THE FRAGRANCE OF the library was better than that of a bouquet of aromatic red roses or fresh spices and herbs. The high-ceilinged room beheld a scent of ancient, leather-bound books with cracking spines and yellowing parchment, of the old wood that the shelves were made from, and faintly, despite the king's previous reservations, of the simmering tea and fresh biscuits that Alexander sometimes brought there for Maarit—albeit secretly.

It was a nice scent. Comforting.

After another long day of training with Theodoracius, Maarit was perfectly content to sit on the cold floor between two bookshelves, staring up at the glass ceiling and the chandelier that was suspended from the very centre of the dome. The orange glow of the setting sun was just beginning to set the sky afire. Trickling through the glass, sunlight danced across the chandelier's crystals, rays bounding off in every direction and casting shadows created by the tall shelves across the room.

       Maarit's legs were numb enough to make sitting on the floor uncomfortable, but moving from her current position even more so. Across her shoulders spilled her thick hair, still damp from the bath she had taken to cleanse her sun-kissed skin of sweat and grime. There was an open book draped across her lap and a dozen more piled up beside her. They were more books on soothsaying that possessed extensive information on the history of past influential soothsayers, numerous significant prophecies and methods of controlling one's powers.

       Maarit had never had this much knowledge at her disposal. It was overwhelming. Back at the library in her village, there had only been one book about soothsaying that had informed her how to go about receiving visions; but it had been written from a biased point of view, and presented soothsaying as something demonic and unnatural.

       This was different. These tomes affirmed the fact that her powers were not a weakness. They did not make her evil. They made her strong, and she could do a whole lot of good if she used them properly.

       After a few minutes of flipping through pages and absorbing what she could, the only sound being the rustling parchment, the double doors at the library's entrance flew open. Alexander swept into the room, his hand outstretched to the side. Behind him trailed a floating tray, on top of which a steaming cup was settled.

       His dark, enigmatic eyes swept the room until they landed on her. The man's lips twitched slightly, graced by the smallest of smiles. He, too, enslaved by a sadistic king at a young age, had a lifetime of pain in his eyes. "I shouldn't be doing this... again," he grumbled, gesturing to the cup of tea he'd brought her.

       She looked back at him, raising her eyebrows. "Must we really have this discussion every time you do this? It was your decision, anyway. No one forced you to do nice things for me, Xander."

"Don't spill it or I will be forced to explain to His Majesty that I've been sneaking drinks into a place filled with his precious, very delicate books."

"Oh, don't you worry about him," Maarit scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "If I spill it, you can just use magic to clean it all up and he'll never know. Anyway, I can handle him. It seems that he is, for the most part, unable to resist me. Although apparently, neither are you. Thank you, by the way, for blatantly disobeying your king's orders to bring me my favourite tea in the library." She beamed at him, tucking a damp lock of dark hair behind her ear. "You do know that you're not my servant, right?"

       The warlock blushed and looked at the floor. "Of course," he said. "I do it because you're my friend."

He waved his hand in her direction, causing the steaming teacup to descend gracefully down towards Maarit, right into her outstretched hands.

       She sighed heavily, then inhaled a whiff of tea. "As reluctant as I am to admit this, you make me terribly envious whenever you do that," she said, lifting her wrist to show him the onyx bracelet, as if to affirm to him that it was indeed still restraining her.

       Alexander began to retort until he stopped mid-sentence, as though he had suddenly found he had lost his voice. Something like realization swept through his wide, protuberant eyes.

       Concerned, Maarit squinted at him. "What? What is it?"

       "I..." he began hesitantly, nerves plucking his vocal cords and making him sound quieter and shakier than usual, "I—just remembered—there's something—something that I should show you."

       Eyebrows furrowed, he slowly lifted his hand and reached his fingers out to grasp at air. At once, a book in the very middle of the pile beside Maarit slid on the ground towards Alexander while the rest filled the missing space with a thud. Watching him carefully, she saw that he had closed his eyes and was whispering an incantation. When he had finally finished, the book fell open at his feet, without having been touched. He snapped his fingers and a piece of parchment appeared, marking the page he wanted her to see.

       Maarit turned her inquisitive gaze to Alexander. "Don't get all cryptic. Sit with me," she insisted, patting the floor next to her.

       Appearing very anxious, he shook his head. "Perhaps another time. His Majesty requires my assistance." He lowered his voice. "I thought this might help you. I found it quite interesting. It is not yet common knowledge. In fact, I think you'll come to realize that this particular piece of information has been completely neglected by the king, among others."

       Then, the lanky, awkward man prodded the book with his foot, nudging it in Maarit's direction until it had slid right in front of her. Waiting to be opened. Tempting her.

       As soon as she picked up the book, she looked up to find that Alexander was gone. She knew instantly why: he was trying to inform her of something that he knew he shouldn't have.

       Fingers working rapidly, she flipped open to the page saved by the piece of parchment, eyes sweeping over the words hungrily.

Soothsayers are born with the natural ability to perform four basic spells in addition to their clairvoyance: the summoning, conjuring, banishment and levitation of any tangible objects (with a few limitations).

Primarily, if an object is to be summoned, it must be within a specific range of size in relation to distance from the summoner (see page 210). If the object does not meet the summoning criteria, it can instead be conjured. Conjured objects do not appear from out of nowhere; thus, to perform this spell, the exact location of the desired object must be known and visualized in one's mind. Once this has been done, it shall appear before the conjurer. This is more difficult than a summoning and will require more power on the part of the soothsayer. Banishment is the opposite of summoning and the one to execute the spell must therefore know and visualize the exact location they wish to banish the object to. Levitation is the simplest of these four spells. The object in question must merely be within a visible radius.

Note: the above spells can be performed on animate objects such as human beings or animals, but are more effective when executed on inanimate ones.

       When Maarit came to the bottom of the excerpt, everything—every muscle, every bone in her body—froze except for a finger that tapped nervously against the page. There it was, glaringly obvious, staring right at her in black and white. It was the answer that she had been looking for, the answer that she could've had all along if only she'd tried harder.

       Soothsayers were not only born with the ability to receive visions and recite prophecies. They were born with some of the powers that witches and warlocks possessed, yet they were separate entities.

       She already knew that Sorcerer's Tenebrium only inhibited the powers of witches and warlocks, not those of soothsayers. That meant that even with the bracelet smothering her powers, she could still perform certain spells—spells made for soothsayers, not for witches. She possessed abilities that she had not yet tapped into.

       A single, painful thought caused her heart to plummet and a pit to sink to the bottom of her stomach.

       If she had known, she could've fought off the guard who had raped her.

       If she had known, she could've escaped from the dungeons somehow.

       If she had known, she could've prevented being abducted and brought to the castle in the first place.

       No, she thought to herself, shaking her head adamantly. There is no point in dwelling on any of that. What's done is done, and all I can hope to do is to make a better future.

       The flaming wood of the day may have been turning to dark coals of the night, but the flame in her eyes was certainly far from being snuffed out. Far from being turned to coal.

She had no time to mourn the past.

The past would mourn her.