by the highest sign of life he'd portrayed in days, the book dangling from her grasp. "What? What is it?"

He knelt, his fingers brushing her ankle as he swept up the fallen parchment out from beneath her feet. "You nearly stepped on it," he said.

Abel huffed at him, stepping out of his reach, for his hand was still braced around her ankle. "Honestly, Bash, I thought something was actually wrong—" but Sebastian had already tuned the rest of her words out because, as he turned over the thick parchment in his hands, he saw a single word written in a familiar, elegant hand:

Carissénas.

Dearest one.

Sebastian's hand shook as he unfolded the note. Foreign words blurred across the page as his vision swam. Imogene had used the Scribal tongue. Of course she had. A bout of sardonic laughter choked him as he read:

Carissénas,

Today marks one year since your father passed away and both our lives changed forever. I remember watching you as you processed how the world we created together had changed. You were so brave for me. It is my turn to be brave for you. Rest assured, that no matter what may have happened to us, we were always honored to raise you.

I know you consider this tongue a dead one, but I've long held the belief that it is the only language that truly lives. Even your father wondered why I insisted you learn it, but he understood it was the only language that ever truly spoke to me. Can you hear it, too? I know if you listen, you will.

Your life is more than this one, son. You have a soul for curiosity. Go find the truths the world has forgotten, seek your knowledge, and never forget to hope for greater things. Never doubt where your soul leads you, carissénas. Our souls hear the land's call, and it calls to you strongly.

Lastly, remember the story of Eilibir's Singers: just because the fish could not be seen, it did not mean they were not there.

Will all my love,

Ma

It was hard to swallow, as if the words from his ma's letter pressed against his windpipe. Feeling Abel's eyes on him, Sebastian wordlessly held out his hand and then sank into Imogene's favorite armchair. He braced his elbows on his knees and tried to breathe evenly as Abel read the letter behind him.

The ancient sound of the Scribal words pushed within the crevices of Sebastian's soul. The temples of his forehead pulsed against the questions, attempting to break them down, analyze them because what if he hadn't translated them correctly? After all, it had been years since he'd bothered to study—

Abel made a soft sound in her throat. "You forgot I can't read this."

Startled from his thoughts, Sebastian raised his head from his hands. "Oh, right." His fingers fumbled over the worn edges of the letter when Abel handed it back to him. "It's the ancient language of the Scribes. Some obscure historians even claim it was one of the first, written languages. Here. I'll read it to you."