A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 27

An oppressive weight hung in the air in the library that had not been present since Bryaxis. A beast who once inhabited the dark heart of the catacombs, a creature still very much at large. The stillness upon the priestesses was smothering, as if the shroud that once covered Shelah draped them all. Even Azriel's shadows, those misbehaving entities who followed her during her shift, seemed to notice, sticking close, the invisible shades whipping around her back.

Deep in her bones, Gwyn expected something was going to happen, and she'd felt this way before, she realized. Before the gathering of dark-cloaked figures. Before the library came crashing on their feet.

She had to be alert.

One arm encircled the bundle of books; volumes Merrill insisted she pull. More tales of sea and water creatures, akin to the texts she carried when they were attacked. The other hand, her dagger hand, she kept close to her thigh, her blade well concealed under the robe in a thigh sheath. Just in case.

Head cast downward, eyes lowered, Gwyn walked hushed steps to the office she dreaded to approach daily. As far as Gwyn was concerned, Merrill wasn't merely upset with her, per se, but with everyone and everything. The young priestess could not help but take Merrill's criticism harshly, even if the verbal dressing-down may have only been a mere case of kicking the proverbial dog. There must be an unfortunate reason Merrill sought refuge in this library with the High Lord's blessing; something awful must have happened.

While a few priestesses were milling about, Gwyn crept past them undetected, ascending several flights before she arrived at her destination.

Merrill's office often made her want to visit The Prison just to determine if the fabled rock was as intimidating as Merrill's domain. Nesta often joked she'd sooner stick herself back in the Cauldron than deal with Merrill, "the insipid cunt," at least once every practice. Which, of course, made Gwyn snort with laughter.

This office was the final to be searched. Though, in her gut, Gwyn believed the office should have been her first check. Delivering the books was a valid excuse to enter. Merrill had just departed for a meeting in the temple, selecting music for the Autumn Solstice ceremony. The young priestess knew the House would unlock the entry if she asked. So that's exactly what she did.

The door sealed behind her in a hushed breeze, the lock virtually inaudible. Gwyn let out the gasp she'd been holding for three floors. Doing as Azriel instructed, she applied her Mind-Stilling techniques, regulating her breathing, keeping her heart rate under control. Calm. Collected. Clear. Focused. Be the rock.

She set the books on the deep burgundy leather armchair by the small woodstove. Only a ray of afternoon sunlight illuminated the somber granite suite as Gwyn studied the heaps of papers and notebooks, making note of their precise positions.

Transparent shadows curled around her as Gwyn thumbed through the documents and ledgers on Merrill's desk, finding only tally sheets and notes. Hurriedly she scanned for keywords, finding page after page of nothing but random numbers and dates, until near the bottom of the stack.

Valkyrie.

When she read the number below the title, her eyes narrowed—36 total. Which so happened to be exactly their present numbers. But how the hell would Merrill know their total? The cadets didn't chat about their practices when in the library area and Merrill never set foot outside the archives beyond the dorm rooms. How did she even have their figures? And, more importantly, why?

Gwyn flipped to the next page, her eyes finding a single title at the very top: Illyrian.

More amounts accompanied familial surnames and specified Illyrian settlements. Immediately, Gwyn withdrew a piece of scrap cotton and felt-tip pen from her robe pocket, flattening the fabric against the desk as she quickly copied the page.