Knowledge was the meaning of life, her father always had said. Humans were meant to discover, and that meant she needed to find answers for herself.
Who were the Dread? Why were they here of all places? What were they doing with her people?
She already had one answer. They were turning the humans into their own kind, but the answer wasn’t complete. Perhaps they couldn’t have children of their own, although she had yet to see a female Dread.
Questions like this were a start. She could breathe a little easier knowing she had a purpose more than running away from the monsters and waiting until the storm had passed.
Instead of taking another step toward the door, she turned back to the alcove that led back down into the hidden area where the servants had traveled. Carefully, with her back curved, she slunk back down into the realm of spiders and webs, wary of the peepholes.
The light had dimmed to complete blackness as the storm blotted out even the thin moonlight lighting the room before. Soon, she found herself in nothing more than a tomb. Sounds whispered through the walls. Only her ragged breath kept her company, and the rough walls beneath her fingertips. The tips ached with cold and were gritty with dirt.
She smoothed her hand over the first marker on the wall, the grapes, which meant there was a crossroad around her. Her eyes saw only darkness. Her heart beat faster as fear tinged her bravery.
Could the Dread see in the dark? Their eyes were strange, inhuman, yellow, and slitted like a cat’s. She would never forget the way one of the creatures had stared at her through the broken door of the kitchen. There had been only hunger in its gaze, no kindness, no thought, just rage that its prey had eluded it.
Shivering, she ran her fingers over the next symbol. A small open book with an arrow leading forward.
Libraries were always a safe place to start. There might be books about the Dread, and if there was the slightest of chances, then she had to try.
They will not stop hunting you, Amicia. So you must be brave.
She put one foot in front of the other, continuing onward and forward. Just as her father would have wished.
The passage of time seemed to slow. Or perhaps speed up as she made her way through the walls of the chateau. She couldn’t tell how long she shambled onward, only that her legs were tired and her back ached. The chateau had been massive from her view outside, but this felt like a long journey through a building that must eventually end.
When she reached the library, she was ready to fall over. If only she had a few hours to lay her head down and sleep. She wanted to dream of a time when she hadn’t been frightened and there had been people surrounding her with love and support. Not monsters who hunted her, listening to the plaster walls as if she were a rat they needed to catch.
Finally, her fingers bumped against a loose stone. Just like the one that had opened the small hatch in the kitchens.
Now, she thought, staring down at the rock even though she could see nothing in the inky darkness. Do it now, or you will rot in these walls forever.
She pushed the stone in and watched as a person-sized stone shifted to the side. The light burned her eyes, but she kept them open wide. She didn’t want to be caught unaware if one of the Dread was waiting for her.
When nothing growled or raced forward at her, she took a deep breath and stepped into the library.
The chateau itself had glimmered with grandeur, therefore she had assumed the library would be splendid. Something that was meant to be admired but never used. Such was not the case of the library of this haunted place.
Gothic windows made up an entire wall, their arched peaks looking as though they were taken out of a church. The storm blustered outside. Hail and snow slapped against the windows and made the view nothing more than a blanket of undulating white.
Bookcases surrounded the rest of the room. Warm wooden bookcases, lovingly crafted with no carvings or exaggerated beauty. They were nothing more than sturdy and made to last. Leather-bound books filled their shelves, but only a few feet higher than a person, so everyone could reach a book.
She had expected everything to be covered in a fine layer of dust. Or at the very least, the books to be shredded like the rest of the chateau. But this place was like stepping back in time. Everything was pristine, old perhaps, but still clean.
The smell of old parchment paper filled her nose. How long had it been since she’d smelled parchment? All the books her father had were written on vellum to preserve them longer. Parchment was rare, and only the churches had those delicate pages in their grasp.
She took a few more steps into the library, listening for any sounds other than her own. She heard nothing, not even claws scraping the floors outside the impressive mahogany door leading out into the chateau beyond.
Perhaps, for a few moments, she was safe. They might not have thought she would come here. What peasant woman would? Only the daughter of a tinker who had taught his beloved child how to read.
The desire to touch and feel the leather bindings under her fingers got the better of her. She threw caution to the wind and stepped forward to the nearest bookcase. Reverently, she drew her fingertip down the first embellished spine.
History of the Seven Kingdoms. The gold letters seemed to glimmer underneath her gentle touch. But that wasn’t possible. It was simply embellished, in gold, yes, but it didn’t have its own light.
Books were just books.
Moving away from the strange bookcase, she followed the shelves and read as many of the spines as she could. Most were books she had never heard of, and a large amount of them were written in a language she couldn’t decipher. The few that were written in her own language seemed to be historical.
Amicia’s gaze ate up whatever words she could find. All the stories that languished here were far more important than she could have guessed. One held the accountings of Little Marsh, another told a story of a neighboring kingdom’s crop records. These were far too important to be in a chateau lost in the middle of the forest.
But why were they here? Her questions were piling up higher and higher.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing was no one could explain things to her. She was locked in here by herself. Somehow, she didn’t think the Dread would tell her which books were the best ones to devour.
Sighing, she pulled one of the heavier books down from the shelf. A History of Little Marsh. She stroked a hand over the cover and tried hard to not let the squeezing in her chest distract her.
She missed everything about her home. Every little detail, from the laundry hanging from the windows and the mouthwatering scent of pies wafting through the street to the sound of people shouting for attention from a neighbor who had been ignoring them. She missed waking her father up in the morning with fresh bread and cheese.
It had only been a couple nights, but it felt like a lifetime. And worst of all, she could never go back. She would never experience these memories again. Someday, she might even forget the beloved tiny details.
Sniffing, she carried the book over to a small desk at the wall of windows on the other side of the room. She placed it down onto the glossy surface and opened the pages with the utmost care.
The first thing was a giant sketch of her town. It was done from outside the city walls, but that was Little Marsh in all its glory. The walls with their braziers and ever-burning fires. The Light of Ember they had kept burning for hundreds of years. The words blurred.
Dashing the tears from her eyes, she then swept her dirtied skirts to the side and sat down on the cushioned stool.