Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
“For what?” The touch of his fingertips was light, but a shiver still rolled through me.
“For choosing me.”
I spent the rest of the day in the library, taking a late lunch of soup by the crackling fireplace as I thumbed through the dusty pages of short tales meant for children, and old records of those who’d once lived in New Haven. As I moved from row to row, I didn’t think about what Alastir had told me or what awaited me once we left the keep. I lost myself to the freedom of being able to read any book I wanted. What I’d been allowed to read in Masadonia had been restricted to historical texts, and while Tawny often snuck far more interesting novels for me to enjoy, it was never enough.
Kieran was a quiet presence in the room, having picked up one of the books I’d discarded. I suspected that he was pleased with his task, only because I was too busy to ask him any questions.
It wasn’t until after I’d finished the bowl of stewed vegetables and scoured all the shelves, except for the bottom row behind a large oak desk, that I found a text of particular interest. It was a thin novel, bound in gold-dyed leather, halfway hidden behind the numerous, thick records, the gold smothered in dirt. I pulled it out, coughing as a cloud of dust plumed.
“Please don’t die,” Kieran commented from where he sat. “Casteel would be most displeased.”
Ignoring him, I wiped off the cover as I carried the book to the desk. I cracked it open, flipping through blank parchment faded to a dull yellow. I stopped when I saw the date. The gold-bound book was another set of records, but one far older than the rest. It was dated at least eight hundred years ago.
Turning the pages, I read through birth and death dates, occupations and house numbers, quickly noting that these records were very different. The span of years between the dates of birth and death caught my attention.
Hundreds of years.
These were records of the Atlantians who’d once lived in New Haven. The worn armchair creaked as I sat in it. Many of the names were illegible, the ink too faded, as were occupations. Some were easier to decipher. Baker. Stable Master. Blacksmith. Healer. Scholar. It was strange to see these common skills listed beside dates that suggested they’d lived ten or more mortal lifespans. But I supposed that when Atlantia ruled over the kingdom, many of them lived very ordinary long lives. There were occupations and words unfamiliar to me, ones I saw repeated under the column that listed jobs, and words often in parentheses near the names that I could read.
“What is a wivern?” I asked, unsure if I’d pronounced it correctly.
“What?” Kieran looked up from the book that rested in his lap.
“I found records from when Atlantians lived here,” I told him. “The word wivern appears frequently.”
Kieran drew his legs off the chest and rose, placing his book where his feet were. He came to stand by my shoulder. “Where?”
“See?” I tapped a finger below the faded black ink. “There are words I don’t recognize. Like here.” I drew my finger down. “Ceeren.”
“Hell.” Kieran leaned forward, turning the pages back to the title page. “It’s Atlantian records.”
I arched a brow. “That’s what I said.”
“I’m surprised this remained here all these years.” He flipped back to the page I’d been looking at.
“It was behind a couple of other records and covered in dust. It must’ve been forgotten.”
“Definitely forgotten. The Ascended destroyed any and all records of the Atlantians who once lived here. No matter how inconsequential as a census.”
“So, what does wivern mean?”
“A wivern was an Atlantian bloodline that was killed off during the war,” he explained. “They too were of two worlds, mortal and animal.”
“Like the wolven and changelings?”
He nodded. “Except the wivern could take the form of cats larger than those that roam the caves in the Wastelands. Here. Draken?” His arm brushed mine as he moved closer to point out a place farther down the page.
Air hissed out of Kieran’s clenched teeth as he jerked back his arm. I turned, finding him standing several feet from me.
I lifted my brows, thinking that was a bit of an overreaction to his arm touching mine. “You okay?”
He stared at me, eyes wider than I’d ever seen before, but bright in an unnatural way. “You didn’t feel that?”
“You touched my arm. That’s all I felt.” I watched him rub his arm. “What did you feel?”
“A shock,” he said. “Like being struck by lightning.”
“Have you’ve been struck by lightning before?”
“No. It’s a figure of speech.” He glanced at the door before those too-bright eyes settled on me. “You really didn’t feel that?”
I shook my head. “Maybe it was like that static charge you get when dragging your feet over the carpet.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. “I used to do that all the time to Ian.”