Hollace Lambert wondered about the young Sebastian even after the boy had already his office. He chuckled to himself, not quite believing his luck, before locking the office door behind the boy. As such, it didn't necessarily surprise him when a bulky shadow moved against the far wall by the famed portrait titled Ride of the Fire Sprite.

Then again, that particular painting hadn't been considered infamous since before the Purge. 

The dying fireplace illuminated the shadow's handsome face. It reminded Lambert of the ageless faces he had lived amongst in his foolish youth. Taking his time, Lambert approached the couch. A new stack of scrolls sat on one of the cushions, scrolls that hadn't been there moments before. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bookshelf move. It swung back into place on its hidden hinge, briefly revealing a dark corridor that led to the oldest parts of Queen Davina's fortress. Before the Purge, it had been used by Rainier's former rulers as access to the Scribal scrolls that had been kept in the library. Since Davina Salvera's reign, however, the tunnels had been all but forgotten, taking with it the remembrance of the library's former significance.

Now, the tunnels were used by Lambert and the eyes he kept in the fortress.

"I see you've been busy," Lambert finally addressed the lurker. He sighed when the thickly cloaked man refused to cross the barrier into the warmly lit office. "By all means, Sparrow, do make yourself at home."

When the stubborn man still failed to respond, Lambert returned to the scrolls that had been left on his couch. "Thank you for these," he said into the silence. He shuffled through the various parchments and saw that many included writing in the old Scribal language. After the Purge, Queen Davina had ransacked the library and taken all of those ancient books and scrolls for herself. It was rumored most of them had been burned. The rest were currently kept in the queen's Keep.

He took the beats of silence to translate a few words and symbols from the scrolls Sparrow had brought from the Keep and then reorganized them into an orderly pile.

Finally, Sparrow spoke the words Lambert knew had been suffocating him. "This is a risk," he said. "You know it to be true."

"There are many risks in this world. As such, there are some we must take. Progress halts without risks."

He felt the man's scowl from the shadows. "Risks can also kill. We've worked too hard and long for it to rest on the shoulders of some uneducated fisher's boy."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"So can placing trust in those who have failed to prove themselves." Sparrow hesitated and then began again. "If you would only allow Her Highness—"

"She is useless to us," Lambert snapped, "Though keep an eye on that little terror of a girl. My suspicions say she has already encountered her equal."

"Keep an eye on that boy," Sparrow countered, and, with that, he stepped deeper into the hidden passage and was gone.

Lambert exhaled slowly into the now empty room, rubbing his temples, before shutting the bookcase back into place. He collected Davina's scrolls and placed them into the secret compartment that he'd built over the fireplace. With one last look around his office to make sure everything was how it should be, he unlocked the door and stepped into one of the corridors of the library. Despite his earlier disagreement with the man from the secret tunnel, he knew he had work to do with the so-called Sebastian d'Aximos.

The forgotten Author child.

O O O

Sebastian sat at a small desk in an alcove amidst stacks of books when Master Lambert found him again. His finger hovered over a passage in an old alchemy book that explained various methods of solidifying water into a golden substance stronger than stone. A little guiltily, he met Master Lambert's wrinkled gaze which looked questioningly at the scrolls he had given Sebastian to translate.

"I finished them," Sebastian explained hastily. "I picked up this book in the meantime. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, dear boy!" Master Lambert clapped his hands together. The sound startled Sebastian in the otherwise solitude of the Stacks. "Now, this is where you'll be doing the majority of your work each day. l expect you back tomorrow morning at sunrise. There will be more scrolls awaiting you, and they do not leave this room. Understood?"

Again, Sebastian nodded.

"Splendid. At sunset, Huvert will come to show you to the exit. I look forward to seeing you again, young man. Tomorrow morning," Lambert reminded him with a grin. "The scrolls will be waiting, and so will knowledge!"

Sebastian stared after the man for quite some time. His brain felt rattled from trying to keep up with the events of the day. He found it a bit strange that Master Lambert needed someone to translate. Was there really no one else in the capital, the city where those of highest intellect and creativity resided, who could accurately read the old language? Not to mention, as far as Sebastian understood it, no one bothered with stories written in the old language anymore. Especially not in a place like Halorium where Scribes were deemed treasonous traitors, at best.

Do not cut a full fishing net, his ma's words echoed in his head, Simply accept the luck and enjoy the meals.

It was rather tedious work, to be honest. After working through three Scribal fables—all of which he'd heard before from his ma—and what seemed like countless, repetitive hours, Sebastian sighed and leaned back against the chair, dragging a hand down his face. Though he had never put much academic stock into fables such as these, he was still determined to get his translation absolutely perfect, which turned out to be a more difficult task than he'd imagined. There were nuances to the old language that proved hard to compute into the more common language of Halorium. His brain enjoyed challenges, always had, but ancient fairy tales had never been ones to capture his interest.

He rubbed his eyes vigorously before settling back into his work, but it didn't take long for his eyelids to grow heavy--

Something yanked on his navel and pulled him from his stupor.

Recalling the specter from the night before, Sebastian jerked to attention, blinking rapidly. His stomach lurched as he looked up from the scrolls.

It was her. The cursing angel who had appeared in his and Abel's room at the inn. He knew it as surely as he recognized his own name when it was called. She watched him from her spot opposite his alcove, perched on a precariously stacked pile of books. Some primal instinct within him lifted its head and watched her back.

There was an assessing rigidity to her posture that forced Sebastian to tidy himself under the weight of her flinty gaze.

She couldn't truly be a ghost.

Her hood still hid the majority of her features, but Sebastian could tell she didn't seem at all pleased with him. It made him feel oddly defensive. His words blurted from his tongue. "You were in my room the other night."

The girl huffed out a chuckle that did not seem at all amused. "Your room? Has your male ego forgotten about the girl you were killing on your bed?"

"Killing? I was doing no such thing—!"

He imagined her expression was as icy as her tone. "Who are you?"

Perhaps calling her an angel had been an incorrect assumption to make even if he had thought of her as a foul-mouthed one. Sebastian frowned, crossing his arms across his chest if only to hide the shaking.

"I'm Master Lambert's new apprentice." He cleared his throat and cocked his head at her. "Do you work here, too?"

It seemed unlikely. She didn't seem to have the academic demeanor present in the other shelvers he had come across. Not to mention there wasn't even the smallest hint of ink splatters on her hands.

"I would most likely die if I did. It seems terribly boring."

When she peered over at his work sprawled across the desk, Sebastian scrambled to cover it, remembering belatedly what Master Lambert had instructed him of concealing his work with the Scribal tongue that was otherwise taboo in Halorium.

But there was a flash of recognition in her hooded expression, and Sebastian knew instantly she had seen it regardless.

"You're a translator, then? How very interesting." With a fluid grace that was intimidating enough to send Sebastian's pulse racing, she crossed her legs primly and leaned towards him. "Why must Goddess Elayn be so wonderfully cruel?"

He blinked at her. "Pardon?"

She waved off his confusion. "Oh, never you mind."

Her head curled to the right as a door to a nearby room opened and then clicked shut. The insignificant noise somehow blasted between them. Sebastian jumped. It must have signaled something to the girl, as well, because she unfolded herself from her perch, brushing off her furred cloak.

"Well, I'm sure we will meet again, young translator."

"Will we?"

"Of course." Her eyes somehow flashed beneath her hood. "I still have so many questions." She inclined her head to a spot on the floor. "You dropped some parchment, by the way."

Not wanting to take his eyes from her, he glanced shortly to where she pointed. Sure enough, a crumpled, torn bit of parchment waited just out of reach of his toes. Like someone had balled it up in their fist. But it certainly hadn't been him!

The girl clucked her tongue. "A scholar who vandalizes ancient texts. How scandalous."

He flushed and quickly scooped it up.

"Murderer of women and books, it seems."

Sebastian clenched his jaw, and even though he abhorred to take his attention from the girl for fear of her disappearing into the air, his eyes scanned over the parchment, having a curiosity of their own. Strange. There was only one word scrawled across it in dark red ink. Sebastian blinked, the accent over the final letter recognizable.

"Voixili?" he murmured aloud.

The Scribal word rolled from his tongue without much effort. Sebastian felt the strangest sensation that it hung between him and the girl, a tangible thread that he could grab onto and pull. Something he felt compelled to do when the air fell atop him. His lungs constricted with the weight, his stomach gasping against their confinements. Until a musty gust of a breeze tore into the alcove. It ruffled his hair and the unfurled scrolls on his desk before tearing the ripped parchment from his grasp.

The air lifted once more. Settled. Stilled.

The hooded girl caught the airborne parchment, and her tone exposed her hidden grin. "I shall see you soon."

Sebastian cursed the drafty stacks and struggled towards her. "Wait! Don't—You can't take that—!"

But the mysterious girl had already disappeared between the stacks.

Specter.

-

There was no hint of the hooded girl.

Not anywhere.

Again.

At least the air hadn't threatened to crush him again.

The sun had already set by the time Sebastian stepped out of the tunnels and back onto the thirteen pathways of Halorium. It was snowing and cold, and Sebastian shivered against the brisk wind. He trudged on through the gates, out of the fortress, barely noticing anything beyond where his thoughts led him—why was the old language still in Halorium? It was associated with the mysticism of the seven elemental threads, none of which even existed. Certainly not in Halorium. Not to mention that magic was hardly intellectual. It was a fantasy. And the girl, she had done something to Abel, had claimed it had been his fault—

Nonsense.

Sebastian batted those thoughts away as he made his way back to the inn hoping to extend his solitude as long as possible in order to use the time to just think. His brain already pounded, his questions punching through his skull in a mad jailbreak to freedom. It was going to drive him mad.

Noise rang out from the inn's pub, louder than the previous evenings. A sigh escaped him as he marched his way straight to the rickety stairs that led up to the inn's private rooms. When he stepped on the first step, he heard a tinkling laugh. It gave him immediate pause. He turned and backtracked, craning his head around the low archway into the bar.

A tall redheaded girl stood atop one of the circular tables, a large crowd having formed around it. A clear path laid out before her, a wall with a target for darts on the opposite end. Sebastian watched as a beefy man tossed an apple into the air. A gleaming knife appeared from the girl's hand, catching the apple on the fly and pinning it to the wall with a squelching smack. Three other apples sat in similar states next to it, all in a juicy but neat row.

So much for keeping a low profile.

"Pay up, you fiends!"

Abel held her arms wide and twirled in a victorious circle.

Men cursed and grumbled as coins plunked against the wooden countertops.

By the Scribes!

Sebastian shoved his way through the crowd to get to his daring friend who now stood toe-to-toe with a man who towered at least a foot taller.

"I said pay up," Abel insisted, hands on her curved hips. "I wagered I could slice four apples mid-flight." She nodded at the wall with the massacred apples. "I think it's clear to see I did. Now pay up you filthy, masochistic—!"

The enraged man raised an arm as if to slap her. Sebastian hurried towards her, but he should have known there would be no need for his aid. Abel caught the man's wrist, elbowed him with her opposite arm in his bulging gut, and proceeded to knock him off his feet when she swept a leg behind his knee.

He toppled to the ground where Abel pinned him, smirking into his reddening face. "It may do you wise to not underestimate a woman again, don't you think?"

Sebastian reached her, grabbing her around the waist and tugging her from the man. Surprisingly, she let him, offering the crowd a flouncy wave. Judging by the cackles of the crowd, Sebastian wouldn't doubt that she had blown a kiss at the defeated man. Sebastian had seen her do it before.

"You couldn't just sit still for one day?"

She pinched him in the ribs. "Nice to see you, too, Bash. I'm doing well, thank you for asking."

Sebastian pulled up short of the stairs as the innkeeper stumbled up to them. "Yeh promised there'd be no trouble, girl."

"That thief wouldn't pay what was owed." Abel widened her amber eyes in a look of innocence that usually caught men off guard. "Is that the type of establishment you run? A den of robbers?"

The innkeeper's ruddy cheeks reddened, but his puffed chest deflated under Abel's curated smile. Sebastian sighed. "Sir, I'm sure she meant no harm, and you do have to admit, the man made a wager." He glanced over at Abel, willing her to stay silent for once in her life. She batted her eyelashes in response. Sebastian half-wished to stick his tongue out at her like they'd done when they had been children.

Instead, he turned back towards the innkeeper. "Seeing as she is owed the coins, you can collect them; it will be our payment for causing such a commotion."

With a lingering look at Abel, the innkeeper grunted his approval and staggered off towards the pub to collect his money. Sebastian used the opportunity to escape to their room, half-dragging Abel up the small staircase behind him.

When Sebastian finally shut the door behind them, Abel rounded on him with a pointed expression. "Why would you give that lard of an innkeeper my winnings?"

She looked healthy, her cheeks flushed from the excitement of the pub, her eyes lit with mischief. It hardly seemed possible that she had been on death's doorstep. Perhaps she truly hadn't been. Perhaps the hooded girl had been wrong.

Maybe Abel had just been sick.

Perhaps his mother had only died.

He ran a hand through his mass of curls, busying himself with lighting a match over a candle's wick. "There are more important things at stake than gambling." He tossed the used match into the waste bin as the candle flickered to life.

Abel must have sensed his mood because she lowered her voice, a soft hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? Did something happen today?"

"What's wrong?" A choked, humorless laugh escaped him. "I thought you were dead. Just last night. I thought I was going to have to bury you along with my mother! Now I find you participating in barroom brawls like none of it ever happened." He shook her hand off, breathing heavily as he met her stare. "I think I'm going insane."

"Bash, you're not—"

He paced away from her. "You don't understand."

"Then, tell me."

Sebastian paused and looked at the empty wall behind Abel's head. "Someone came in here the other night. A girl. She cured you, I think." He turned back to her, gauging her reaction. "The same girl found me today. She accused me. Of harming you."

His head drooped in shame, unable to meet her expression. He wouldn't blame Abel if she was horrified. Gods knew he could hardly stand it himself. So, he was surprised when her fingers slid through his own, offering him comfort.

"This isn't your fault, Bash," she said. "You've had an unfathomable past few weeks. If anything, you've been extraordinary." He was even more shocked when she stretched up and placed a swift kiss on his cheek. "None of it is your fault."

"But what if it was?" His breath caught in his throat when he looked at her. "What if it was me?"

"Bad things happen to the best people, and you're one of the best." She shook her head and placed a palm to his pounding chest. "Imogene loved you with all her heart. I love you with all I'm capable of giving, and I'm here to help you. So, if it's proof you need to put your mind at ease, we'll find it."

Her pulse hammered beside his cheek as he dropped his head into the space between her shoulder and neck.

I will find my truths, Ma.

Either that or he would think himself into insanity.