Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
The way leads back to the library, and I find myself shrinking under the high ceiling, as if the glass dome above might break and let in sour rain at any moment. The old me would have hyperventilated out of joy at the sheer chance of seeing a place like this, but right now it looks too vast, and each nook hides shadows I wouldn’t dare touch..
The woman hasn’t been introduced to me, but she holds such a close resemblance to Tristan and takes care of someone called Nathan. Who else could she be if not Tristan’s sister, Sabine, of whom he’s told me about at length, back when the world around me still felt fascinating rather than scary?
“I would have had it dusted if I knew you were coming,” she says, leading the way behind a large counter holding several piles of thick volumes bound in leather. She then takes us between two tall blocks of shelves, all the way to a compact door decorated with thin pieces of brass arranged into complex floral patterns.
Since Tristan took me away from the tower, I’ve done nothing but traveled. Even the night at the inn was just a stop. My nervous system is shattered after what I’ve been through at Gloombane’s hands, and it’s hard to believe that he’s gone.
“Leave the door open for now,” Tristan says to his sister. “The royal medics will be coming any minute.”
Her expression turns from curious to worried. “Tristan. Your arm. What happened?”
“Tomorrow, Sabine.”
She nods, and we pass through the door onto yet another staircase. This one is winding, narrow, and leads up, with round glass walls in the middle. One glance over my shoulder and into the void beneath makes me tuck my face back against Tristan. I hate that I’m about to land in another tower, but at least not at the bottom of it this time.
All I want is a bit of respite and privacy. Comfort. Warmth. But as Tristan maneuvers us into the dark space illuminated by a faint glow seeping in through large stained glass windows, I can’t see that well without my glasses. The one closest to us depicts a dragon spitting fire at a group of knights. And what is that faint snow-like effect caught by the light?
Ah. Dust. So, so much dust.
Tristan touches the wall, and several green torches come on at the same time, revealing the vast yet cozy space with a slope on one side. Unlike the library below, the Book Mausoleum’s ceiling is low, with the intricately carved support beams hanging so low Tristan needs to duck as we pass.
This is not a room meant for living.
Countless shelves sag under the weight of old tomes. As we approach, I note that their spines are cracked, the covers—faded or bruised by heavy use. Some of the old books lean against each other like drunkards on their way from the tavern, others lie in uneven stacks, as if abandoned mid-search by someone who never returned.
But I also see faces.
The statue of a smirking gargoyle with a chipped ear watches us through a gap between the old volumes. A wooden angel whose wings were chopped off lies on the floor, a sentimental smile pasted to its face.
And behind a thick veil of cobwebs are skulls.
Human? Elven?
Does it matter when they’re stacked into a neat pyramid, like the result of some sick game?
“What the heck…” I mumble, pointing their way.
“It’s the mausoleum’s keepers from the past. Most had a wish to stay among the books after death,” Tristan explains, once more ducking as he carries me through a door where the green light is already burning.
This tiny space is a bedroom with a single window casting a yellow glow on the bed through stained glass. It looks just like an attic in some abandoned gothic manor, where a sickly orphan hopes to survive the winter among ghosts.
Tristan sets me down in a leather armchair next to it and gets to work preparing the space for me. He takes off the sheet protecting the bedding from dust, pulls out fresh pillows out of a black leather-bound chest decorated with bones, and surprises me when he strokes my head in passing.
I want to tell him off. Swat his hand away like it’s a mosquito, but the gentle warmth of the brief touch soothes me in ways I can’t describe. It’s as if something warm’s drizzled down my back and stayed that perfect temperature, not causing any discomfort whatsoever.
I feel so pathetic for needing him, but despite his betrayal, made obvious by the gentle tremor of his heartbeat I can now sense through the shadow thread connecting us, I need the solace of his company.
As long as he’s here, no one else is going to hurt me.
“Was that… your sister?”
“Yes, Sabine.” Tristan moves around swiftly, and I’m surprised a prince like him knows how to make a bed at all. “You remember I told you about her? She’s lovely, and kind, and is very interested in humans, so she will certainly want to visit you.”