Eryshae

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Vael

Library

The library was still. Shelves stood like sentinels in the low firelight, their spines dulled by dust and time. A single oil lamp burned near the hearth, where Lorna Weaver sat curled into a reading chair too large for her frame. She did not rise as Vael and Sam entered, only closed her book with quiet finality and looked up at them with hollow, waiting eyes.

The mirror above the hearth was ornate, carved in twisting patterns of ivy and thorns, bronze-leafed and heavy. It caught the room in dim reflection: flames flickering like breath, books huddled in shadow, three figures now gathered beneath it. Its surface shimmered slightly with the warmth of the fire, but Vael couldn't shake the sense that it was colder than the rest of the room.

Her dress was a dull gray-blue, simple, functional. Her hair was dark and tightly braided down her back, but her skin was pale, washed-out, like something left too long beneath the moon.

But it was her eyes that caught him. Her eyes didn't blink enough. And when they did, they blinked wrong, too slow, like the turn of a head at midnight in an empty aviary.

They weren't vacant.

They were watching.

A blanket pooled around her shoulders. An open book rested on her lap, though the way her fingers clutched the pages said she hadn't read a word.

Her eyes were too wide.

Not with innocence.

With knowing.

Lorna's voice broke the silence.

"Hi," she said softly. Not startled. Not afraid. "I was wondering when you'd come."

"Are you here to ask about Mister Greaves?"

There was no fear in her tone. No surprise. Just inevitability. The way someone might ask if you'd come to collect a debt they knew they owed. Vael stepped forward slowly, her boots muffled by the woven rug beneath her. "Yes," she said. "We are."

Lorna's hands rested in her lap. Small. Pale. Unmoving. She didn't blink. "He was kind. But the inn didn't want him here." Vael exchanged a glance with Sam, then looked back at the girl. "Why not?"

Lorna's eyes drifted, not to Vael, not to Sam, but upward, to the mirror. Its surface caught her reflection, but Vael noticed the girl's expression didn't change when she saw it. She didn't even seem to register her own face.

"Because he didn't listen," Lorna whispered. "He asked questions. He stayed up too late. And he saw something he shouldn't have." Vael tilted her head. "Saw what?" A long pause.

Then Lorna said, almost dreamlike, "The mirror didn't like him." The fire crackled. The mirror remained still. But Vael felt it watching her, somehow, the way one feels pressure without contact, like eyes behind glass. "Lorna," she said softly, "did Mister Greaves speak to you?"

"No," Lorna said. Then, after a beat, "But sometimes, when no one else is in the library, you can hear whispers. If you sit very still. If you listen between the fire and the mirror." Sam moved subtly, eyes flicking to the ornate frame above them. "What does the mirror say?" Vael asked. Lorna finally looked her in the eye.

"It says whatever you want to hear," she murmured. "It's clever like that. And hungry." Vael felt the chill before she realized she was holding her breath. "But," Lorna added suddenly, voice tilting upward into something almost casual, "Mister Greaves wasn't the only one sneaking around. I saw Darc Malrick out of bed the same night. He was near the cellar stairs, just standing there, listening." Sam frowned. "What was he listening to?"

"I don't know." Lorna's lips pressed together, thoughtful. "But he had something in his hand. I think it was wrapped in cloth. Could've been a bottle. Or… something else."

"A weapon?" Vael asked carefully. Lorna only shrugged, as if the idea bored her. "Maybe. Or maybe he was just drunk. He's not very polite when he drinks, is he?" Sam and Vael exchanged a look. It wasn't much. But it was enough to cast suspicion elsewhere.

Then Lorna stood, gathering the blanket around her shoulders. "I should sleep," she said, her voice losing that strange clarity and returning to something softer. "Mother says I get too pale when I stay up late. And tomorrow will be… heavier than today."

Vael took a small step forward. "Thank you for speaking with us."bLorna nodded, then paused beside the hearth. Her eyes flicked once more to the mirror, her gaze tracked something else across the glass, something neither of them could see.

Then, quietly: "Goodnight." She disappeared down the back hall without another word, leaving the fire to settle into embers and the mirror to catch only two reflections. Sam exhaled. "Well."nVael crossed her arms. "That was a red herring if I've ever seen one."

"But maybe not all of it." Sam's brow furrowed. "We should talk to Malrick. See what he was doing near the cellar." Vael nodded once, eyes still fixed on the mirror. "Later. I don't want to follow another shadow until we're sure it's not just smoke."

The hearth's warmth barely touched the corners of the library. Shadows clung like breath to the high shelves, and dust glimmered in the golden light. Vale's fingers skimmed the rows, each spine a whisper of ink and age. The room smelled of paper, salt, and something older beneath. She read titles aloud in her mind as she walked.

"The Age of Hollow Thrones."

A classic of grim coastal politics. Dry reading, but the heraldry diagrams were striking. She remembered a tutor falling asleep mid-lecture with this one open on his chest.

"Maritime Folklore of the Salted Coast."

She paused. Vael had read this one in pieces, superstitions about drowning bells, fisher ghosts, salt-born omens. Some of it felt too close to the truth lately.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"The Black Tally."

She exhaled slowly. This one unsettled her. Names of people who disappeared without a trace, supposedly recorded by a "benevolent census." Her uncle Farouq used to say the book would write you in if you read it out loud.

"Reflections and Reversals."

Her fingers hovered. No author. Something about glass rites and rituals. She'd seen this cited in a footnote once… but the references had been redacted.

"A History of the Heron Houses."

Dust on the spine, but the binding was newer. She flipped it open, there, a chapter on the Drowned Heron itself. "Formerly the House of Quiet Mourning." That was new.

"The Scholar's Bones."

She tilted her head. A collection of dead languages. She remembered this being banned in the Ichi Court library for its "blasphemous glyphs." Which only made her want to read it more.

"Of Mirrors, Smoke, and Saints."

She didn't reach for it. Too many eyes carved into the margins. And none of them looked away.

"The Reaping Seasons."

Supposedly a farmer's almanac. She'd heard it referenced in an old military journal as "coded prophecy." The harvests weren't always crops.

"The Deal-Maker's Register."

Unlabeled spine. Only the wary weight of it made her pull it from the shelf. Names written and rewritten. Ink that bled backward into the page. She had the distinct sense it was not a book but a contract pretending to be one.

"The Silence of Second Faces."

A memoir, unmarked author, again. She remembered reading excerpts during a fencing trip abroad. The way the writer described mirrors as "second mouths." She replaced it without a sound.

And then, a cluster of books off to the side, tucked between theology and poetry. The unmistakable bindings. Velvet, gilt. Slightly more worn.

"The Fifth Night's Fire."

Vale smiled. This one she knew. A slow-burn lovers' story set in storm season. She'd stolen it from a commander's private shelf during training and read it by firelight. Twice.

"In the Mirror's Arms."

That one was... haunting. Erotic, yes, but the ending had stuck with her. The figure in the mirror didn't leave. She'd read it under protest when a friend passed it to her with a wink.

"Beneath the Bodice, Beside the Sea."

Trashy. Wet. Delightful. Vale raised an eyebrow. "Still not as steamy as the title promises," she murmured aloud, then glanced toward the door. Quiet.

"Velvet and Vows."

She had dog-eared this one in a summer lodge as a teen. Secret lovers. Mistaken identities. She remembered the lace descriptions more than the plot.

"The Reflection's Caress."

She hesitated. This wasn't familiar. A new one? Or rare? The leather was strangely cold. She tucked it under her arm.

"Letters Never Sent."

A diary-style confessional. Vale remembered this too well, chapter four had been so emotionally raw she'd actually put the book down for a full day.

"The Alchemist's Touch."

Oh, she'd read this one in a closet, hidden under a fur throw, blushing in the dark. A little silly. A little too commanding. She smiled to herself and coughed lightly.

"The Dancer Behind the Glass."

More poetic than erotic, really. But the descriptions of the performances… vivid. She thumbed through the first few pages and shook her head, amused.

"Seafoam and Skin."

A selkie story. Always tragic. Always tempting. She skimmed the inside flap. Yes, this version ended the way she hoped. She slid it into her other arm.

"The Orchard's Mouth."

She paused. Now this one… she didn't remember reading, but she remembered hearing about it. A friend had once claimed it was "too much for polite company." Naturally, Vale intended to test that theory.

She stood still, cradling a small stack of titles. History. Lore. Lust. And the whisper of truth threaded between them all like a silken ribbon. Her gaze drifted up, to the ornate mirror over the hearth, catching only flickers of her green hair in the firelight.

Vale set the last book down on the reading table, The Orchard's Mouth, of all things, and exhaled. The library had a strange stillness now, like it was waiting. The fire cracked, low and steady behind her, casting the room in flickering gold.

From the far side of the shelves, soft footsteps approached. Sam's voice broke the silence. "Found anything useful?" Vale turned, arms crossed, the whisper of a smile on her lips. "Define useful." He raised a brow, catching sight of the books still stacked beside her. His mouth twitched. "You've been busy. I haven't found anything of note but something about this room feels off."

"I'm thorough." She stepped away from the table, brushing a bit of ash from her sleeve. "This place is older than it lets on." Sam nodded, gaze drifting toward the large mirror over the hearth, gold and ornate. He didn't linger. "Ready?"

The library felt colder without Lorna in it. Vael stared a moment longer at the hearth, at the heavy mirror above it, then turned away first. Sam followed with a low breath, rubbing at the side of his neck. "You think she was lying?"

"Not exactly." Vael stepped into the hallway, boots silent on the worn rug. "But she didn't tell us everything. That makes it a kind of lie." Sam's voice dropped as he shut the door gently behind them. "And dropping Malrick's name like that… it felt too convenient."

"She wanted to give us a direction," Vael said. "Maybe so we wouldn't keep looking here." Sam nodded grimly. "Then let's see what Darc Malrick is hiding." They moved through the dim corridors of the guest wing, oil sconces flickering along the walls. A breeze rattled the lattice windows, too cold for summer. The hall forked, one path toward the stairs, the other deeper into the inn's guest rooms.

Vael stopped outside a door marked with a simple copper plaque: Malrick, D. She knocked, sharply. No answer. She glanced at Sam, then knocked again, harder. Still nothing. Sam reached for the handle and tried it. Locked. Vael frowned. "He's either asleep or not here."

"Or pretending not to be."

"Step back," she murmured. He did. Vael knelt quickly and pulled a thin sliver of bone from her belt pouch. She didn't explain where she got it. Sam didn't ask. She slid it into the seam of the lock with practiced care. The tumblers resisted at first… then clicked.

The door creaked open. "Don't say it," she muttered. Sam smiled faintly. "Wasn't gonna."

The room was dim, the curtains drawn. A single candle burned low on the writing desk. Papers were scattered, along with a wine glass half-full and ringed in red. Sam moved to the desk. There was a letter, half-written, addressed to no one.

They watch from behind the glass, and still he drinks. I warned him once. I won't again. The cellar knows.

Sam's brow furrowed. "The cellar again." She placed it back. "Let's not take it," she said. "Not yet. I want to see what he does." Sam crossed his arms, staring out the slit of moonlight through the curtain. "Do we even know where Malrick is right now?"

"No. But if he's sneaking out at night, we'll catch him." Vael turned, already calculating.

The candle had long since guttered. Only moonlight kept them company now, soft and silver through the stained-glass window at the end of the hallway. Vael sat with her back against the alcove's wall, knees drawn up, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of her belt knife. Sam sat beside her, shoulders just brushing.

They had an open view of Malrick's door from here. And so far, it hadn't moved. Vael exhaled slowly, watching the quiet hall. "He's either dead, or very good at sneaking out."

"Could be both," Sam murmured. She glanced sideways. "You think he's the one?"

"I don't know." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "That room felt... angry. Like it wanted to confess something. But maybe not to us." Vael went quiet again. Silence, for a time. Long enough for the stillness to settle in, not unwelcome. Their vigil had stretched past midnight, and the inn's bones creaked around them, soft gusts through old wood, the occasional groan of the structure settling. Somewhere, a clock ticked.

Sam's voice, low: "We're not going to catch him tonight, are we?" Vael didn't answer right away. Then: "No. But I don't want to stop watching."

He nodded. "Then we stay." They sat that way a while longer, side by side, still, watchful. But the warmth between them crept in slowly, like fog on the moor. Unspoken. At some point, Sam shifted. Vael leaned just slightly, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"I'll wake you if he moves," he said. "I'm not sleeping," she murmured. "You are," he said gently, after a beat. "It's alright." Her voice was drowsy now, despite herself. "You're warm."

A pause.

"So are you." Vael didn't answer. Her breathing had already slowed. Sam leaned back against the wall, angling just enough to support her without waking her. He let his eyes close, not to sleep, just to rest. Just for a second. But the second stretched. And the moonlight slipped on, unnoticed.