Ikelos (The Ephemeral: Book 2)

Chapter 21

We came to a wooden door embellished with a gilded floral pattern, and Regulas grinned at me over his shoulder.

"I appreciate your thirst for knowledge, Alex," he said, and he pushed the door open to reveal another giant chamber.  "It's something the two of us share in common."

In contrast to the rest of the palace, this particular room was furnished—the sheets gone, the dust absent—and despite the cool grays shooting down from the skylight, the gold and maroon patterns gave the space a special warmth and familiarity. But most eye-catching of all were the numerous rows of tiered shelves lining the walls.

Shelves stuffed with books.

Oh, Patrons.

My feet moved without instruction, pulling me into the spacious library, and my gaze swept over the weathered spines and scrolls and manuscripts—a rainbow of information. We'd only had a fraction of this collection back in Belgate, and none of these books had gone through the High Court's certification process. This was knowledge unfiltered, history uncensored.

A heavenly daydream confined to a hellish dungeon.

"Vast, isn't it?" 

Regulas watched me with another one of his smirks, and I immediately killed the awed look in my eye. You can't be impressed by the enemy's library, Al. Stop salivating.

"I still haven't read them all. Not for a lack of trying, of course," he said, running his hand along the nearest shelf and pulling a small paperback book out of the stack. "Rhea tried to salvage all the history it could after the Crash, knowing the value of an educated populace. Since then, the Sterling line has produced press-printed copies for all the clans." He jiggled the book in my direction, taunting me. "But this library...this library stores the originals." 

 I didn't take the bait, but it was harder than I'd like to admit.

Setting the book back in its proper place, the king sat down in one of the room's black, button-tufted chairs and gestured for me to take a seat across from him. I glanced at Will, who stood guard by the door, and I slumped into the matching chair with a scowl.

Four months ago, I thought I'd never set foot on a battlefield, and here I was sitting across from Godric's diabolical son in a Rhean palace. 

How many wrong turns can one girl take?

Regulas folded his hands in front of him, and I realized he bore the same black symbols on his knuckles as Will, the same scripture down the veins of his hand and along the belly of his wrists.  A teaching tool, Will had called the markings, for monarchs.

"Go ahead. Ask the question burning your tongue," the king prompted.

I had about sixty to choose from, but I went for the topic that could potentially expose a weakness or two. "Why is your shirt so bloody?"

His eyebrows lifted, as if that were the last thing he expected to pop out of my mouth, and he glanced down at the blood soaking through his tunic. "Ah...that. It's funny...I suppose I'm so used to the blood, there are times when I forget it's even there."  He released a huff of laughter.  "I can see why you'd be appalled."

"You just...forget you're bleeding to death?" I murmured.

He sighed, but he sounded more amused than anything. "I'm not bleeding out. It's an unhealing wound. A kind of payment for the power I yield." He looked up at the skylight and the swirling mass of darkness above us, almost like he was comforted by the demons and the bursts of red lightning overhead.