I read faster, skimming through the journal beneath the fading glow of my lamp. It was short and half-finished, consisting mostly of Sella lore and history the author used to support their claims. If they were right, this might explain why riders typically came from the same families over the course of generations. Maybe whatever it was the crow latched on to was passed down from parent to child.

Could the way to hatch the crows be related to these lines somehow?

Footsteps echoed outside the library. Frowning, I doused my lamp and moved behind a nearby bookcase. The footsteps grew louder, and a light appeared down the center hall between the shelves. I peered around the edge.

Ericen stood in the doorway, glancing from bookcase to bookcase as if trying to decide where to start. I cursed silently. He was everywhere; I couldn’t escape him. Surely, it would only be worse in Illucia. He was in my head, in my thoughts and my emotions. He’d burrowed underneath my skin with his vicious smiles and barbed, caustic words, and everywhere I went, there he was.

I stepped into the glow of his lamp. “Need help finding something?”

To his credit, he didn’t jump. Only drew a sharp breath, the line of his jaw tightening. “Anthia. What are you doing up here?”

“That should be my question.”

His eyes narrowed, and he turned back the way he’d come without a word. I hurried after him, pulling the library door shut in our wake.

“No witty comeback?” I asked. “No clever explanation?”

He kept walking. “I wanted something to read.”

“There’s a library downstairs.”

“A small one.”

I snorted. “I can’t imagine what you’d be looking for that you’d just assume it wouldn’t be there.”

He didn’t respond, and a chill trickled down my spine. I actually could imagine something. Information from a bygone time. The sort of thing left in a forgotten place.

I cut him off, forcing him to an abrupt halt. His blue eyes looked silver in the moonlight, the shadow of his broad frame stretching into infinity.

“How did you even know there was another library up here?” I asked.

“I suggest you move.”

“I suggest you talk.” I held his gaze unflinchingly. He stared back, his eyes searching mine. “What are you looking for?”

After a moment’s pause, he said quietly, “I feel bad for you.” I bristled reflexively, but he wasn’t mocking me. His eyes had softened, his shoulders lowering. “You have no idea what’s happening.”

He didn’t wait for a response before brushing past me. I let him go, unsettled and confused by the feeling writhing in my chest.

Eight