Farilane had the book propped up on the edge of the table. As she carefully ate a raspberry muffin so that the crumbs fell wide of the pages, she glared at anyone who set a glass of anything liquid near her. “Not yet.”

“What a waste of time,” the carpenter said, then slumped in his seat and huffed.

“I’m just pleased we are still welcome here,” Kile stated, smiling at the abbot, Hildreth, and Thorlac. “We did break that lid.”

“How did you know I was the princess?” Farilane asked the abbot.

“You are a tad famous, Your Highness,” he replied. “Even more so among the monasteries. We’ve been expecting you—actually, a bit worried about what was taking so long.”

“If you had sent word this was here, I’d have made Dibben my first stop. How long have you had it?”

“Abbot Dibben—the founder of our abbey—brought the remains of Bran here many centuries ago and built this monastery over his grave. No one has disturbed his rest until now.”

“So this letter addressed to Emperor Nolyn and his wife has been here for how long?”

“One thousand, seven hundred, and eighty years.”

“We had no idea there was any such thing in the book,” Hildreth said, holding a steaming cup of tea before her lips.

“That’s a pretty long time for a letter to go undelivered, and sadly it’s too late for Emperor Nolyn. Sadder still since it appears to have been an apology. It begins, I’m sorry, my friends, for waiting so long, but you will both outlive me by centuries . . . and yet that still wasn’t enough time.”

Thorlac nodded. “It’s possible, I suppose, that Bran never told anyone, wanting it to be found after his death. Or perhaps he wrote it in his last hours. They say he was found with a pen in his hand.”

“What about Brother Seymour Destone?” Sheldon asked. “Is he buried here?”

“You asked about him before,” the abbot said. “We’ve never heard of a Brother Seymour Destone.”

“Have you ever heard of the Horn of Gylindora?” Farilane asked.

The monks all exchanged inquiring glances, then all shook their heads.

Sheldon huffed again and grabbed another biscuit.

“What about the woman in the forest?” Kile asked.

This ignited expressions of concern. The abbot drew himself up, pushed back his plate, and placed the tips of his fingers together. “You speak of Ruby Finn.”

“Who is she?” Farilane asked.