Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Her shoulders drop and she nods, shooting me one last look of frustration before joining the others behind the massive door.
“Walk softly,” Jesinia reminds us, and my heart pounds as we file into the Archives. “We have to be quick. The Archives close in exactly an hour, and if we’re in here when that door seals shut…”
I swallow the nausea that’s threatening. “I know. We’ll die.” The Archives are warded with the ultimate pest protection.
“Just show us the way. We’ll do the rest,” Xaden says. He disappears the moment we cross the threshold, sticking to the shadows along the dimly lit walls. I can just see the vague outline of his shape if I look closely, but it’s almost shocking how well he blends into the darkness.
Or maybe it’s that the rest of the space is so bright, mage lights illuminating the rows and rows of bookshelves and empty study tables that stretch to the back of the cavernous dome. Empty is good—and expected for a Saturday night—but there’s no telling who might be within the stacks or in the workrooms deeper within the Archives.
I force myself past the pinch of hesitation when I walk by the oak study table, following Jesinia. The marble under my boots is familiar and yet completely foreign. As many years as I’ve spent here, this is the farthest I’ve ever walked into the Archives.
Aaric glances down each row as we pass, but I don’t take my eyes off Jesinia, forcing my mannerisms, my posture, my pace to mirror hers. The quiet I usually find such peace in is unnerving under these circumstances.
Gods, so much can go wrong. What little dinner I ate threatens to reappear.
The three of us follow Jesinia as she turns left and cuts through the second-to-last row of tables, guiding us in the direction of the workrooms. The scent of bonding glue grows stronger, and my heart stutters at the sight of a scribe headed our way, coming from the same hallway we’re headed for.
The single golden rectangle on his shoulder marks him as a first-year, and though the Scribe Quadrant educates twice as many cadets as the Riders Quadrant, it’s still small enough that he should recognize us if we were what we’re pretending to be.
“Cadet Neilwart?” he signs while speaking, glancing at us in confusion. I lower my head and see Aaric doing the same, shielding our features as much as possible.
“Cadet Samuelson,” Jesinia answers, turning slightly so I can see her hands.
Fuck, we’re going to be caught before we even get near the wards.
“I’ve got this.” Xaden’s voice soothes the sharpest of the anxiety but not all of it.
But he’s here. He’s exactly why we waited for this particular night.
Shadows creep from beneath the tables, racing for Samuelson’s feet, and Aaric tenses beside me.
“I thought only you and Cadet Nasya were on duty tonight?” Samuelson asks.
“And yet you’re here,” she replies.
Tendrils of black rise up behind the first-year.
“Wait.” The last thing we need is a dead scribe cadet.
“This is me being patient,” Xaden answers.
“I forgot my binding assignment in Culley’s room.” Samuelson glances meaningfully at the cream satchel strapped over his shoulder.
“Forgetfulness doesn’t become a scribe,” Jesinia signs, and my eyebrows rise as I fight back a smile. “If you don’t mind, first-year, we second-years have things to accomplish. Not everyone requires weekends off to study.”
The first-year flushes in obvious embarrassment, then steps aside into the aisle.
Shadows fall back into place, and we walk forward as a group.
“I thought he might kill him,” Aaric whispers once we’re out of the first-year’s range of hearing.
“Wouldn’t have surprised me,” Imogen replies. “Might have been more efficient.”
We both whip our heads around to see her shrug.
Jesinia leads us out of the main library and down a well-lit hallway lined with windows and with a few classrooms on each side. The deeper we travel into the Archives, the tighter my collar feels.
Xaden catches up to us in a few strides, walking calmly beside me.
“Someone is going to notice all that black,” I lecture quietly as Jesinia turns to the right. This place is a fucking maze, and it all looks exactly the same.
“There’s no one here.” Xaden’s hands are loose at his sides, and he’s exchanged the swords he prefers at his back in favor of a short one, which tells me he’s prepared for close-quarters fighting. “At least not in this section.”
“Your shadows tell you that?” Aaric quips.
“I thought we agreed not to speak,” Xaden retorts.
Jesinia opens the third door on the left, and we follow her into what looks to be a classroom. No wonder the hallway is lined with windows; in here, it’s dark. Two of the walls are made of stone, and the back one is lined with books. The rest of the space is sparse, filled with rows of long trestle tables and benches that face a lone desk at the front of the room.