I want to help, Aurelle said. Oh look! A copy of Francesca di Veres love poems! Theyre so beautiful, arent they?

Greave wanted to say that none of them was as beautiful as her, but he didnt have the words for it. I havent read them, he managed instead. It occurred to him that this was a chance to learn something about her. Are you here for the wedding?

I am, Aurelle said. My family is just important enough to be invited. Although Im quite lost here. The castle is far larger than I expected, and as for the city…

Perhaps I could show you around, Greave blurted, even though he hadnt meant to do it. Even though he had so many more important things that he should be doing.

Id like that, Aurelle said. She held out her arm. Now? Since youve finished looking for your book, I mean?

Greave knew he couldnt tell her that the love poems werent what he was searching for, that he still had a book to find, without explaining what, and why. Well, he could, but then it would look as though he had no interest in her, and that simply wasnt the truth. Instead, he stood straight, took the book of Francesca di Veres poems, and took hold of Aurelles arm.

I would like that too, he said. After all, how long could this take? Whatever secret was hidden away in the library, it would still be there when they were done.

And he would find it, whatever it was.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nerra went to Physicker Jarrans quarters and knocked, the strange scent of the place striking her as she did it. There was always a mix of rot and brightness about the place, the sharpness of the herbs he worked with mixed in with the decay of those bodies of criminals he kept for dissection.

Enter, enter! he called out in a jolly voice. For someone who worked with the dead and the dying so much, he always managed to sound more cheerful than he had a right to.

Nerra pushed open the door and stepped inside, trying to leave it as long as possible before taking another breath there. The quarters were large, on the bottom level of the castle, with window slits above whose light was patterned by fragments of stained glass. Most of the light came from candles kept in jars, carefully just far enough away from whatever the physicker was working on in that moment that they wouldnt set light to it.

The room had probably once been a crypt or a chapel, with slabs that now held bodies in various states of dissection, and one whole end of the room given over to living quarters, a layer of rugs and carpets marking it out as different from the rest. There was a desk there, a large board filled with chalked observations, a bed, and a table with chairs around it.