Drothiker

22.

     

Syrene returned from the training at night, despite the fact that Azryle had said she would train with him at night. Ferouzeh had punished Syrene and Maeren for their behavior, not swallowing Syrene's lie.

When she returned, Ferouzeh reminded Syrene of the book Azryle had parted for her in the library.

And library, apparently, was inside Azryle's bedroom. Syrene had urged Ferouzeh to obtain the book for her, but the ripper had enchantments bulwarking the library, Ferouzeh couldn't cross the threshold.

Syrene didn't know what she'd expected his bedroom to look like, but a clean, well-organized one was not it—though she supposed he could wave his hand and it'd assemble itself. It was vaster than the guestroom, bed bigger.

There were two doors inside—it didn't take her long to figure out that the wider one beside the bed was library, and the lean one beside the armoire was bathroom. Syrene headed for the library.

And stilled when she crossed the threshold.

It was dark here, only dim golden lights were providing dim light—even those were stuttering. The temperature here seemed to have dropped, suddenly felt as if she'd stepped into winter. Shelves casted long, long shadows, and she could have sworn a cold breeze swept by her, grazing her skin. Syrene shuddered.

Her heart began hammering, throat closed. No—not the tower.

Library. She was in the library.

World began whirling, her speeding heart began bellowing in her ears.

She hadn't realized when her eyes had commenced watering, her teeth clattering. She was not in the tower, not in the tower—

Syrene shut her eyes for a second, shut out the roaring.

Hold your heart sturdy, your will unyielding, and you shall see the power in trembling the cores.

She opened her eyes, and let her mother's voice usurp the bellowing and escort her. Into the dark she glared, and began stalking towards the table not far from her—where books and a few pages were situated—

There was a low growl.

No, no, no, not again—

Syrene spun back to the door, she could get the books tomorrow, ask Azryle. But then—

"Are you going to leave so soon?"

Her heart climbed to her throat at the dismaying voice, but Syrene continued walking.

"Come to me and I shall grant you that what you wish the most, Heir of Grinon Alpenstride, the Protector of the Sword of Ondes."

Syrene paused at that, and turned. She opened her mouth to speak but—

A hand came casing her mouth, and she was pinned against a shelf. For a moment, Syrene imagined herself getting eaten and shut her eyes so tight that she imagined they might as well stumble back into the chasm of her body.

But when Syrene opened them, Azryle had a finger on his mouth, shushing silently, quicksilver eyes wide with warning and alarm. He was still hooded, as if heard the creature's voice all the way to the apartment's door, and raced here.

Azryle's hand on her mouth enclosed the majority of her lower face, and Syrene allowed that bit of warmth to seep into her cold skin.

His other hand lowered from his own mouth and gripped Syrene's elbow—to haul her out. When she looked to the table for the book, she didn't find it there.