There was light inside. A fire burned in a central pit, surrounded by twelve pillars that held up a complex framework of beams. The floor was covered in thick, richly decorated carpets, the walls in panel illustrations framed by wood timbers. The images depicted figures from mythology: Suri the Mystic, Raithe the Martyr, the White Wolf, the tree Magda, Gronbach the dwarf, and of course Persephone and Nyphron, who were real people. Farilane searched the flickering shadows for the keeper of the fire but saw no one. She did spot a set of wooden stairs going up and one of stone heading down.

She looked at Kile. Once more, they spoke as one, “Down.” Again, the two smiled at the coincidence.

“Did you two rehearse this last night?” Sheldon asked.

“What we did last night is none of your business,” Farilane said, and grinned suggestively.

This solicited a shocked look from Sheldon, which would have lasted longer if Kile hadn’t appeared just as surprised.

They crossed to the stairs. On the way, the princess pulled down a lantern suspended from a chain and lit the candle inside from the central fire, then led the way down.

The stair spiraled, corkscrewing deep into the hill. At the base was a tall, narrow door built of bronze. The symbol embossed on the face suggested the monks never expected anyone of imperial authority to reach that place. The image depicted a crime: a bas-relief of an open book.

Farilane was certain the door would be locked. It had a latch, but when she lifted it, she heard and felt a clank, and the door swung inward. They rely on the forest, she thought. No one ever gets this far.

Holding up the lantern, the princess entered, took five steps, then gasped—nearly dropping the light. “Havers and faddle!” she exclaimed as the candle’s illumination revealed just a small portion of the room. “It’s a bibliary.”

“A what?” Sheldon asked.

“A home for books,” Kile explained.

Farilane moved into the center of the chamber and rotated in a circle, overwhelmed. The whole of the room was full of books. Three stories of shelves lined the walls, made accessible by ladders. Freestanding shelves and cleverly tilted desks held even more. Some of the books were as large as she was, others not much bigger than her thumbnail. Many were codices, others free scrolls. Never had Farilane seen such a collection. “Incredible.”

Moving to a table, she put down the lantern and brushed her fingers over the raised spines of a row of books, confirming they were real. The one she stopped on was Proverbs of the Soul by Girard Hily.