Posey
Willow’s voice is soft. I press my phone to my ear with my shoulder, the recesses of the archives spanning out before me in dusty shelves and varying shades of black. I’m at least four levels underground, and the air is thin and murky as I zigzag, trying to find the table I claimed for myself earlier this morning.
“So, wait, you’re staying with Aris?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice low even though I might be the first person to take an interest in this section of the archives in like a thousand years. I balance the heavy books, standing on my toes to peer over the shorter shelves toward the lamplight that seems like it’s leagues away. “It wasn’t my decision.”
“Tell me again about this Morgan chick. She sounds awful.”
“She’s… gorgeous. Tall and lean, you know, like the models in your fashion magazines.”
Willow snorts. “Come on, Posey. Their engagement is all over the news, but the royals haven’t uttered a word about it. Is he for real?”
“I think so. I haven’t spoken to him since she arrived.”
Willow doesn’t know about this summer. I have to remind myself that when I set the books down and sit with a huff. Shadows dance all around me. I adjust the lamp and set my phone down, pressing “speaker.” Most of the time, I play music to fill the darkness, but tonight, Willow’s voice is my welcome companion.
“Girl, you need to get me some insider info.” She hisses and then laughs, the buzz of her fancy office building in Crescent Falls filling the void around me. “The public is clawing for information! Even Celestoria is quiet about this, but I mean, their news cycle is nothing like mine, as medieval as they are.”
“I’d hardly consider Celestoria medieval.” I laugh, cracking open a fresh text. Withered, yellow pages spread before me, smelling of parchment and faded ink from an era long lost to time.
“Oh, please. Have you ever been? Anyway, what do you know about her?”
“Less than you, probably.”
“You’re probably right.” She lets out another rich laugh. I smile. I can’t help it. Hearing Willow happy again? It feeds my soul in a way it hasn’t been nourished in months. “Listen, I’m not saying you should sneak around and be my informant, but… I could… maybe… pay you to get a scoop for me?”
“I’m training to be a priestess, remember? What good is money to me?”
“Boo,” she sighs, and I imagine her rolling her eyes. “You know I hate being reminded of that.”
“Look, she’s… beautiful. Like a model. But she’s mean, okay? When she saw me in the dining room last night, she looked like she wanted to scratch my eyes out just for being in Aris’s presence, and I didn’t like it.”
“Well, he stuck up for you, right? I mean, Aris totally had the hots for you this summer…” She waits for me to argue, and I can’t. Goddess, if she only knew. If I could just tell her… It would be such a weight off my chest. He didn’t stick up for me. I’m not sure what I expected him to say.
“He… yeah. It’s fine. I doubt I’ll see either of them much. I’m busy.”
“Reading dusty books about ghosts? Have you ever heard of lead poisoning? It’s a real problem for historians because of all that ink.”
“I’m not going to get lead poisoning," I grumble, but the ink is flaking off the pages when I turn them. “And I don’t study ghosts.”
“What else would you call it?”
“Uh, the spirit realm?”
“Boring,” she giggles, and my eyes water. I miss her. I wish this summer had been different for me and her.
“Willow,” I whisper, knowing only spirits and the Goddess Herself can overhear the conversation, “can I ask you something?”
“Only if it’s not about Roman.”
I take a deep, dusty breath. “Please?”
She’s quiet for several seconds before grunting, which I take as submission.
“Did he reject you?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Of course I do!”
“Don’t hate me for what I’m about to say, okay?”
“I wouldn’t–”
“And don’t tell anyone I told you this.”
“Who would I tell? You’re my only friend.”
“You better keep it that way. I don’t like to share.”
I smile. It’s wet and wobbly. “Pinky promise.”
“Good.” She lowers her voice to a whisper like she has her lips pressed to the phone. “Posey, I rejected him. He came to Crescent Falls, came to my work, and demanded an audience with me. He…” She tapers off, and it sends my mind into a tailspin. I feel a sudden sense of dread drop over my shoulders like someone is pressing their hands into my flesh, baring down. “Posey… he offered to step—”
The call drops unexpectedly. “Willow?” I grab the phone as it beeps, staring at the single bar of service before it flickers and disappears. “Shit. Willow?” I try to call her back, but it’s no use. I run my fingers through my hair, loosening the braid. It’s late. Nearly midnight at this point, which I didn’t realize until I see the time on my phone. Of course, Willow answered the phone. She works nights. Where has my brain been?
I try to call her back a second time, but just as the call drops, a crash sounds out in the distance behind me, echoing toward me and bouncing off every ancient shelf. I jump to my feet, my entire body tingling with adrenaline, and gather the books. “Nope,” I whisper, sniffling as I fist the lamp–battery operated and the best purchase I’ve made so far for my new career–and whirl toward the sound. Blood rushes in my ears. I scan my murky surroundings and decide in an instant that I’m probably done for the day–at least here.
I’ve been avoiding the castle all day. I snuck out before the sun rose, sat in the temple for several hours, and scurried into the archives the second it opened for the day. Arthur, the little… guy that runs this place, whatever he is, knows I’m down here, because I’m, apparently, the only one brave enough to travel this deeply into his horde of knowledge since he was a child… which I believe might have been centuries ago. I’m too afraid to brooch the subject.
The brisk night air is a welcome relief to my lungs. I drink it in, my breath coming in misty white puffs. I move through the darkness carrying my books, which, technically, I shouldn’t be allowed to just take from the archives, but Arthur watched me stalk by and simply glanced at me over the rims of his ridiculously thick half-moon spectacles.
The castle guards roll back the front gate without so much as a glance in my direction, having grown used to my comings and goings, and I’m thankful for it. I’m even more thankful when I reach my room without running into another soul.
I feel jittery and off center when I dump my books on my bedspread and change out of my gray cloak and my basic gray temple trainee robe. Technically, I don’t need to wear them daily, especially here, where I’m nothing more than a researcher, studying to go into what the head priestesses in Moonrise deemed my “calling”... living in the dark, alone.
So be it.
The castle rustles around me–the spirits well aware of my presence–as I change into thick pajamas to combat the chill in the air tonight. But when I finish getting ready for bed and rifle through the books to find the text I’d been working on when I called Willow… I realize I left it in the archives.
“No,” I whisper, rubbing my eyes. I’m too jittery to even think of falling asleep. My conversation with Willow plagues me as I debate my options. The text I needed was just a somewhat basic guide to ancient astronomy. I could likely find something similar here, in the castle’s library.
With a sigh, I slip my feet into slippers and creep through the castle again, one of the spirits–the man, I think–lighting the way with each sconce that flares to life.
I remember the library from my childhood. It’s wide at the base and funnels with each level, each subsequent floor spiraling into one of the spires of the castle and growing darker and darker with the climb. Small, arched windows let in moonlight when I move into the center of the main floor, but the lights are already on and dimmed, probably because the spirits realized I was coming this way and took care of that for me.
It’s hard not to get distracted. This place is just… beautiful. Dark wood, black stone, silver finishes…. Yeah. I’d like to just disappear here. I’d have everything I’d ever need. Solitude. Books. The ever-watchful eye of the spirits who can drop food out of thin air. My fingertips graze spines of leather and fabric as I walk up the spiral staircase lined with shelves. Millions of books live here, I bet. I’d spend an entire lifetime counting. My fingers graze a leather-bound spine, and I stop, freeing a thick, incredibly old text about astronomy from its resting place.
“Nice,” I murmur with a rough sigh and an ever quieter prayer.
I find a little nook on the third floor where an alcove rests in the embrace of three windows. A large, comfortable looking armchair swims in moonlight. I sit and crack open the book, my surroundings fading into obscurity.
A touch on my elbow has my arm, and the book, flying, my body whirling with force. I scream with effort as the book meets something hard.
Aris steps back with a pained grunt, covering his face with his arm.
“Oh, my Goddess! You scared me to death!” I rush out, flying out of my chair, my fingers thrumming with adrenaline. I gasp for breath as he lowers his arm, glowering.
He prods his cheekbone, which is reddened from the impact. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Me? You sn-snuck up on me!”
“This is my house. My library.”
“It’s past midnight! Why are you even awake?”
“I could ask you the same question.” His gaze cuts me like a knife, and my heart relaxes enough for my mind to catch up with the fact I’m looking at Aris. I’m sharing space with him. I just hit him in the face with an impossibly heavy book.
“Oh–oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t–You scared me. It was an accident!”
He looks me up and down and rubs his cheek. “Obviously.”
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“You didn’t notice me sitting on the second floor, mere feet from the staircase?”
I shake my head and then notice the bottle in his hands when it catches the light. Whiskey. It’s half empty, and I can smell it on his breath. He’s wearing a casual sweatshirt and jeans, and for a moment, I feel like I’m back in his summer manor, at the side-table between us is the kitchen island, and he’s smiling at me instead of cutting me to pieces with his glare.
He bends to pick the book up off the ground, scanning the cover. “What does astronomy have to do with our church?”
“A lot, actually.”
He shrugs, handing the book back, but I hesitate to take it. I hate this. I hate this so much I could scream.
The words burble out of me before I can stop them.
“I’m sorry, Aris. I am. I really, really am.”
“I’ve been hit harder. Trust me.”
“No, for–for this summer.” I can feel his gaze raking over my face, but I keep my eyes on the book in my hands. “I feel like–I hurt you in some way. That I ruined our friendship. I was in heat. I didn’t know it was going to happen. I shouldn’t have pressured you into–into sleeping with me–”
He takes a single step in my direction, his body suddenly rigid as steel. “You think you pressured me into sleeping with you?”
I wince. “I thought–I didn’t stop us.”
“I agreed to it.”
I finally meet his eyes. For a moment, he’s Aris again. Those silver eyes soften, boyish, gleaming in the moonlight. The same eyes that begged me to stay with him. I’ve spent months trying to rationalize his reasoning for offering that lifeline. He felt sorry for me, I’m sure. Felt some kind of ownership of me, like he owed me protection after everything. I’ve convinced myself it wasn’t because he actually wanted me. He couldn’t have actually wanted me.
My throat closes into a knot.
He scans my face, seeing the doubt, the shields I put back up, and his eyes turn icy again. He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I bite out, every emotion I’ve felt the past months rushing to the surface. I hold them back, breathing deep, counting to ten in my head as he closes the distance between us.
Aris cages me in against the wall of the alcove.