What the...
"Is this for real?" I ask the Librarian, who's peeking over my shoulder, reading what I just read.
"It very much is, yes. We all write our books of life in a different way. Some write it like a diary, others are like biographies in the third person. Some don't contain any words, but drawings. Skip a few years ahead."
I turn about fifty pages and suddenly, the sentences turn into music. Mozart no longer thinks in words, but in musical notes. I flick through the pages, in awe of his work. There are entire symphonies in this book.
"Is this the music he wrote, or something else entirely?"
The Librarian strokes his long beard. "Both, I believe. I recognise a few of the pieces of music in there, but a lot aren't familiar to me at all. It's an astonishing book, certainly. A lot easier to read than that of Pythagoras, or," he shudders, "Kafka."
"Is it only the important people who have books here?"
He frowns. "Child, didn't you listen? Everybody has a book in the Library, from the most nondescript peasant to the greatest kings. Gods, too. There is nobody, alive or dead, who doesn't have their book in this room."
"Even you?"
"Even me. Although we're not allowed to look at our own books. They're hidden from us, so I've never even seen mine."
"Aren't you tempted to read it?"
He chuckles. "Why? I prefer to live my life, rather than read about it afterwards. Living in the present is much more important than doing deeds to be admired for in the future. Not that anybody would ever admire me. I'm just the Librarian."
Somehow, I know that he is a lot more than just the caretaker of this Library. He's got an air around him that reminds me of that of a God. Is there a God of Books? I'll need to ask my mother.
Which makes me think...
"Does my mother have one?"
"Of course, but it's under lock and key. Beira's life, knowledge and experiences are far too dangerous for people to read. If you want to look at it, you'll have to ask her permission. But before you do that, ask yourself, would you want anyone to read your own book?"
It doesn't take me long to think about that. No, of course not. It's too personal. Maybe once I'm dead, but even then... And besides, I'm kind of Immortal now. Which begs the question, why I'm in the Library now. I thought only dead people came here. But I passed all the tests the last time I was here, I shouldn't be dead.
How did I not ask this when I woke up?
Oh yes, the books distracted me. Books tend to do that.
"Am I dead?" I ask him bluntly, and the Librarian smiles at me benevolently. He's got something grandfatherly about him, something that makes me want to hug him.
"Only if you choose to be," he says mysteriously.
"Why would I choose to be?"
"Some Immortals get tired of living, so sometimes, they get to choose whether they want to continue their lives or pass on. That is the only time we are allowed to look in our own books - the time we make the decision between life and death. Of course, mortals don't get to make that decision, so they'll never even know these books exist."
I feel bad for my adoptive parents, my friends, hell, everybody I knew on Earth. They're living in a world without magic, one that I used to be in but which now feels very far away.
"Does that mean I died and can be revived if I choose to?" I ask him, trying to make sense of it all.
"No, you haven't died. Not yet, anyway. For now, time is frozen at the exact point where you could die."
His eyes unfocus for a moment, then his sharp gaze returns.
"There was an explosion, right?"
I nod. "I think my magic flared. I don't really remember."
"It's about to collapse part of the Royal Palace. Your mother is transporting all the people out of it, but your barriers are up and she cannot reach you. Your choice is simple: let her save you or die."
"My Guardians are safe?"
He smiles indulgently.
"Everybody is safe. You're not deciding about anybody else's life. Just your own."
I'm struggling to think of a reason why I wouldn't want to live. I'm happy, right? I have four loving men, I'm healthy, I have my parents...
Wait.
It's as if I'm suddenly doused in cold water.
How could I forget? My mum is dead. My father a prisoner of the Morrigan.
I'm not happy. I was sad, so terribly alone and filled with hate.
Those emotions are only echoes now; this place is filtering out all the negative feelings and leaving just the good ones. Almost like Blaze's sparklies, but less fake. I can see that now. The sparklies only covered the bad things in a thick covering of sweetness, but underneath, it was all still there.
Here, it's not like that at all. I'm at peace here, despite knowing what happened. Like I'm distant from my emotions.
For the first time in weeks, I can think rationally. Not the imposed cold rationality I gained by locking away my very essence. By holding everybody at arm's length.
"Can I have a moment?" I ask the Librarian and he gives me a nod. "Just call when you need me, or once you've made a decision."
As soon as he's out of sight, I run back to the centre of the room, where the large round table is sitting. I take one of the index cards and hastily scribble my mum's name on it, getting ink all over my fingers.
The card flashes and a moment later, a row of text appears below the name.
Spoke 19, 4th shelf on the right, third from the bottom.
I turn around in a circle, looking for the correct spoke. Luckily, each of the shelved corridors leading away from the centre space have metal signs strung above them.
I find number 19 and hasten along it until I'm standing in front of the fourth shelf. It's a more modern one than Mozart's book stood on, made of bright polished beechwood. I don't even have to look for the right book, it's glowing and vibrating as soon as I come close.
The book is a lot thinner than that of Mozart's, but it's lined with something that looks like burgundy silk, putting it apart from the other books on the shelf. Gingerly, I take it and open it at a random page.
There are no words in it, just sketches, in the style she used to plan her paintings. Delicate strokes, precise and purposeful. The first image I see is that of a baby with full cheeks and a large smile, lying on a large pillow. I assume that's me. It must have been shortly after I was brought to Earth and given to my parents.
I turn the page. Another picture of me, this time a little older, crawling on the floor, looking very pleased with myself. I smile at the same time as tears fill my eyes. Even though there are no words in my mother's book, I can feel her essence in it. The love she had for me. The love she had for living. She was always so full of energy and happiness.
I flick past more images of me as a child until I reach one of her and my dad. They're sitting on a bench, hand in hand, looking at each other with unmistakable love in their eyes. It doesn't show the setting of this memory, but it doesn't matter, the important thing is the feelings they had for each other. Even after so many years together, they could still have moments like that.
With a heavy feeling in my stomach, I turn to the final page. It's a sketch of a dark room; most of the paper is filled with rushed, thick pen strokes. In the darkness, a fuzzy shape of a man, looking straight at me. His eyes are as filled with love as the picture of the bench. My dad is showing her what she means to him. It must have been the last thing she saw before the Morrigan killed her. At least he was there with her. She wasn't completely alone.
I glide my fingers over the page. I almost expect the drawing to smudge, but it's somehow part of the page, the ink deep inside the paper. Suddenly desperate to see my mother's face one last time, I flick through the pages, but there are none. Sketches of her parents, of a young version of my dad, a lot of me, but not a single drawing of herself. As if she didn't think herself important enough to be in her very own book. She's always been far too modest. We had to persuade her to show h
er paintings in an exhibition, and even then, she didn't believe people would want to see them. Only when they were all bought within the first day at the gallery, she started to be a little more confident in her abilities. But even when she had dozens of orders, she still kept her modest, down-to-earth outlook on her art. She wasn't doing it for the money, but because she needed to let the paint out of her body, as she used to say. I never really understood that until I saw the book. Now I know what she meant.
Mum.
A tear drops on my father's face, and I know what to do. I need to go back, I need to find him and make sure he's safe. And I need to tell my Guardians that I want them to be look at me in the same way my dad looked at my mum, even after twenty years of marriage. I want them to be mine forever. I may not be worthy of them, but I'm going to try everything in my power to heal the gashes I drove between us in the past weeks.
I've been an idiot.
Beira might rule with coldness and little emotion, but I'm not Beira.
She's waning at the same time as the Summer King, Angus, is rising in power. She thinks I don't know, but I've noticed how her energy is less, how she looks a little lost sometimes.
She's getting weaker. Her method isn't working. I need passion to counter Angus and the Morrigan, not cold-hearted detachment from the world and those who love me.
And I certainly don't need sparklies. Maybe it's a good thing that Blaze is gone. Temptation can be an evil little thing, attacking you when you least expect it.
"Librarian?" I call out and carefully put my mother's book back in its place on the shelf.
"Yes, my dear?"
He's suddenly standing behind me, as if he appeared out of thin air. Somehow, that seems likely.
"I'd like to go back, please. I have a lot of unfinished business."
He smiles at me.
"Of course. Are there any other books you'd like to look at while you're here?"
I think about it for a moment. It would be tempting to see what my Guardians think about me. Or I could look at my father's book, but I'm scared to see what may be happening to him just now.
"Can you tell if a person is dead?"
He smiles again. "Your father is still alive, dear. But you already knew that, didn't you, in here..."
He points at his chest.
"Ready?"
I nod.
"Take me home."
Chapter Four
I'm not quite sure what happened. One second, I was in the Library, then standing back in my bathroom, lightning whipping all around me, then soft arms around my waist pulled me into darkness.
Now I'm kneeling on the snow-covered ground, my stomach heaving. Teleporting - or however you call what my mother just did - is not agreeing with me. The pool of vomit in front of me is proof of that.
I wipe my mouth and sit up, looking around. People are standing all over the place, talking in small groups, shooting me suspicious glances. We're in the Palace's main courtyard, so big that you can fit the weekly market in here and still have space. Ice sculptures line the paths, depicting a variety of animals. Most of them are ones you can find on Earth, but there are also unicorns, dragons and some I can't identify.
I struggle to my feet, swaying a little. I expended a lot of energy and feel like going back to bed. But first, I need to find my Guardians. I don't recognise most of the people around me. A few of them look vaguely familiar, probably guards or servants. My mother is nowhere to be seen. She must have dropped me here and then disappeared again. I try and convince myself that she had to rescue other people, but maybe she's mad at me. I would be. I'm furious at myself. I should have my magic under control by now.
I turn, looking in the direction of my sleeping quarters. They can't be seen from this part of the Palace, but there's a plume of smoke visible behind some of the turrets. I hope I didn't destroy too much. It was bad enough burning down half of my parents' home, but now, I seem to have progressed to palaces. Am I going to level cities next?
Just when I'd got used to my magic, it's beginning to scare me again. I feel for my heart cave. My magic is curled up, sleeping innocently as if nothing had happened. What a monster. Sometimes she's cute and does what I want, but it doesn't make up for the times she runs amok and almost kills people.
"Wyn!"
I whirl around, just in time to see Frost running towards me, before his arms pull me close and I don't see anything except for the dark blue shirt my face is smothered against. I breathe in deeply, relaxing when his sea breeze scent fills my lungs. It always reminds me of a walk on the beach on a stormy day.
"Wyn," he whispers, hiding his face in the remaining half of my hair. He presses me hard against his body, so much it almost hurts. His hands are running over my back, not gentle, but claiming, as if he's making sure I'm really there. That I'm still his.
"Frost," I say softly, wiggling a little to let him know that he's making it hard to breathe. As much as I like being hugged, crushing my ribcage isn't on my agenda.
"Give me a second to enjoy this," he sighs into my hair, "before you turn back into the Ice Princess."
Is that what he thinks of me? That I'm about to push him away?
Sadly, not long ago he would have been right. Before the Library I would have run away already, not even letting him hug me like this. But I've changed. At least I hope I have.
As much as I would like to give into the illusion that everything will suddenly be fine, I'm too rational for that. Grief and revenge are still fighting for dominance inside of me. I still don't think I can love my men the same way before the Morrigan killed my mother. There's too much darkness all around for that to happen.
Once she's defeated, I'll be able to move on, maybe.
No, I won't. I'll never forget how my mum was taken from me. How I was absolutely powerless, despite all the magic I possess.
Frost presses me even closer, now really threatening to crack my ribs.
"A... little... tight," I wince and he immediately lessens his hold on me.
"Sorry," he mutters, still refusing to let me go. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it out of there... And then when I saw Her Majesty's expression... I thought it was too late."
Finally, I notice that I'm not actually returning the hug. I'm too overwhelmed by his presence, by the memory of the Library still swirling in my mind.
I put my hands around his waist, touching the hard muscles on his back.
"I'm not planning to push you away," I whisper, only then noticing that he never said he'd expected me to do that. But it was probably obvious. I've done nothing else to the guys for days now.
"You're not?"
He grips my shoulders and - ironically - pushes me back, breaking the hug, until he can look at me. His blue eyes are swirling with emotion, the darkness of his irises overshadowing the slight green usually mixing with the blue.
"Do you really mean that?"
I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. His expression is hard to read; I'm not sure if it's doubt or relief, or something else entirely.
"I need to hear that from you. I'm not sure I can believe it otherwise."
Something inside of me breaks. What did I do for my Guardian to say something like that?
Tears are flooding my eyes, tears I should have cried days ago.
"I won't push you away again," I repeat in a whisper. "And I'm sorry for what I did. I was a heartless bitch."
He chuckles softly. "I agree, but you had every reason to be."
I look over his shoulder, towards the plume of smoke still steadily climbing up into the sky.
"How bad is it?" I ask Frost and he pulls me closer again until my face is pressed against his chest, blocking the view of the destruction I wrought.
"Nobody got hurt. Your mother got them all out in time. I doubt that wing of the Palace will be liveable any time soon, though, unless her Majesty summons all the earth mages to make the repairs. There's only a handful here at the moment, the rest are spread all over the Realm."
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"What about Crispin?"
The image of his crumpled, unconscious body flashes in my mind. The trickle of blood on his forehead.
He's alive, my bond is telling me that, and I'm sure Frost would have said something if it was serious.
"He'll be alright. He was awake last time I saw him, although he couldn't remember what happened. The healer is looking after him, don't worry."
I shake my head against his chest.
"Of course I worry. I could have killed him! I should never have lost control that way, I should know better by now. How can I be in charge of this Realm if I can't even protect my own men from myself?!"
I hate how whiny and insecure I sound, and I hate the tears soaking Frost's shirt even more. I need to be strong - not the ice cold Wyn I was until earlier today, but the normal me, the confident, steadfast Wyn. The Wyn who took on an entire demon army.
"Arc has a theory," Frost says slowly. "He thinks the unicorn's sparklies weakened your barriers, made it harder for you to control your magic. In the past few days, you've not used your powers much, and they've built up, pressing against your barriers like a dammed lake until the pressure got too much."
"Fucking sparklies," I grumble, cursing both the unicorn for giving them to me and myself for requesting them in the first place.
Frost laughs drily. "Yes, fucking sparklies. Once Blaze returns, I'm going to unscrew his horn so he'll never be able to give them to you again."
"Do you think he's gone for good?"
"I don't know. He's disappeared before, but usually he comes back when someone needs him. Well, us, really, I don't think he knows many Guardians. Or Princesses."
"How has he helped you?"
Frost grows silent and his breathing quickens slightly. I can hear his heart thump faster and immediately regret asking that question. I have no right to ask him personal questions after what I did. I need to rebuild some bridges first, I think. Figuring out how much damage I did to our relationship will take some time. Especially with Crispin. Gods, I almost killed him. I'd understand if he'll never forgive me for that. Although of course I want him to. He's mine, my Crispy, my Guardian.
Winter Queen: A reverse harem novel (Daughter of Winter Book 3) Page 3
