Sevensworn

XXIV. Library of the Gods

He refused to tell Shivaroth about the events that had transpired until Terr'Havel was far out of sight. He had managed a cordial goodbye; Wynne had hugged him, telling him to come back in one piece, while Zia had passed him an extra dagger and told him to see her when he returned. He had agreed, then turned to bid Liliana farewell. Acaeus had reluctantly come outside as he made to get on his horse⁠—miraculously, he kept his tone steady and unconcerned as he echoed the same goodbye to him.

Shivaroth had caught wind of trouble, of course, and had asked about it immediately, but he'd kept his jaw clenched and his shoulders tight until they were well on the road. When he finally admitted it, it was defeated and small, almost lost to the pounding of the horses' hooves.

"He is leaving, then?" Shivaroth asked, mercifully averting his gaze as Ronan swiped his sleeve angrily across his eyes as the tears he'd been holding back finally came forward.

"That's what it sounds like," he said, a miserable tremor in his voice. "It doesn't matter. I got on fine without him before."

"Ronan, you are allowed to be upset. You love him, he has been there by your side since you were a boy, you are allowed to want him to stay. You do not have to hold that back."

"But I⁠—" he shook his head, ashamed. He sounded like a child. "I appreciate the thought."

It was dropped after that, and neither of them spoke much as they rode, each lost in their own respective thoughts. Ronan briefly wondered what Shivaroth was thinking about⁠—upon glancing up at him, he found that the god appeared to be completely at ease. The only thing that gave him away was the dejected, downturned angle of his pointed ears. They each had much to process. It was not surprising that whatever Shivaroth was thinking about was distressing⁠—or at the very least immersive⁠—enough to manifest physically.

Their journey was miraculously unhindered. They ran into none of the things Ronan had come to associate with his gradually worsening luck; there were no soldiers, no near-death experiences, no visions. Even his mind had gone silent, allowing him a brief respite from the voices. He let himself relax.

It was late enough in the evening that they didn't pass many travelers on the road. The route Shivaroth was taking them on led them through towering stone ruins and small villages, providing a multitude of sights to occupy his thoughts. The going only got rough when they entered the mountain pass, as while the snowfall had been light in the Midlands it was anything but the moment they got above sea level. It soon became so hard to see that Shivaroth raised a hand and summoned a shimmering ball of light in his palm, illuminating their path but doing little to cut through the blizzard around them.

Ronan simply pulled his cloak tighter around him and tucked his face into the fur collar, shielding his lips and nose from the worst of the cold.

"Ronan?" Shivaroth called his name from the front about an hour or so after they'd entered the pass.

"What is it?" His voice was muffled by the cloak, and he slowed his horse to a stop as Shivaroth did.

"Would you pass me the map?"

Ronan did, and Shivaroth studied it for a moment. A bird called somewhere in the distance, and received an answer a moment later. They must have been close if Ronan could hear them above the storm.

"Alright," Shivaroth said, handing the map back to Ronan, who tucked it into his saddlebag. "We will soon be out of the pass, and then it is a straight shot to the sea."

"Where exactly are we going?" Ronan asked. "There aren't any structures as large as you say this library is on this side of the mountains."

"You will see," Shivaroth murmured, audibly smiling. "I believe you will appreciate it more if it is unknown to you until we arrive."