Andor stared into the shadows long after Antelisse had left, the key clamped tightly in his hand.

Questions buzzed through his head like incessant insects. Why was he supposed to open this mysterious vault? What was so important about it that it had to be kept a secret? And then the name Blackthorn, who was this, or more likely, who were they? No matter how much he searched in the back of his mind, the name did not ring a bell.

He toyed with the silver chain between his fingers, weighing the key in his hand. Its heaviness was just another unwanted burden, but it was too late now to go after Antelisse and demand answers from her. He had to find them himself, the vault luring him like a ghost from the past.

The unnatural stillness around him made the rushing of his blood sound like a roaring river in his ears. Hopefully this wasn't the prelude to the return of his headache. He squinted trying to make out something between the bars of the grate, but whatever lay behind, was obscured by shadows, surely another enchantment to keep away prying eyes. The minute keyhole was barely visible, however it seemed to react to the key in his hand and began emitting a faint silver glow, beckoning him towards the opening.

Andor exhaled a long breath. The faster he got this over with, the better. He hovered the key above the keyhole, the light instantly turned bright and the lock sprung open. They key had not even touched the keyhole. Strange, but not impossible. Perhaps it was indeed connected to him in some way. He slung the silver chain around his neck, allowing it to fall under the tunic, and pushed the grate open. His heart was thudding in his chest. At first he saw nothing, only impenetrable darkness. He hesitated for a moment.

What if this was a trap? What if he walked in and never saw the light of day again? He didn't have any obvious reason to distrust Antelisse, but he also didn't exactly have a reason to trust her, besides Serande having sent him to hand her the letter, a letter which she had not even bothered to open.

What if that letter contained an order to get rid of him? Perhaps Serande's agreement to break Rose's spell was just a way to get him to trust her, so she could dispose of him in a convenient way. What if Serande planned to overthrow Xanthos and he was just a liability along the way? No one would ever search for him here. No one besides Nebula knew where he was, and he couldn't count on the insufferable know-it-all bird flying to his rescue. She probably wouldn't even miss him if he never came back.

Nonsense, he needed to stop these thoughts right there before they would go down a path of hopelessness. Why was he always assuming the worst? He could hear Caladon's voice mocking him for his doom-mongering, Bergil scolding him for not being reasonable and Elia overshadowing both of them with her accusatory glance and eloquent arguments. How could he dare to question the righteousness of Antelisse, the much respected head of the library?

The image of his friends made him shoo the last of his worries away. He would prove to them, to Antelisse and to himself that he could do this, that he wasn't afraid. How dangerous could this be? It was only the vault of a library and it wasn't like the books would suddenly attack him. If he could convince himself that this would in any way help bringing back Rose, then it might even turn out to be a useful endeavour and not just a waste of time.

He gave himself a push and entered the vault. A wave of damp air hit his nose. The distinct smell of a dark place that had not seen any ventilation nor light in far too long made him stumble back. Behind him the grate fell shut with a loud clang, the echo reverberating throughout his body. His heart froze in his chest. He was now locked inside. His instinct begged him to escape, but the voice of reason reminded him that as long as he had the key, he wasn't a prisoner. He would worry about the grate later. At least this would guarantee him no unwanted visitors while he searched for—for what?

He let out a long sigh and forced himself to focus on his task. As if in an answer to his newfound resolve, small flickering lights sprung to life along a low lying ceiling, illuminating an unexpectedly small vault, crammed with far too many objects for the confined space it offered.

There were closets of various sizes placed in front of the bookshelves that ran along the walls, two rectangular tables holding multiple chests and an illustrious chandelier atop one of them, filling up most of the leftover space in the centre. Mismatched chairs were stacked in the far away left corner and facing them in the opposite right corner there was a large mirror, partially hidden behind a piece of cloth that had been carelessly thrown over it. Despite the obvious presence of books, this appeared more like a storage room for discarded furniture and personal belongings than the vault of a library.

Why this place had been sealed away for hundreds of years was beyond his grasp. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary in this vault, except an excess of useless items. The golden light reflected off a small chest that might have been a toy box, except it appeared much too elaborate with its intricate designs of flowers and garlands. He opened it to peek inside, but it was empty. Grazing his fingers over the surfaces he noticed that they were completely clean and did not show any layer of dust. Clearly a very interesting and useful piece of magic.

Still, first impressions could be deceptive, as a hunter he knew that all too well, so he should at least make an effort and do a more thorough search. This wasn't much different from tracking down prey. He only needed to find and follow the footprints.

But where to start? Perhaps the books were a good guess, but even though there weren't as many of them as he had expected, it still would take him hours to sift through them. With a sigh he turned towards the shelf to his right and moved one of the closets aside. He skimmed over the book titles that revealed nothing in particular, just anything from collections of adventurous tales, treatises on herb lore, to books about the most sophisticated way to prepare pumpkin pastries. His stomach grumbled at the sight of this last one, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything. He pulled out random volumes to browse through them, but besides a beautifully illustrated art book, which he took time to study in detail, and a surprisingly useful guide to fletching, which he considered borrowing, nothing caught his interest.

After what seemed hours of fruitless search, he grabbed a chair from the stack in the corner and pulled it up to sit at the larger of the two tables, his fingers dancing an impatient rhythm on the rugged surface. He was evidently wasting his time in this confounded place. But then the large metal chest on the table in front of him caught his eye. Twisted leaves and vines snaked themselves around it with intricate carvings of flowers and berries all over the surface. On top of it smaller boxes had been placed together with an empty pot of earthenware. He frowned at the tiny locket on the front side. It appeared to have the same size as the keyhole to the vault. Perhaps his key would open this chest as well?

With his curiosity stirred up, he quickly removed all items from the chest and reached for the key pending from the silver chain around his neck. It was at least worth a try. Carefully he slid the key into the keyhole. It was a perfect fit. With a quiet clicking sound the lock sprung open and Andor opened the lid.

Inside there was — a book.

His initial excitement plummeted. "Of course," he muttered under his breath. No gold or jewels or any other kind of treasures, just another worthless tome. Andor was beginning to suspect that both Antelisse and Serande were somehow delighting in making him suffer. Perhaps having him dig through ancient volumes was their idea of a joke. Whatever it was, it wasn't funny.

He sighed and took the book out from the chest. He might as well take a look at it. It was a large and heavy one, bound in black leather with a crowned blackthorn branch embossed in silver on the cover.

The Family of Blackthorn was written in elegant letters atop what Andor concluded must be their crest.

He placed the book in front of him and began to browse through the pages that had turned yellow with age. Besides the occasional beautiful illustration of people he had never heard of, it droned on and on about their heroic deeds or banal incidents in a language that was overly flowery and had him struggle through sentences that were longer than they had to be.

Apparently the Blackthorns were kings and queens of old, that much he was able to garner, but everything appeared rather dry and shallow to him nevertheless. He really didn't see what was the point of having this book locked away in a chest. He sifted through it with growing disinterest and decided to jump to the last page, which bore none of the former regal appearance, but rather seemed to have been scribbled down in haste, the handwriting nearly illegible. Perhaps this would reveal something more interesting.

He flicked his hand and one of the tiny dots of light obediently zoomed closer. Some lines had been crossed out and thick blots of ink spilled on the parchment made it impossible for Andor to make out anything. The few words he could read were hard to decipher, but they made the blood freeze in his veins.

The King and Queen are dead and so is the newborn Princess. None survived the terrible slaughter.

There was only one more sentence at the bottom of the page, which remained legible.

This is the end of the line of Blackthorn.

He stared at the page as if he hoped that the words might disappear or reshape themselves into something different, but they remained, black and bold, a silent accusation from the depths of time. He felt sick. The account of a cold blooded murder wasn't what he had expected to find. Who would kill both the king and the queen and their newborn daughter?

Suddenly a terrible suspicion rose inside him. He took another look at the page, searching for a date, and it did not take him long to draw his conclusions. Xanthos had been king since Andor had memory, and it had not occurred to him that no one ever spoke of who had been the ruler of Elysse before. This book seemed to contain the answer. No one dared to speak of the former king and queen, because they had been brutally murdered, their killer not even shying away from slaughtering an innocent child. Of course this was something that needed to be kept quiet.

He closed the book with a loud thud and rose from the chair. His stomach rebelled, a wave of nausea building up. With shaky fingers he fumbled in his pocket for the mint leaves he had brought. He chewed on them while he paced the vault, trying to make sense of this gruesome discovery. A myriad of terrifying scenarios exploded in his head, each one more horrific than the last. If it was true what he had just found, the one ruling over Elysse was nothing more than a power hungry assassin.

He stared at the closed book, the Blackthorn crest burning itself into his mind. Something was afoot in Elysse, that much was for sure. Xanthos was apparently becoming restless. Perhaps this was the reason for this meeting he planned to hold? But why? What was Xanthos afraid of? Was he aware that someone might be trying to undermine the iron grip he held on the throne? Andor stopped in his tracks and rubbed his temples trying to contain the viciously pulsating headache that was attacking him. What if his discovery about the Blackthorn family, Xanthos's sudden activity, and the appearance of Rose's book were all somehow connected?

He slid his hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around Rose's drawing. A feeling of warmth pooled in his chest when the image of her blue eyes came back to him. He couldn't help but wonder what was her part in all this. Had she known any of it? He brushed off the thought. No, this couldn't be possible. He had lived in Elysse all his life and not known about this. How could she, a human, who had never set foot in this realm, have insight into something that had been hidden for centuries?

He wouldn't get any answers to his questions by staying down here, or he might, but it would take him days or weeks to work through all the other books stored here and he didn't have that much time. Xanthos was a lot more dangerous than what he had thought and Andor didn't even want to imagine what he might do to Rose, if she ever fell into his hands. His throat tightened when he remembered the gleaming malice in the king's eyes while he pried every little detail about her from Andor. The faster Serande could bring Rose back, the better. Once the enchantment was broken, he would get her out and back to safety. Then he would worry about what all this meant for him and the people of Elysse.

With renewed determination he placed the book back in the chest and made sure to close the lock. After another short glance around the vault he turned towards the grate, which to his relief sprung open by itself, allowing him to exit and closing with a dull thud behind him. Without looking back once, he quickly made his way to Antelisse's office and was grateful to find it empty. Most likely Antelisse and Etharos were busy somewhere else in the library.

When he was halfway through the office, a thought crossed his mind. He turned towards the small table beside the settee and pulled out the copy of How to Train Your Owl. For a moment he stood undecided, browsing through the slim book. It seemed to have at least one chapter dedicated to chameleon owls, so perhaps this might teach him a thing or two about keeping that sassy owl in check. It was worth a try and he would make sure to return it next time he came here. Surely Antelisse wouldn't mind if he borrowed it for a short while, after all she had wanted him to start appreciating books.

Feeling oddly satisfied much like a disobedient student, he snuck out of the office and crossed the entrance hall with swift and determined steps, the snarky librarian nowhere to be seen. Luck seemed to be with him for once. Hopefully it wouldn't desert him.

A steely grey sky greeted Andor upon exiting the library. Heavy rainclouds hung so low they appeared to be straining against the branches of Atunar. The temperature had dropped considerably and a tumultuous wind whipped the leaves through the city streets in a blur of red and orange. It was only a matter of time until the grey mass would empty itself in a relentless torrent. He slid the book inside his tunic. If he was so bold as to borrow it without asking for permission, he should at least make sure it wouldn't get soaked by the pouring rain.

Only a few elves were out and about on the streets and most of them appeared to be in a rush. At first he thought that this was due to the impending thunderstorm, but then he noticed the unusual amount of royal guards patrolling the street in pairs. Their midnight blue tunics set them apart from the common inhabitants and there was an added purposefulness to their demeanour that did not bode well. He could not blame the people of Valantes for wanting to get out of their way. Given the recent knowledge he had just acquired concerning Xanthos, he wished himself as far away as possible from the king's dirty hands.

He was about to turn away when he saw Drakon and a second guard swiftly approaching the library. Great, he had it jinxed. No more luck for him today. He could either go back into the library, which for obvious reasons he didn't want to, or face Drakon, but there was no way he could walk away without it being completely obvious. Perhaps they would just pass the library on their patrol and ignore him? He wasn't doing anything illegal and for all he knew, Drakon couldn't be aware of his discoveries about the monarch he served.

To his dismay Drakon had already spotted him and made straight for where he stood. He signalled the second guard to stand back and approached Andor alone, his gait determined. Andor straightened himself and rolled back his shoulders. Now was not the moment to show weakness.

"What a surprise to see you here," Drakon said with his usual sneer, ostentatiously eyeing first the library and then Andor. "Since when have you taken a liking to books? Does that come with being a hero?"

"Since when does it matter to you how I spend my free time?"

Drakon raised an eyebrow. "I would watch my tongue, if I were you. It might get you in trouble with the authorities one day." His words were both a warning and a challenge.

"You mean with you?" Andor countered unfazed. He was treading a fine line. One step too far and Drakon surely would not hesitate to find a reason to throw him in Xanthos's dungeon.

"No, but with the king." A muscle twitched in Drakon's jaw, his face otherwise completely devoid of any emotion. A royal guard through and through. "Xanthos has called for a meeting tomorrow at noon. Your presence is required. Don't be late."

His words were like a punch in the gut. "The king? Why does he want me to come to this meeting?" Every single fibre in Andor's body recoiled at the thought of having to face Xanthos. The image of him perched like a vulture on his throne was a thorn he wanted to rip from his mind.

"He does not need a reason. Just make sure you are there, otherwise trouble will find you." Drakon subtly tilted his head, his voice a dangerous growl. "I will personally make sure of it." There was a glint in his eyes that sent a chill down Andor's spine, but he did not flinch.

Without another word Drakon turned away on his heel. He waved the second guard to join him and both disappeared into the winding streets ahead.

Andor let out a long breath as the tension left his body. How in the name of Atunar was he going to get out of this one? A distant rumble filled the sky. Gusts of wind chased the leaves through the streets like a startled flock of birds. Andor looked up into the gloominess above and his stomach twisted into a tight knot. The oncoming storm wasn't the only torment that was about to hit him.