Shelves along one wall were stacked with parchment scrolls, vellum, and a few tomes bound in smooth leather. Near the bed was a new plate of boiled pears atop two books I’d not noticed before and a folded note on rosewood parchment. I popped one pear into my mouth, toes curling from the sweet juices.

My gaze scanned the books beneath the plate. One was a copy of Tales of the Wanderer.

The other brought a reluctant thrill to my pulse—a stack of rice paper with notes about gestures, signals, and commands. With hurried fingers, I unfolded the note.

Didn’t want to disturb you in the washroom. Thought you might want to read up on craft. The second ledger is a gift from the Sentry. Ashwood told me he caught your unbreakable fascination with his hands, so he thought it would save you time and less staring to simply read through some of them…

I huffed. “Bastard.”

Even in writing, I could see his arrogant smirk, and had few doubts he’d said the exact words to Emi.

I think it is wise since you will likely see a great deal of him in coming days. Who knows, perhaps some understanding might alter your opinions of him.

Stav Nightlark

A slow grin cut over my mouth when I finished reading. Thoughtful of Emi, but I doubted it would do much to change my thoughts on the Sentry.

I plucked another slice of fruit and opened Tales of the Wanderer. The binding smelled of old leather and ink and dust.

Memories of Gammal’s smoke-haggard voice telling the tale filtered through my head with each page. “Why did the Wanderer divide the magic of the gods?”

“Why should I care about your myths and legends, girl?”

It was her response every time, but always said with a glint of mischief in her eyes. I’d beg no more than three times before the old Unfettered woman would recite the history of my lands, all to make a young girl beam with intrigue.

“This Wanderer chose his fate through tricks and betrayal.” Gammal would lower her voice to lift the hair on my arms. “The Wanderer’s wife realized her husband—already powerful—craved more. He wanted immortality like the gods.

“The god-queen feared the power-lust in her husband’s eyes. So, while the Wanderer slept, she stole three drops of his blood, then marked the brows of their three children, blessing them with the craft of their father, and taking it from her king.

“The first son was given craft of bone—to heal, manipulate, or rot. The second son, the craft of souls—to protect, control, or destroy. The third, to the Wanderer’s only daughter, the craft of blood—to heal, disease, or summon.”

One day, when I was bold enough, I asked the question I’d kept buried since I arrived at the young house. “Where does the silver curse fit, Gammal?”