The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(24)

The upstairs library was at the end of the corridor. Perhaps the downstairs one hadn’t had the books I’d needed because they wouldn’t have been moved down there. They’d have been left to gather dust in the hopes they could be forgotten.

I pushed open one tall oak door, the image of a crow carved into the wood. The sound echoed in the high-ceilinged library, and I paused in the doorway. Rows of half-empty shelves spread out before me like a sea of tombstones. Several long tables sat near the back of the room, only visible by the beams of moonlight trickling in from the tall, narrow windows.

I stepped forward, turning up the gas on my lamp, and began to search.

Nearly half an hour later, I had a sizeable stack of books set on one of the back tables, my sona lamp casting a warm orange glow across the page of a tome spread open before me. I’d searched for anything to do with the crows, focusing mainly on instructional texts. I’d even found several with chapters about hatching, but each of them skipped over the details of the actual process, and nothing hinted at why they hatched simultaneously.

Hours later, my eyes strained in the darkness, and a throbbing pain gathered behind one temple. Each useless book was like a nail in my coffin.

Sliding another failed book to the side, I reached for the last of my pile. It was thin, with a cover so worn that most of the title was illegible, only the word Magic decipherable on the faded leather. I’d expected it to be on the different types of crow abilities, but as I scanned the first page, I realized it wasn’t a book at all but a journal written in a large, looping scrawl.

“Little is understood about how magic truly worked for the Sellas before their disappearance,” I read quietly to myself. “But one aspect scholars agree on is the existence of magic lines, or hereditary magic. After thorough research, I believe these magic lines create a connection across generations, perhaps similar to the way a crow and a rider are linked. And like other traits vary among family, growing stronger or weaker along the line, so too can the magic line manifest differently, even among siblings.”

I read faster, skimming through the journal beneath the fading glow of my lamp. It was short and half-finished, consisting mostly of Sella lore and history the author used to support their claims. If they were right, this might explain why riders typically came from the same families over the course of generations. Maybe whatever it was the crow latched on to was passed down from parent to child.

Could the way to hatch the crows be related to these lines somehow?

Footsteps echoed outside the library. Frowning, I doused my lamp and moved behind a nearby bookcase. The footsteps grew louder, and a light appeared down the center hall between the shelves. I peered around the edge.

Ericen stood in the doorway, glancing from bookcase to bookcase as if trying to decide where to start. I cursed silently. He was everywhere; I couldn’t escape him. Surely, it would only be worse in Illucia. He was in my head, in my thoughts and my emotions. He’d burrowed underneath my skin with his vicious smiles and barbed, caustic words, and everywhere I went, there he was.

I stepped into the glow of his lamp. “Need help finding something?”

To his credit, he didn’t jump. Only drew a sharp breath, the line of his jaw tightening. “Anthia. What are you doing up here?”

“That should be my question.”

His eyes narrowed, and he turned back the way he’d come without a word. I hurried after him, pulling the library door shut in our wake.

“No witty comeback?” I asked. “No clever explanation?”

He kept walking. “I wanted something to read.”

“There’s a library downstairs.”

“A small one.”

I snorted. “I can’t imagine what you’d be looking for that you’d just assume it wouldn’t be there.”

He didn’t respond, and a chill trickled down my spine. I actually could imagine something. Information from a bygone time. The sort of thing left in a forgotten place.

I cut him off, forcing him to an abrupt halt. His blue eyes looked silver in the moonlight, the shadow of his broad frame stretching into infinity.

“How did you even know there was another library up here?” I asked.

“I suggest you move.”

“I suggest you talk.” I held his gaze unflinchingly. He stared back, his eyes searching mine. “What are you looking for?”

After a moment’s pause, he said quietly, “I feel bad for you.” I bristled reflexively, but he wasn’t mocking me. His eyes had softened, his shoulders lowering. “You have no idea what’s happening.”

He didn’t wait for a response before brushing past me. I let him go, unsettled and confused by the feeling writhing in my chest.





Eight


The next morning, I lingered in bed for several minutes, a familiar heaviness weighing me down. I left for Illucia tomorrow, and my books had yielded nothing definite. I left for Illucia tomorrow, and I couldn’t hatch the egg. I left for Illucia tomorrow, and today was my mother’s birthday.

Missing her was a dull ache, like a bruise in my chest that throbbed anytime I remembered her.

Kiva had told me a thousand times it wasn’t my fault, but some days, I couldn’t keep the regret at bay, couldn’t stop the heavy snake from slithering up my shoulders. I knew better than to think I could have convinced my mother not to go after the eggs, but I still wished I’d tried. Maybe she would have listened. Maybe she’d still be alive.