I watched as life returned to my beloved college. New students enrolled, former students came home, and scholars threw themselves into their lessons and research.
The halls were filled with students, conversation, and even laughter. Occasionally, a fight would break out between a fae student and a human student, but young, hot tempers were quickly extinguished by the faculty.
For the most part, it seemed everyone was ready to let the horrors of the war slip into faded memories.
I tried to follow suit. As an apprentice scholar, I lectured twice a week, tutored students who needed an extra hand, and graded what felt like a million essays.
But my heart wasn’t in it.
How could everything return to normal after such profound suffering?
At last, after months of feeling like a phantom trespassing on the world of the living, I went to visit my Department Head, Scholar Corwin.
I knocked on his door, and he called out, “Enter.”
He looked over the top of his spectacles and smiled as soon as he saw me. “Come in, come in!”
Scholar Corwin was more than my Department Head. He was almost family to me. My parents died when I was young, and my great uncle raised me here at the college where he worked. Scholar Corwin had been my uncle’s colleague and close friend. He had always encouraged me in my studies, and he was never without a kind word and a desk drawer full of candy.
More than anyone remaining in this world, I trusted him. I sat in the seat across from him and drummed on his wooden desk, wondering how I would explain that the place that had brought me so much joy felt hollow to me now.
Sensing my mood, he waited patiently for me to find my words.
Finally, I admitted, “I’m having a hard time readjusting.”
“War is always hardest on the young.”
I sighed. “I’m not young anymore. I’m twenty-four years old and an apprentice scholar now.”
“Which is very impressive for someone of your age, especially in light of the war.” He raised a slender finger, and I knew one of his famous “howevers” was coming. “However, twenty-four years is still very young for our kind, and you’ve suffered many losses.”
I bit my lip at the word “losses,” not wanting to give in to the flood of emotions that surged within me. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away.
He looked at me kindly. “The college is here to support you, Astoria. In any way you choose. Take some time—travel, write a paper, do anything you wish. If you choose to return, you will always have a home here.”
“And a post?” I asked, a twinge of anxiety in my voice.
He smiled. “Yes, that, too.”
I let a wave of relief roll over me before trudging onward. “The truth is... I already know where I want to go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Briarthorne Library.”
A deep frown scored his aged face. “Please tell me you don’t mean to visit the Vesper Estate?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid I do.”
“You must have heard the rumors of what happened there during the war!”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“If those rumors prove true, that home will be poisoned with dark magic. Why would you ever want to set foot inside?”
I had known he would ask, but I still wasn’t prepared to answer. The truth was I wasn’t sure what compelled me to Briarthorne Library. I only knew that I was meant to go. So, I gave him a shallow reply. “It’s a beautiful library with a vast collection of rare books. Besides, no one from the college has visited in over seven years. Don’t you think it would be helpful to check in?”
He rubbed his finger along the bridge of his nose. “Are you sure you would be welcome? While young master Hugo was once a student here, his involvement in the war is murky at best. His father’s role, however, is undeniable.”
Hugo’s father had been a wealthy human lord turned notorious war criminal. It was said that no fae entered his home and lived to tell the tale. The thought made a shiver run down my spine. I wondered if he had dungeon prisons like the ones where I had been kept.
No, I knew they must have been worse.
I shook the thoughts away. “His father is dead, and for all we know, Hugo has met a similar fate. It could be that the library is in peril.”
“And what of your safety?”
“I can handle myself. It’s not the first time I’ve stepped into a dangerous place.”
Of course, I had also been captured and imprisoned for two long, terrible months. I held his gaze, daring him to say it out loud.
He didn’t. Instead, he stood up and crossed the room to place a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Go with my blessing, child. Though I don’t think it’s a library or books you seek.”
Was I searching for something more? I wasn’t sure anymore.
I pushed down my self-reflection and gave him a hug. “Thank you.”
“Your uncle would be proud, you know. Scared witless for your safety, of course, but terribly proud. He loved Briarthorne Library.”
Tears pricked my eyes again, and this time I let them fall. My great uncle had been killed when the college was under siege in the final year of the war. I still missed him every day.