37

Ash

I’m at my desk, absorbed in work, when someone clears their throat.

“Kaylin!” I look up. “How long have you been there?”

His smile warms me like the sun.

“Have lunch with me?” He turns side-on to show his brimming pack. “I found a beautiful cove. You have to see it.”

“That does sound nice,” my inner voice says.

Focus. We have a lot to do. “You’re just the one I wanted to see.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I can’t go now.” I wave my hand over the books stacked high around me. “I was thinking more along the lines of—”

“Ash.” He stops me mid-sentence. “From what I saw of Marcus and Belair’s performances this morning…”

My stomach sinks. “You saw?”

“That I did.”

They will pass the elimination trials. They have to. That is, Marcus has to at least. “It was their first try.”

“So it was.” Kaylin tilts his head. “Lunch with me?”

“I don’t know…” Somehow going off to a lovely cove with Kaylin while Marcus and Belair struggle seems wrong. Like I’m abandoning them. And their records. I’m responsible for them both, which is twice the work.

“You have to eat,” Kaylin argues.

“True, but there’s another problem. Maybe you can help?”

“Tell me.” He takes a seat by my side. “Is there a conspiracy?” He lowers his voice and leans in, making me more flustered. “I would love a conspiracy, unless this is about the sounds you’ve been hearing at night.”

“It’s not that.” I brush my hair back with both hands, trying to sound calm. Meanwhile, the heat in my face spreads across my chest. I want to fan myself but don’t. “I need help, um…finding some reference material.”

“Isn’t that what the index scrolls are for?” He raises his eyes to the ceiling-high shelves of books.

“Strangely, not in this case.”

He looks intrigued. “What then?”

“Remember the notice at the Capper Point harbor?”

“Aye, lass.”

I clear my throat. His proximity is very distracting.

“I found the same script in a Sierrak book,” I manage, “but when I asked Huewin, he led me astray, rather elaborately. Brogal did, too, in hindsight, though, in a different direction.”

He folds his hands together, brows narrowing. “I don’t understand.”

I take a deep breath and let it out. “Before the journey, I came across a script I think might be Retoren. When I asked Brogal, he called it Retreen.”

“They do sound similar.”

“But in fact, they’re very different. I asked Huewin to clarify, and he misled me further. Might as well have fanned smoke in my eyes. Both masters seem to be concealing something. I want to figure out what, and I want to translate this passage.” I show him the Sierrak planetary text.

He glances at it briefly. “Recording the journey isn’t engaging enough?”

“It’s fully engaging, but this could be part of it, don’t you see?” I clasp his forearm. “The tattoos on the scouts. The messages about Amassia’s dark sun. This script. It could be Retoren, and if so, with a dictionary, we can translate it. Doesn’t that spike your interest?”

He slides his hand over mine. “If it involves working with you, lass, I’m in. The flyer’s in our room.”

A different kind of warmth spreads through me. Gratitude. Excitement. Maybe both. I smile until my cheeks hurt. “We need a dictionary, and Huewin made it clear that Retoren is far too advanced for me to lay eyes on, let alone read.”

Kaylin outright laughs. “Well now I’m definitely helping, if for nothing else but to prove him wrong. Though I can’t believe you’d rather hunt down a lost language than eat oysters on the beach, under the autumn sun.” His eyebrows dance. “Berry tarts, as well.”

My mouth waters at the thought. “We can do both?”

“Aye.” He turns my hand over and laces our fingers together. “Where do you think they would keep a reference book on Retoren?”

My heart stutters as his thumb strokes the back of my hand. “I don’t know; that’s the problem.”

“How about we ask?”

“Bit of a giveaway, isn’t it?”

“We don’t ask about Retoren, specifically,” he says. “But something similarly obscure, a dead language, or one not in common use on Aku?”

One comes quickly to mind. “Northern Aturnian?”

He nods. “With their rights to Aku suspended, the materials in that language could be archived. The library keeper may wonder what you’re up to, asking for a Northern Aturnian dictionary, though.”

“Not if I record it being spoken in Clearwater, on the wharf when we disembarked. I would need it for the correct translations. The records must be as accurate as possible.” I squeeze his hand. “I’ll wager it was spoken on the Sea Eagle, am I right? Let’s go ask.”

The main desk downstairs is busy, and we have to wait in line. When it’s my turn, I step up, recognizing the girl in charge. “Mia, I’m after a Northern Aturnian dictionary.”

She puts down her quill, her nose wrinkling when she lays eyes on me. “Do I know you?”

I exhale, but inwardly, I roll my eyes. “Yes. My name is Ash, recording for Marcus of Baiseen and Belair of Tangeen.”

“That’s right. You’re the non-savant.”

Kaylin raises a brow.

I hold my smile in place as her possum-like phantom jumps up to the desk and clicks toward me, nails tapping on the polished wood. Mia pulls it back but not before I receive an image of it stealing bread out of Kaylin’s pack. It gives me chills, but by now I’m less surprised and less quick to call it a coincidence. “Northern Aturnian dictionary?” I repeat.

“Sorry.” Mia shakes her head, curly hair dancing around her face.

She doesn’t look sorry at all.

“You’ll need to speak to Master Huewin about it. Anything else?” She returns to her work as if I’ve already walked on.

“Are they archived?” Kaylin steps up to the desk. He puts both palms on the surface and leans in.

Mia’s face softens. “I can’t say more.”

“No?” He moves closer, keeping his eyes intent on hers.

He’s going to charm her? I press my lips together and cross my arms. Does he go around charming everyone like this?

But as I watch, Kaylin’s tactics work. Why wouldn’t they? I’ve fallen for the same things every day since we met. Hopefully our interactions are more…genuine? I frown at the thought.

The quill slips out of Mia’s grip as she returns his gaze. Apparently, she can say more after all. “They’re in the basement, first door on the left. All restricted texts are kept there.”

“Under lock and key?”

She nods stupidly.

I gaze at the ceiling and let out a sigh, but neither hear. Mia smiles. “I’m sure if you petition Master Huewin, he will supply the reference. He knows every book, script, and scroll down there.”

“In the basement?” I ask to confirm.

“Yes, there.” The girl answers me, but her eyes don’t leave Kaylin. “I could take you to Huewin right now if you like.”

“Not necessary. You’ve been more than helpful.” He steps away from the desk, grin still in place, and leads me out.

We descend the library steps, a bright autumn sun warming my shoulders. “That girl was not helpful,” I grumble. “All she did was…was…swoon over you.”

He nods toward savants within earshot, but I can see the smile trying to escape. “This way.”

Once we’re around the corner, he lets out a laugh, and without thinking, I punch him in the arm.

He laughs harder. “At last, I’m worthy of the Heir’s treatment. You have quite a swing.”

My face heats and I quickly grab the straps of my satchel to prevent any more spontaneously stupid moves.

We walk down the heavily trafficked boulevard, past the stables and out the main gate.

When the traffic thins, I repeat the question. “Well?”

He grins. “You were jealous.”

I lift my chin. “Was not.”

“Liar.”

I didn’t ask for your opinion.

His grin only widens. “Mia was more helpful than you think.”

“How?” At least the change in subject allows me to redirect my irritation. “We can’t ask Huewin to let us in without giving him an explanation, and we can’t steal a key.”

He looks at me with his dreamy sea-green eyes and winks.

It takes a moment to sink in. “Oh no.” I stop, hands going to my hips. “You aren’t thinking… Kaylin, no.”

“Just borrow it, for a time, so I can make a skeleton key to match.”

“You’re a blacksmith now?”

“I’m many things, lass.”

That is true. I cross my arms as we walk along the side path to the headland. Finally, I say, “What’s your plan?”

“We go to the basement in the wee hours of the night, use my skeleton key to unlock the storage room—first door on the left—and find the answers you’re looking for. Unless, of course, you want to give up?” He lifts an eyebrow.

I stare at him for a long moment, wondering how he can know that when it comes to wordsmithing, I’ll do anything to solve a mystery. “I don’t want to give up.”

“Then we won’t.”