The Arkanist

Chapter Seven: Lessons

            I didn't have time to answer.

            "Good," he said as we passed beneath the archway and into the library. It looked the same as it had the day before, Alace jotting down notes on a piece of parchment with her back faced towards the doors, the atrium dim and ruddy. "Now, first order of business. You are to find these seven books." He slipped me a page of paper with a list of names scribbled across. "Read them, and we will discuss them tomorrow, among other things." Then he stopped and looked down at me, his voice going quiet. "I understand your father killed himself recently. I can see these things in your eyes. If you must, search for the answers you seek." He laid a hand to my shoulder. "I know the pain of losing someone you love. It hurts, more than anything in this world. Finding a reason will help, I hope."

            I would have thanked him, but he was already gone, like smoke on a field.

            It took me hours to search for the books he'd recommended, all of which were hulking tomes, dusty and ancient. While it felt good to be back in the library, I did not like what I was reading. It was dry and it was boring, but such is the study of history. I simply had to grit my teeth and keep my eyes from drooping.

            I didn't work. I suppose it did for a brief while, by pure willpower, keeping my eyes just slightly open, but will alone only goes so far. I let my head slip from my hand and rest upon the pages of the open book that I'd been reading.

            I woke with the side of my face wet with drool. Luckily, I was saved from my embarrassment. Nobody was there to see me wipe the slob from my chin and I prayed to Aylar that I nobody ever would. Reputation is a thing to be built, not destroyed.

            I returned the books to their proper places and checked myself out of the library, this time finding the time to flirt with Alace, who of course wasn't having any of it.

            "What do you say," I said in my sweetest voice, taking care to not come off desperate or over confident. It is understated but the placement of voice is extremely important, especially when conversing with women. It is an art. "I've a bit we can split over some tea and pie." I held up the small steel piece, dancing it through my fingers so that it caught the light and glinted.

            "Kaedn," she said, looking up for a brief moment from her parchment. "I don't have I the time, nor do I think Ammor would like it very much if I danced off with you to have tea and pie. You know Ammor, he's not the sort..."

            "To have a heart," I said, filling the gap in her words, but I understood what she was really saying: Fuck off, Kaedn, I don't want to have your stupid tea and pie. I didn't press her any farther. Instead, I tried a different approach. "What are you writing?"

            "Translating, actually," she said, noticeably irritated at my presence. "You know the tale of Emberlan Ever-Young?" I nodded. I wasn't daft. "Well, I'm translating that..." She smiled somewhat and sighed. "Old Lentish really is a bitch."            

            It was my time to leave. She had turned away and started working on her translation again, dipping her quill into the well of ink beside her. It looked backbreaking work, so I simply said, "Have fun!" in my most sarcastic tone and walked the rest of the way out of the library and into the streets of Raenish. When am I ever going to learn? I thought with a smirk. She doesn't like me. She never did and she never will. I simply shrugged and continued on. At least it was fun talking to her.

            The streets were busy, as usual. Less so closer to the lord's estates, but as I drifted farther and farther away, the crowds blossomed like a flower in spring and the throngs of people choked the cobbled walks like twigs in a stream. The cold kept the colors grey and drear, most wrapped in heavy wool or thick furs, each one varying shades of grey or black. I fit right in with my dark blue.