Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(83)

Dorian laughed softly, but the sound somehow killed the amusement in her eyes. As if the sound of merriment was too raw against the wound of Nehemia’s death. Keep it simple, he reminded himself. “So? Is there a book I can help you find? If that’s a list of titles in your hand, then I could look them up in the catalog.”

“No,” she said, folding the papers in half. “No, there’s no book. I just wanted a walk.”

And he’d just come to a dark corner of the library to read.

But he didn’t push it, if only because she could easily start asking him questions, too. If she remembered what had happened when she attacked Chaol, that is. He hoped she didn’t.

There was a muffled shriek from somewhere in the library, followed by a string of howled curses and the familiar pitter-patter of paws on stone. Then Fleetfoot came sprinting down the row, a scroll of paper in her jaws.

“Wicked beast!” a man was shouting. “Come back here at once!”

Fleetfoot just zoomed on by, a blur of gold.

A moment later, when the little librarian came waddling into view and asked if they’d seen a dog, Celaena only shook her head and said that she had heard something—from the opposite direction. And then she told him to keep his voice down, because this was a library.

His eyes shooting daggers at her, the man huffed and scuttled away, his shouting a bit softer.

When he was gone, Dorian turned to her, brows high on his head. “That scroll could have been invaluable.”

She shrugged. “He looked like he could use the exercise.”

And then she was smiling. Hesitantly at first, then she shook her head, and the smile bloomed wide enough to show her teeth.

It was only when she looked at him again that he realized he’d been staring, trying to sort out the difference between this smile and the smile she’d given his father the day she’d put Grave’s head on the council table.

As if she could read his thoughts, she said, “I apologize for my behavior lately. I haven’t … been myself.”

Or she’d just been a part of herself that she usually kept on a tight, tight leash, he thought. But he said, “I understand.”

And from the way her eyes softened, he knew that was all he’d ever needed to say.

Chaol wasn’t hiding from his father. He wasn’t hiding from Celaena. And he wasn’t hiding from his men, who now felt some ridiculous urge to look after him.

But the library did offer a good amount of refuge and privacy.

Maybe answers, too.

The head librarian wasn’t in the little office tucked into one of walls of the library. So Chaol had asked an apprentice. The gawking youth pointed, gave some vague directions, and told him good luck.

Chaol followed the boy’s directions up a sweeping flight of black marble stairs and along the mezzanine rail. He was about to turn down an aisle of books when he heard them speaking.

Actually, he heard Fleetfoot’s prancing first, and looked over the marble rail in time to see Celaena and Dorian walking toward the towering main doors. They were a comfortable, casual distance apart, but … but she was talking. Her shoulders were relaxed, her gait smooth. So different from the woman of shadow and darkness that he’d seen yesterday.

What were the two of them doing here—together?

It wasn’t his business. Frankly, he was grateful that she was talking to anyone, and not burning her clothes or butchering rogue assassins. Still, something twanged in his heart that Dorian was the one beside her.

But she was talking.

So Chaol quickly turned from the balcony rail and walked deeper into the library, trying to shove the image from his mind. He found Harlan Sensel, the head librarian, huffing and puffing down one of the main paths through the library, shaking a fistful of paper shreds at the air around him.

Sensel was so busy cursing that he hardly noticed when Chaol stepped in his path. The librarian had to tilt his head back to see Chaol, and then frowned at him.

“Good, you’re here,” Sensel said, and resumed walking. “Higgins must have sent word.”

Chaol had no idea what Sensel was talking about. “Is there some issue that you need assistance with?”

“Issue!” Sensel waved the shredded papers. “There are feral beasts running amok in my library! Who let that—that creature in here? I demand that they pay!”

Chaol had had a feeling that Celaena had something to do with this. He just hoped she and Fleetfoot were out of the library before Sensel reached the office.

“What sort of scroll was damaged? I’ll see to it that they replace it.”

“Replace it!” Sensel sputtered. “Replace this?”

“What, exactly, is it?”

“A letter! A letter from a very close friend of mine!”

He bit back his annoyance. “If it’s just a letter, then I don’t think the creature’s owner can offer a payment. Though perhaps they’d be happy to donate a few books in—”

“Throw them in the dungeons! My library has become little more than a circus! Did you know that there’s a cloaked person skulking about the stacks at all hours of the night? They probably unleashed that horrible beast in the library! So track them down and—”

“The dungeons are full,” Chaol lied. “But I’ll look into it.” While Sensel finished his rant about the truly exhausting hunt he’d gone on to retrieve the letter, Chaol debated whether he should just leave.