Quill of Thieves

Chapter 9 Part II

"I finished them," Sebastian explained hastily. "I picked up this book in the meantime. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, dear boy!" Master Lambert clapped his hands together. The sound startled Sebastian in the otherwise solitude of the Stacks. "Now, this is where you'll be doing the majority of your work each day. l expect you back tomorrow morning at sunrise. There will be more scrolls awaiting you, and they do not leave this room. Understood?"

Again, Sebastian nodded.

"Splendid. At sunset, Huvert will come to show you to the exit. I look forward to seeing you again, young man. Tomorrow morning," Lambert reminded him with a grin. "The scrolls will be waiting, and so will knowledge!"

Sebastian stared after the man for quite some time. His brain felt rattled from trying to keep up with the events of the day. He found it a bit strange that Master Lambert needed someone to translate. Was there really no one else in the capital, the city where those of highest intellect and creativity resided, who could accurately read the old language? Not to mention, as far as Sebastian understood it, no one bothered with stories written in the old language anymore. Especially not in a place like Halorium where Scribes were deemed treasonous traitors, at best.

Do not cut a full fishing net, his ma's words echoed in his head, Simply accept the luck and enjoy the meals.

It was rather tedious work, to be honest. After working through three Scribal fables—all of which he'd heard before from his ma—and what seemed like countless, repetitive hours, Sebastian sighed and leaned back against the chair, dragging a hand down his face. Though he had never put much academic stock into fables such as these, he was still determined to get his translation absolutely perfect, which turned out to be a more difficult task than he'd imagined. There were nuances to the old language that proved hard to compute into the more common language of Halorium. His brain enjoyed challenges, always had, but ancient fairy tales had never been ones to capture his interest.

He rubbed his eyes vigorously before settling back into his work, but it didn't take long for his eyelids to grow heavy--

Something yanked on his navel and pulled him from his stupor.

Recalling the specter from the night before, Sebastian jerked to attention, blinking rapidly. His stomach lurched as he looked up from the scrolls.

It was her. The cursing angel who had appeared in his and Abel's room at the inn. He knew it as surely as he recognized his own name when it was called. She watched him from her spot opposite his alcove, perched on a precariously stacked pile of books. Some primal instinct within him lifted its head and watched her back.

There was an assessing rigidity to her posture that forced Sebastian to tidy himself under the weight of her flinty gaze.

She couldn't truly be a ghost.

Her hood still hid the majority of her features, but Sebastian could tell she didn't seem at all pleased with him. It made him feel oddly defensive. His words blurted from his tongue. "You were in my room the other night."

The girl huffed out a chuckle that did not seem at all amused. "Your room? Has your male ego forgotten about the girl you were killing on your bed?"

"Killing? I was doing no such thing—!"

He imagined her expression was as icy as her tone. "Who are you?"

Perhaps calling her an angel had been an incorrect assumption to make even if he had thought of her as a foul-mouthed one. Sebastian frowned, crossing his arms across his chest if only to hide the shaking.