by Emma Hamm
Finally, it was just Saafiya and Sigrid next to each other. Saafiya stood to the side, her eyes staring past Sigrid.
“So, you see,” the first wife said. “I have good reason to hate your kind.”
“One rogue Beastkin doesn’t justify a hatred for an entire people.”
“Have you forgotten the war? The centuries of fighting, the beasts who attacked us at every corner. Do you know how many stories there are of farmers slaughtering their cattle for food and having it turn back into a person?” Saafiya shivered. “Your kind hide wherever they can. It’s unnatural, and it needs to end.”
“Perhaps it is you who is unnatural.”
Saafiya lifted her shoulder with grace. “The victor of this new war will determine who is natural and who will be run out of these sands. I don’t intend it to be my kind.”
A fire burned in her chest, spreading to her fingertips, and sending out a wave of heat. Saafiya flinched as it reached her, and Sigrid could almost hear the dangerous sizzle of hair.
Sigrid let out a slow breath. “I don’t take kindly to threats.”
“And yet you seem comfortable giving them.” The first wife pointed toward the door. “You may leave my private chambers now. I've given you the reasons why I dislike you. I owe you nothing else.”
“I didn’t come here asking for friendship.”
“Then why did you come?” Saafiya met her gaze as Sigrid stood. They were similar height, both tall enough to be intimidating.
“To understand.”
When the first wife’s eyes widened in surprise, Sigrid dropped into a low curtsy then left. She had no reason to linger within the opulent chamber any further. She was not welcome, and beyond that, she was making the other woman uncomfortable.
With such a past, she wasn’t surprised Saafiya wanted them all gone. Still, it wasn’t fair that she had judged an entire race of people because of what the Bymerians had done. She would have to talk with Jabbar about this history, learn if he had been there, and discover the Beastkin’s side of the tale.
If Sigrid had learned anything in her short life, it was that there were many sides to a story. Some more favorable than others.
She made her way as quickly as possible to her own, smaller chamber. They had no privacy, and yet she still grabbed Camilla’s arm and yanked her into a corner.
“Can you get a message to Jabbar?”
Camilla’s dark eyes widened. “Do you wish to meet him already? I thought you hadn’t figured out how yet.”
“I haven’t. This is about something entirely different. I spoke with Saafiya, and she shared some troubling stories of the Bymerian Beastkin.”
“You believed that witch?”
“She wasn’t lying, Camilla.” Sigrid felt a shiver trace down her spine. “She wanted me to know the truth, and now I need to understand their side.”
“He hasn’t even met you yet,” her sister whispered. “It’s unlikely he’ll share any truths with you.”
“Then how else are we going to find out what happened?”
Camilla tapped her mask. “There must be a library here?”
“Do you think they would record the truth as we do?”
“I think there’s always something to be learned, regardless of who writes it. We can read between the lines and draw our own conclusions.”
Sigrid found it odd that Camilla wouldn’t want to directly ask those who had lived it. She narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you want to ask the Beastkin men?”
“I-I…” Camilla stammered, then sighed. “Because I’m not sure we can trust them yet. With our safety, yes. But that they’ll tell us the truth? I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Why?”
“I think they want something from us. I just don’t know what yet.”
They were used to that story. Someone always wanted something from the Beastkin women of Wildewyn. Whether it was protection, reassurance, or just a beautiful bauble, no one ever wanted the Beastkin around as a friend or confidante. Not even their own kind, so it seemed.
She blew out a breath and nodded. “To the library then.”
“Shall we ask one of the guards?”
“I don’t think they’re allowed to speak with us.” As soon as she said it, she knew the words would merely antagonize her sister.
Camilla immediately spun and made her way toward the nearest guard in a doorway. The man stared straight ahead, ignoring the tiny dark woman in a mask. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him until his fingers give the slightest twitch.
“What are you doing?” she asked with the slightest chuckle. Had she laughed in public? When was the last time she’d done that out of her sister’s sight?
“I’m staring at him until he breaks.”
“I think they’re well-trained.” The man stood up a little straighter at her words.
“Oh, he’ll break. Eventually, he will be uncomfortable that an animal is staring up at him, wanting something, but I won't tell him until he asks. I can stand here all day.”
Sigrid sighed and seated herself across the hall on a bench. She didn’t need to stare at the man, Camilla could do that on her own. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to process all that Saafiya had told her.
Were the Beastkin here so feral? Perhaps, it was a bad idea to be visiting them if that were so. It hurt her heart to even think so. These men were her people. They could change form into animals that were glorious and wondrous. Surely, they had to share at least a few traits with herself and her sisters.
Regardless, it was important that she speak with them. They had to know something about this world that she wasn’t privy to. That even Nadir wasn’t privy to.
It felt important that she meet them. If they were dangerous, then so be it. So was she. Sigrid and Camilla were warriors by their own right and had yet to find someone with strength to compare to theirs.
The journey may be difficult, but the end would justify the means. She was certain.
“Ah, ha!” Camilla shouted, her words bouncing off the walls. “You moved!”
The guard gave a long, suffering sigh and relented. “What is it that you want, Beastkin?”
“Where’s the library?”
“The what?”
“The library.” Camila opened and closed her hands as if they were a book. “You know. Reading.”
He glanced at Sigrid with a helpless expression.
Slowly standing, she dusted off her skirts and said, “We wish to review the historical records of the kingdom.”
He grunted, then pointed down the hall. “The door with the red curtain.”
“They all have red curtains.”
“The bigger one,” he said with a snarl. The guard lifted his arms and gestured above his head. “You can’t miss it.”
Camilla looked at her. Sigrid shrugged. “Leave the poor man alone. I’m sure we’ll find it easy enough with his directions.”
He gave her a dubious look. The man was underestimating them if he thought they would have a difficult time finding a room with a door as large as he made it sound. Or perhaps he was lying to them. She had no way of knowing.
Camilla took her arm, and they walked down the halls side by side. A couple passing by, both dressed in the crimson colors of the sultanate, looked them up and down. They whispered words she couldn’t quite hear. Likely nothing good.
It took a long time to find the library with no small amount of searching. But eventually, they made it to the opposite side of the palace where a large keyhole door was covered with sheets of red silk.
They quietly slipped inside. A library was a sacred place in Wildewyn. The tomes hidden inside held the history of the world. Everyone knew to tread carefully in such a place.
A few people wandered through the tall stacks, but Sigrid was surprised to see that the massive library of Bymere was mostly empty. Instead, the only people here seemed to be the librarians themselves.
One such man rushed toward them, wringing his h
ands. He was small, more round than stocky, and shorter than her by more than a full head. He wore gold silk wrapped around his body and tossed over one shoulder. Tassels swung behind him as he walked.
“Sultana,” he gasped, swallowing hard and looking everywhere but her mask. “It’s an honor for you to grace this hall.”
“I wish to view historical references of my kind.”
He blew out a long, slow breath. “Why? If you’ll pardon my asking, Sultana, it’s an unusual request.”
“How so?”
“They aren’t kind renderings of your people,” he hesitantly replied. “I shouldn’t wish to insult you.”
She smiled beneath the mask, the movement lifting the metal ever so slightly. “Then fear not, Wordkeeper. It would be my honor to read the recordings of Bymerians. Regardless of what is said in such holy relics.”
He stared up at her with wide eyes and mouth agape. “Wordkeeper?”
“In Wildewyn, books are the most precious of treasures. We honor those who keep them safe and well. Wordkeeper is the title for those who dedicate their lives to the written craft.”
“Wordkeeper,” he repeated. “I quite like that.”
Sigrid inclined her head. “As do I."
The librarian shifted side to side before nodding. “Come with me then. The section on Beastkin is small, but I’m certain you’ll find something of interest between the pages.”
She was certain of that as well. The Bymerians were an intriguing lot, and the hatred for Beastkin ran deep in their veins. Sigrid already knew she would find that it also ran deep in their history.
They traversed between the tall walls of shelves that were meticulously taken care of. She admired their dedication to preserving the old vellum and new papyrus. The straight spines showed a level of care that proved their appreciation for history. Perhaps, even as much as the Earthen folk.
The librarian cleared his throat, and she turned her attention back to the man who led them through the stacks. “They suit your fancy?”
“More than I can say. You have an impressive collection. I believe it rivals even Wildewyn's famed Greenmire Castle, and the libraries there are renowned throughout both kingdoms.”
He let out a soft snort. “They aren’t, Sultana. We’ve always known that our libraries were far more impressive. But what can you expect from people who live close to nature?” He shivered. “All that dirt and earth is bad for the pages. Who knows how many insects might chew through them, and then there’s no replacing those tomes.”
“Not unless you have multiple copies. There are many monks in Wildewyn who spend their lives transcribing tales into new books in case of fire or…insects.”
Sigrid was glad for the mask that hid her grin. The man stammered for a moment, clearly uncomfortable and without words. She’d put him on the spot, however, and that was cruel. Sigrid took pity on him and gestured toward the nearest shelf.
“Is this where I will find the stories of Beastkin?”
“It is, Sultana.”
“Thank you, Wordkeeper. Your direction was invaluable. If we have further questions, we will seek you out.”
His cheeks burned bright red. “Sultana, I mean no disrespect, but we allow no one to touch the books other than the librarians like myself.”
“We honor books more than people. I assure you, we will handle each book with utmost care.”
He couldn’t say no to a sultana although she could see he wanted to. His mouth opened and closed multiple times before he finally let out another huff and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine then. There are gloves in that box, but make sure that you take care with them. Otherwise, I’ll have words with the sultan.”
Sigrid inclined her head and reached into the box placed at chest height on one of the shelves. She grabbed two pairs of the soft leather gloves and handed one to Camilla. When the man stomped off, Camilla let out a quiet laugh.
“I thought he would reach for the nearest book and hit you over the head with it,” her sister giggled.
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“And what does he mean by threatening to speak with the sultan? So many people throw that around. Do you think they realize it’s not threatening in the slightest? Their leader has done nothing to make me frightened of him.”
“They seem to think he’s frightening,” Sigrid mused. She selected two green volumes. The color spoke to her. “Read this one?”
Camilla took it without glancing at the title. “Sigrid, think for a moment with me. Is there something about the sultan that we don’t know? A reason they all belittle his name like he’s the worst person in the kingdom?”
“Because he is. The sultan is the only person who seems to order people’s deaths, and with that panel of advisors, I think this is a much more bloodthirsty regime than we are used to.” Sigrid searched for a place to sit, only to sigh when she realized there was none. There had to be a table somewhere. “I wouldn’t let it bother you.”
“It doesn’t bother me at all. I just think it’s strange that they throw his name around without his knowledge. Does the sultan know that they paint him as a warlord who will chase children down in their sleep while murdering their parents?”
Sigrid tossed her head back and let out a barking laugh. “They don’t make him out to be that. You’re delaying your reading.”
“It’s not my favorite pastime, now is it?”
“Camilla.”
Her sister pointed behind them. “There’s a table over there if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Ah, perfect. Are you coming with me, or are you going to stand in the middle of the stacks looking for the next book to hand me?”
Camilla perked up immediately. “Is that an option?”
“No.”
Sigrid made her way to the table and nodded to the librarian who stood on the other side. The man looked her up and down, turned white as a lily, and immediately closed his tome. He tucked it under his arm and walked away swiftly.
When would these people get used to her? Probably never. However, she hoped that at some point they would see her as a person, not as an animal.
Homesickness burned in her stomach. She had dearly loved traveling to the library with her sisters and losing themselves between the pages. They had traded stories like jewels. Each more precious than the last, and a gem that each sister could carry with them for the rest of their lives.
She missed them. They would have seen this library as a haven. And not a single one of them would ever have let her think for a moment that she was less of a person because a librarian wanted nothing to do with her.
Sigrid ran her gloved hand over the bindings of the book. The supple leather was well-oiled and carefully woven so that not a single page would fall out. It looked almost as though it had been created yesterday. The Beastkin were so despised here that it would be odd for them to take care of these particular tomes so well.
Wrinkling her brow, she gently opened the cover and set it against the table. Sigrid dove into the pages, and the world melted away. She didn’t care that Camilla might not be reading, or that the librarians likely stared at her, or that the sultan might stride in at any moment and demand that she stop.
All she cared about were the scrawled words written in black ink.
The author was, oddly enough, a farmer. He dictated the story to a scribe. A Beastkin had attacked their village. The farmer said it looked like a serpent, but longer than two men with venomous fangs and a hiss that turned men to stone.
A basilisk, she thought, although their kind had long since died. Humans didn’t like snakes that could kill them with a single bite. Even in Wildewyn they’d been hunted to extinction.
The beast had slithered into the farmer's small hovel and killed his wife and three daughters. In return, the entire village had hunted the creature down. They had lost six men, but finally they had severed its head.
When its form shifted back to that of a human, they realized it was a woma
n they all recognized. She’d lived in a neighboring village and had been caught in a battle between two families.
The story ended there, but she could see that some words had been struck from the page. Sigrid leaned closer and could barely make out the lingering ink that made the hairs on her arms raise.
The farmer continued in his story to say that he’d been young when he saw her, but that they hadn’t treated her “well” in the exchange between families. She’d been promised to him in marriage. He’d bedded her before their vows, then tossed her aside when he found out what she was. He claimed Beastkin weren’t meant to marry humans, and he had done nothing wrong.
But she’d hunted him down, regardless.
Another story told of a bear that attacked a merchant as he traveled to Misthall. It hadn’t hurt the man, but had stolen all his wares. They’d hunted it down and shot an arrow through its neck. The body and all the merchant’s things tumbled down a large hill.
By the time they found the body, now a man, they’d also found two emaciated children who needed the food their father had stolen. The merchant, being the good Bymerian that he was, had taken the food back and left the children in the desert.
Story after story filled the pages with Bymerians who were too frightened of the Beastkin to ever stop and speak with them. True, some of them were the Beastkin’s fault. Some of them were a shared fault, and others were filled with such cruelty that tears burned her eyes.
Camilla reached forward and pulled the book from her hands. “Come now, you'll get tears on the pages.”
“They couldn’t see past their own hatred,” she whispered, looking up to catch her sister’s gaze. “They’ve spent centuries hating each other so much that they’ve picked each other apart.”
“No. They’ve picked our people apart.” Camilla gently closed the book. “And don’t think that it’s just here, Sigrid. Even in Wildewyn, they’ve taken advantage of our people. Locked us away, made us little more than gilded pets they keep in cages. You know it isn’t right. You’ve known it for a long time.”
She had. It made her heart hurt and her stomach clench just knowing that everywhere she went, her people were suffering. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
