He glared. “If you even consider sneaking out of this palace without me, I will hunt you down and smack your ass until it’s raw.”

She glared right back. “You have any better ideas, green eyes?”

For a second, she worried he might actually throw her over his shoulder right there and then and follow through with his threat, but he eventually sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Though not as large, there is also one here. Jae used it for my studying materials growing up because the other was too far away for him to visit after his dinner shifts in the kitchen.”

“Perfect,” she said, smiling widely and gesturing to the contraption in her hand. “Now hurry up and help me lace this up because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

* * *

A quick, dry breakfast that Jaren had all but forced her to swallow down, two shy servants who looked ready to bolt at the sight of her, and three wrong turns later, they finally reached the palace library.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but a two-level, dark, musty room wasn’t it. Although there were a multitude of sconces along the walls and lanterns on each table, they did very little to shed light throughout the maze of shelves.

“Was it everything you’d hope it’d be?” Jaren asked, bumping her arm.

She scrunched her nose, somehow convincing herself not to elbow him in the gut. “I’ll admit I’m a little underwhelmed. I thought libraries were fancier.”

“It’s two levels of texts and scrolls that are older than our grandfathers’ grandfathers, written by ancient, stuffy Magyki who loved to hear themselves speak. There’s nothing fancy about that.”

She craned her neck back to look at the higher level, which looked even darker than the first. “How does anyone even read what they pick out? It feels like a crypt in here.”

Granted, she’d never been in one of those either, so maybe all her assumptions were set to be wrong.

“The scribes know where everything is at, and they just read them at the tables.”

“Oh.” Duh.

He chuckled, taking her by the hand and leading her between the sets of tables until they reached a large, wooden desk in the center of the room.

Seated behind it was, in fact, an ancient, white-haired, stuffy looking Magyki. By the skin spots and creases across his skin, he had to have been pushing one-hundred-fifty years old at the youngest.

“We’re looking for any information you have on the history of the gods’ blessing,” Jaren said, sharp and to the point.

The male’s face crinkled, almost folding in on itself as he directed Jaren where to go. He lifted a shaky arm to point up the lone, spiral staircase behind him, only to smack it to his chest and rear back with a gasp when his gaze landed on her.

Moving faster than anyone his age should be capable of, he shoved away from the desk and fell to his knees, disappearing behind the desk as he did. His joints echoed out through the silent room, and she could do nothing but stare at the spot he’d vacated.