“Actually, yes, there is,” I tell her, though I don’t actually know what help I’m going to ask for. Midnight black curls bob around her delicate features as she sits down next to me and looks expectantly at my face. She smells like vanilla and parchment, and it makes my brain turn off completely. I scramble to think of something to ask her for, hoping to keep her here. “Er, right, so, I’ve been reading about the thayar flower, and I found a passage last night that mentions they once grew in Velmara. Do you know of any other texts that mention that?”

Shit. That was not information I should have given her.

Her brows furrow. “No, I can’t say that I do. Could you show me the book? I might be able to find other titles like it.”

Digging through my bag, I realize I don’t even have the book. I’m a bumbling idiot. “I must have left it in my rooms,” I say with a shrug, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Then you’ll just have to seek me out tomorrow for more help!” she says with a smile. It lights up her face and makes her already breathtaking features otherworldly. My own lips lift in a grin.

“I guess I will,” I say with a smirk. She blushes, and it makes my own cheeks heat.

“Anything else you need help with? I’m incredibly bored and avoiding another scholar from Delsar,” she whispers conspiratorially. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.

“Hmmm,” I ponder aloud. “Maybe you could give me a tour of the archives. I’ve never been given one. I just showed up and started exploring.” Her eyes light up at that request, and she claps her hands together.

“I would love to! I hardly ever get to give tours. Dern always gives them. He probably skipped yours because he doesn’t like you very much. I don’t know why, you seem fine enough to me…” She trails off, and I smirk at her cheerful honesty. Horror crosses her expression, and she claps her hands over her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I spend so much time alone that I completely forget how to speak to others. And I’ve always been someone who speaks without thinking. The head librarian doesn’t like a lot of people, me included, so don’t take it too personally.”

“It’s okay. I don’t much like him either.” She grins.

“We’ll start with the oldest sections and make our way chronologically,” she declares, leading the way into the darkest corners of the archives. I follow, my eyes trailing her swishing hips.

We travel through the archives, Genevieve pointing out significant books or sections as we go. When we reach a dusty and sad looking set of shelves, she turns to me in delight.