Lindorm Princess

Chapter 11

The library was massive, and covered in dried leaves and dust. Björk wrung his fingers, muttering commands across the room, and tidying the old parchments. I sat, perched on an old chaise that smelled of mildew, trying to help lift old tomes to their proper homes.

"No, my lady, please," begged Björk. "It is my duty to take care of this for you and the master."

"I insist," I said, firmly. At the books, I barked, "Skipuleggja!" I watched as they flew up, one by one, and organized themselves into the shelves. It was a useful command that Músartré had taught me, though begrudgingly.

The shelves themselves were gilded into little leave patterns, and flower vines, though they were blackened with age and grit. I trailed a hand across the design, and watched as it restored itself.

"What did I tell you about using influence unnecessarily?"

I jerked away from the shelf at the sudden sound of his voice.

"Slange!"

He filled up the entire doorway. Even the vaulted ceilings of the library suddenly seemed cramped and small in comparison to his large form. He surveyed the space with a quick nod.

"Good work Björk. We'll handle the rest."

Björk's mouth fell open.

"Master, are you sure? It is...well, it is simply not done."

Slange flashed him a long, toothy grin.

"I think you'll find that two hundred years have made me a changed fae. I am no longer averse to labor."

I watched as Björks eyes widened, and he moved to argue, before swallowing it in his throat.

"Very good master," he said, primly. He couldn't hide the small smile that cracked the bark grooves in his face.

Slange slid to the side of the room so that Björk could leave, curling up on the soft pillows of the alcove. I was reminded of our old gauntlet sessions, with him curled up onto the stump.

"Well?" I asked, raising my shoulders. "I am here to learn to read, I suppose."

"Indeed," Slange said, but he was not focusing on the mountains of books still surrounding the room. He appeared to be studying my face with great intent.

"And write," I added.

"Naturally," he said smoothly. "One must learn to write alongside reading."

I balled my hands into fists at my side.

"Out with it," I demanded. "Do I have the remains of breakfast on my face at all?" The Lændvættir had procured a large store of porridge from their own land claims, which I had been grateful for. They had topped the mixture with a dab of honey. I rubbed at the corner of my mouth with my sleeve.

"It is nothing," Slange said. "I am just admiring Músartré's craft. I do detect the scent of lilacs wafting about as well."

I absentmindedly touched my hand to my neck, where I had applied the lilac water. Músartré took great pains each day arranging baths and new outfits for every occasion. Today she had dressed me in another gossamer concoction that shimmered each time I moved. I supposed I could understand why he stared.

Slange shook his head, and then continued.

"In any case, you shall find in this room a number of records of our history, stories, as well as more advanced fae magic."

"Advanced magic?" I asked.

"Potions. Alchemy. Soothsaying." said Slange. "Those are more complex spells that require adequate preparation and proper chants, not just commands or willing something to happen."