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PREVIOUSLY...
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Through gruelling training, Azura discovered Suri is very ill. Alongside this, she also learnt that those deemed weak within the Order are banished or sent to another part of the rebellion within Wymler. This journey is through the hostile Midland and most don't survive it. Azura vowed not to let Suri be exiled.

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The library is illuminated by the faint glow of chandeliers flickering high above the shelves of books, casting lengthy shadows and pockets of pressing darkness in the maze-like chamber. I pick my jaw up off the floor when another kid walks past, their nose buried in a heavy tome.

The place is magnificent, unlike anything I've seen before. It's buried beneath the school, the walls made up of smoothed rock and ancient tapestries.

I trace a slippered foot over the worn carpet, those bold patterns that I was first introduced to in Elder Palmira's room covering the large expanse of the library. I was told by Suri that I'm not allowed to wear muddy boots in here and she lent me her dainty, silk slippers that she definitely didn't steal. The corners of my lips lift with the memory that reaches me of her words and the colour that rose to her bronzed cheeks.

I continue forward into the library, the musty smell of old books and the earthly scent of the chamber embracing me, drawing me further into its depths. I pass tables of thick oak where some students study, piles of books stacked beside them. Worn leather sofas and flickering lanterns are pushed into cosy corners and I get the feeling I wouldn't mind staying in this place for a while.

I trace my gloved fingers along leather-bound books, scriptures, loose pages, until my fingertips stop on one. A random choice, the letters on the black spine of the book swirling and nonsensical, but they're gold and remind me of my strange markings. Though I know I won't find my answers in a dusty book within a library, I still slide the heavy tome from the shelf and flip through the yellowed pages.

I close the book and press it to my chest. My brother would often read stories to me, though he struggled too. He didn't know how to teach, how to make the sounds he was producing fit the letters I was seeing. I couldn't connect them like he could, and eventually we stopped trying.

There's no one to read me stories anymore, which means I have to learn to read if I want them.

I frown at that and look down at the book in my hands. I shouldn't want for such things. I should focus on training, on getting through this ordeal, on finding Jile and removing his head from his shoulders, on discovering who ordered the ambush on the street rats and sentenced Dax to death.

Yet, here I am, still a child desperate for fables.

I take the book with me and go in search of a table hidden and unoccupied. The chamber is filled with a calming quiet that I haven't experienced in what feels like years. My world is chaos and fire, rarely is there a dull moment.

I find a table tucked into an alcove where candles burn in pools of wax and the gentle scratch of paper can be heard. I find the boy with his head bowed over his strewn papers, a piece of charcoal blackening his fingertips as he shades in the full curve of a lower lip.

I can't help but stare at his drawing of a young girl with eyes that carry a fierce determination in them, even in the drawing. Her skin is scattered with freckles, like the night sky has been littered across her features. She's breathtaking and I wonder what she looks like in colour.

"Who is she?" I blurt out, causing Ari to jump and drop his charcoal.

His amber eyes dart to mine. "Holy Mother," he mutters, then chuckles. "You continue to surprise me."

I hum as I sit on the chair opposite him, setting down my book and splaying my hands over it. "How so?"

"Well, as a shape-shifter, I have sharp senses." He picks up his charcoal and rubs it between his fingers, studying me with his keen eyes. "But you managed to sneak up on me."

"Maybe it's because of this," I reply and reach across the table for the bottle at his elbow. I uncork it and sniff it with a quirked brow. "Wine." But as I look back at him everything narrows, sharpens, heightens. Colours become brighter, like the sun has cracked through the ceiling and bathes the library in a glow. The senses overwhelm me, consume me, become me.

I can hear the quickening of his heartbeat as he studies me.

"Quinket grapes," I blurt, the scent swirling around me, making my head spin with warmth and headiness. "Grown in Yetok. More specifically... Usteronte." My brows pinch as a memory surfaces. A warm memory, one of sunshine and laughter, of picking fruit and smearing my lips with grape juice. The memory is gone as quickly as it had come and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "Aged for fifteen years." I shove the cork back into the bottle, my fingers beginning to shake as my senses dull. "Before the Sharlik soldiers arrived."

"You got all of that," he waves a hand, "from smelling it?"

Don't trust him. Don't tell him.

Trust him. Let him see you.

I lift my gaze to him and the wonder in his eyes settles my nerves a little. My lips quirk and my negative thoughts are dashed away. "You're not the only one with sharp senses, shape-shifter."

Fool. Foolish girl. He'll use it against you.

But maybe he won't, and it can't hurt to have a few allies in this place.

He snorts and shrugs, taking back his bottle to swig from it. "And what's that?" he asks, nodding to the book before me as he licks his lips. I glance down at the book and spin it around so he can read the title because I certainly can't. Ari raises a brow, his gaze flicking from the book to my face. "The book of the Chosen Ones of Ninasha? I didn't think any of those were still around after the Empire destroyed and outlawed them."

"Oh," I murmur, tracing the writing on the front before flipping through the pages. "I don't know much about them."

Ari waves a hand with a snort. "And you're better off for it. They were fanatics, the lot of them, but they've been gone for hundreds of years. All they did was spread their bullshit about the gods like they were real."

"You don't believe in the gods?" I study his face as his nose wrinkles.

"If there were such things as gods, I don't believe any of them would bother with us. Yet the Chosen Ones claimed the great God of Wisdom herself—Ninasha—whispered in their ear." Ari shakes his head. "Maybe they drank too much wine." With that, he tips the bottle to his lips again.

"Why are you drinking, anyway? I thought things like that were prohibited in this place."

"I like to draw when I can't think properly."

I glance down at his drawing of the girl with the freckles and stern lips. I haven't seen her in the school. "You draw your memories then?"

Ari nods, his eyes on the drawing. "I don't want to forget them, but the only way I can stand them is when I'm not completely sober." A smile tugs at his lips, a sad sort of smile, one that reaches into my chest and grips my heart.

"I'm sorry, Ari," I mutter, my fingers curling around the book. "I'm sorry for what you must've endured."

"You're referring to Tacree?" He leans back in his seat, his eyes darting between mine.

"You're from there, yes?"

And you tried to steal the last riches from his home. Pathetic.

"I am," he says, his words clipped. "And where are you from?"

My lips part at his question and my stomach churns.

Nowhere.

You belong to nothing. You're from nothing.

You're no one.

Hush, he'll see through her.

"I'm..." I can't seem to find the words and I stare at my hands as they tighten around the book. "I'm from Warroll." But is it a lie? I suppose in a way I am from there. A part of me was forged there.

Jadira's flowers and herbs. Maybe that place was once my home. A cottage amongst the shrubbery and sunlight of a land I don't remember.

Why can't I remember? Why can Ari remember so clearly that he can draw their faces, but I can't even remember their names?

Because it's not important anymore.

The rough voice reminds me of my brother's words, words he repeated like a mantra until I started to hurl them myself. But now that belief is unravelling.

"It must've been rough living there." His voice snaps me from the tug-of-war within me and I blink. "I haven't heard good things."

"No," I mutter, tracing the lettering on the book again. "I don't believe you would have."

Ari nudges the bottle towards me with an arched brow, enticing me. I swipe up the bottle and take a gulp of the sweet wine. It goes down smoothly and I suck the taste from my teeth before passing it back to him.

"Thank you," I say and he gives me a wink.

"No worries." He looks back down at his drawing and slides the page around before moving it towards me. I study the drawing of the girl then glance at him. "Her name was Rosabel and she was the scariest girl I knew growing up." That sad smile returns to his lips as I touch the paper, my gloved fingers trailing over the long locks of her hair. "The colour was bright orange, like the sunset. She'd always wear it out so it'd flow around her like a flame when we rode horses."

"You were close?"

"We were raised together." He lets out a sigh and rests his chin in his palm. "We were destined for marriage."

My lips part and eyes widen at that. "Oh." It's the only thing I can manage to say. I can't imagine marrying someone, and I especially can't imagine being destined for someone so young. "Did that not... scare you?"

"Sure, it terrified me," he admits but then he grins, flashing teeth stained from the wine. "But then she told me she preferred girls so it stopped terrifying me."

My eyes widen another fraction and I stare at him. "Wait, but you still had to marry?"

"We didn't have a choice." He rakes his fingers through his hair. "But it doesn't matter anymore, that concern is long behind me."

I look back down at the girl, imagining her with fiery hair and a spirit to match. "What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely a breath.

"The same thing that happened to the rest of my family," he replies, sliding the picture back towards him to gather the rest of the pages into a pile. "But..." He hesitates for a moment. "I believe she could be out there still."

I offer a smile at the hope he still holds onto. "They were a strong ally to the rebellion," I reply, not sure what else to say, not sure how to comfort someone in the face of such sorrow.

"They would have been, yes, if they were part of the rebellion. Come on, we should probably start heading to class." He stands but his words don't settle well with me.

"Wait," I say, reaching towards him and clasping his forearm before he can retreat. "What did you say?"

"That we should be heading to class?" he asks, looking down at me.

I shake my head. "No, before that, about the shape-shifters not being part of the rebellion."

A muscle in his jaw flutters before he answers. "We refused Palmira's offer to join the rebellion. There wasn't much of a point to a rebellion ten years ago when the Empire was lazy and no longer a threat." He begins to move again but I shift with him.

"But the Empire still destroyed Tacree ten years ago. That isn't the behaviour of a weak force."

"You don't read a lot of history books, do you?"

"I don't read a lot in general," I reply, a bite to my tone.

Ari sighs before slumping back down in his seat. "Azura, I don't want you to worry or concern yourself with this. I shouldn't have said anything." He offers me a smile that I narrow my eyes at.

"Why? What do you know?"

"A lot more than I want to." He takes his bottle of wine and stands again. "And I'd advise you not ask too many questions." Ari walks away and I stare after him, confusion swirling around me.

Not ask too many questions? Not bloody likely.