“Yes, Your Majesty,” the other two said while I stared at my brother at a loss.
“Wonderful. I’ll have this returned to the scribes so they may begin making copies. Tomorrow morn, I would like to announce you to the Celear nobles after the morning prayers. This way, they will know of it and can smooth the path for the outlying vills when they are informed of you. Can you be dressed and ready for vespers at sunrise, Coelum?”
“I…yes, I can be, but don’t you worry that the church will tumble down around me when I step foot inside it?” The joke fell rather flat.
“Not at all. You are my brother. Ihdos will welcome you with open arms.”
He dashed off, with Pasil following on his heels. The wild wind blew the doors open as a boom of thunder rattled the very floor we stood upon. The lucent in my pocket thrummed with a violence I had never felt before.
I breathed in the salty air and frowned. The winds were sour, and the rain was pelting down as if a personal attack on the castle were taking place. Walking over to the doors, I grabbed them and lifted my eyes to the tumultuous skies. Something foul and angry was afoot out there, with devilish shapes dancing on the bolts of lightning as they leapt from cloud to cloud. A superstitious pirate, I may be, but this storm was not the usual typhoon that visited the south. This one held malice.
When I looked back, I found Le’ral staring at me, his expression tight. I wished I could ease his worry with another robust fuck, but we were student and tutor now. He had shown no sign of wishing to revisit our night of passion. Which was what we had agreed. If only I could stop thinking of him beneath me, spent and sated…
Slamming the doors on the tempest rocking the coast, I shook off my unease to return to my lessons on proper fork use. It would be funny if it were happening to someone else.
Alas, it wasn’t.
THE WORST THING ABOUT RECURRING NIGHTMARESis that you begin to dread falling asleep.
Aye, I had issues with my father. Name a son who didn’t, and aye, he kicked off, leaving me living a lie, but even with that ire still simmering in my stomach, I didnotwish to see his bloated corpse every damnable night.
So, I’d decided I would roam the castle library to avoid sleeping and perhaps, just perhaps, purge Le’ral Fylson from my thoughts. A rousing adventure tome should do the trick. With Prescott at my back, we found a willing guard to take us to the royal library.
Prescott’s gray eyes went round when we entered the dimly lit repertory. Mine did as well if I were being honest. Tens of thousands of books and scrolls rested on shelves that reached upward into candlelit multi-level tiers. Intricate stone rails separated the differing sections of reading materials. Standing at the bottom, looking upward at a domed glass ceiling—that now showed nothing but pounding rain amid flashes of wicked lightning—it felt as if the upper floors touched those angry clouds. Connecting the countless tiers were winding staircases. Smells of old leather bindings, beeswax, and a subtly sweet yet grassy aroma filled my nose. Stunned by the majesty of this royal library, it seemed to a half elf that exploring each level or reading each book would be truly impossible. Perhaps evento the full-blooded elves who lived for nigh onto a thousand seasons, it would be an unreachable goal.
“Books,” he whispered, clutching his well-worn picture book to the front of his new shirt. A massive blousy thing that hung off him nicely, accompanied with new trousers and boots. The boots he refused to wear for they bit his toes, he claimed. Gifts from the king. I’d heard that my crew were well fed and being treated like visiting dignitaries, much to the disdain of the innkeeper and his regulars. Understandable that a seaport town would loathe pirates being dressed better than they were, fed better than they were, and buying prettier whores than they could. Hyla kept an eye, as did Pith, but tensions were growing higher day by day.
A sleepy-looking older elf with wisps of white hair, a bent pointy ear, and a candle in a holder, wearing a nightgown, appeared out of the shadows. He had recently been sleeping, it appeared, for his face still bore pillow marks.
“Libraries closed. Holy Ihdos! A troll!” His shout echoed off the hundreds of rows and stacks of books. “Troll in the repository!Guards!”
“No, no, this isn’t a troll,” I rushed to say before the guards rushed in.
“My eyes are not that bad! I know a troll when I see one!”
Prescott meandered off, whispering about chicks and bunnies. “He’s my friend. My guardian. Half troll, half human, he loves books with pictures. Do you have any here that the prince and princess may read on occasion?”
He leaned in closer, a deep frown on his wrinkled face. “You are the pirate come to loot my books!”
“Nay, good keeper of the tomes, I’m not here to steal anything. I’m here to find a book for myself and my good friend to read, for sleep is difficult in a new bed.”
“I do not know what kind of hijinks you are trying to pull on me. It is well known that pirates and trolls cannot read, write, or partake in baths.” He held his candle up higher to see me better.
“I can assure you some do read, write, and bathe.” Many didn’t, but we’d not discuss my somewhat odoriferous crew. Nor would we bring up the ordeal of getting Prescott into a tub. “We just wish to find a book to read in front of a fire. That one over there looks perfect.” I pointed to a low fire in a large stone hearth. Four chairs sat in front of the fireplace, eager to hold a weary arse on a long, rainy night. “Just let us find something to read, then you may return to your bed. There are guards just outside the door. They will rush in if you shout loud enough. You have my word that no harm will come to you or your tomes.”
“Pah, a pirate’s word is worth nothing.”
“Well, I could summon the king from his chamber to come down to tell you to let me read a book,” I commented, hating to poke the old curmudgeon with royal connection, but by the sea hags twats, I only wished to read a damn book.
“No, no, no need for that. Fine. One book. One! For each of you. No troll or pirate is to sit on the chairs, for they were donated to the library by Grand Advisor Umeris Stillcloud. Only those of noble blood may be seated on them.”
I heaved a sigh. “Then we shall avail ourselves of that lush rug in front of the hearth.”
“Hmm, do not soil it. It came from the dwarf queen.”
“I’ll do my best to keep my bowels under control.”
“The same goes for your troll!” He sniffed at me, spun on his lone slipper, and made his way back to bed, mumbling about evildoers in Avolire who had no respect for library hours. I thought to call after him for directions on where to locate a rousing adventure in a library so massive that two of the navy’s new frigates would have fit comfortably inside it. The slammingof the door to his quarters told me he would sooner tell me to go fuck myself than point out a story. So, I lifted a candelabra from a side table and set off to help Prescott then myself. After a goodly time perusing shelf after shelf, we decided on a book for Prescott with small, detailed paintings of birds. I, unable to find a rousing tale of lust and swordplay, settled on a historical account of the dwarven dragon wars. Spreading out in front of the fire, we began reading. Prescott soon fell asleep with his cheek resting on a deep blue warbler. My head was nodding even though the tellings of the battles below the Witherhorns were rather exciting. The fire was warm, the rug thick. My eyes grew heavy then closed.