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Woref dipped his head. “I'm only interested in protecting what is mine.”

“My daughter is yours? I don't remember a wedding. What I do remember is that there won't be one until the Books are found.”

“Of course. But this man is no ordinary man. I don't trust him.”

“Nor I. Which is why I wanted him dead. Although I must admit, this idea of yours is growing on me.” He smiled wryly.

Qurong opened his robe and let it fall to the ground. Steam from the hot rocks the servants had set inside the pool rose around the perimeter. He hated the bathing, not only because of the stinging pain, but because it reminded him of capital punishment. Drowning. The Great Romance was a brilliant way to keep the people in their place, but there should be an exception for royalty.

“I am only concerned for your daughter's safety, my lord.”

“She has her guard. The albino is under lock and key. If I didn't know better, I would say that you're jealous, Woref.”

“Please, don't insult me, my lord.”

Qurong walked down the steps and onto the bathing platform. He dipped his foot in the water, then withdrew it. This dreaded practice would be the death of him.

“What of you, Ciphus? What do you say?”

“I say what I said earlier. To keep your captive on a leash takes a stronger hand than killing him.”

“Then you agree that he requires a stronger hand.”

The high priest cleared his throat. “The albinos don't believe in the sword, if that's what you mean. Even Thomas of Hunter wouldn't harm your daughter. But he may try to escape.”

“Is there a way to escape from the library?”

“You would have to ask Woref.”

“Well then, Woref?”

“There's always a way to escape.”

“Without violence?”

He hesitated.

“Well?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Then what's your worry? You haven't found the Books. I would concern myself with that.”

“Then I would request that as soon as I have married your daughter, you allow me to kill Thomas of Hunter,” Woref said.

“I thought that was the understanding.”

Woref glanced at Ciphus, who spoke. “Actually, I believe Thomas was meant to serve indefinitely, as long as he proves useful in translating the Books of Histories. It is a task of great benefit to the Great Romance.”

“I'm not interested in a translation made by my enemy. It would be untrustworthy. If he can teach Chelise to read the Books, I will let him finish his task before killing him. Otherwise he will die.”

The priest frowned. “Chelise is under the assumption—”

“I don't care what my daughter thinks! This is my decision to make. Woref is right. This albino is not to be trusted! Whatever agreement they made when he struck her is none of my concern.”

Yes, I do know more than you think, Woref.

“Thomas of Hunter will be my slave until he's no longer useful,” Qurong continued. “Then I will kill him myself. Now, if you will kindly both leave me, I have the terrible duty to bathe in this stink hole for a moment.”

They bowed, stepped back, and turned to leave.

“Ciphus.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I would like you to arrange public display of my slave. A parade or a ceremony where the people see him firmly under my foot.”

“An excellent idea,” Woref said.

“How much time would you need?” Qurong asked.

Ciphus answered slowly. “Perhaps two days.”

“Not tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow, if you want to rush it.”

Qurong turned to the pool. “Two days then.”

17

T
homas spent the first night alone in the cold, dark cell below the library, praying for Elyon to show himself. A sign, a messenger of hope, a piece of fruit that would open his eyes. A dream.

But he hadn't dreamed. Not of Kara, not of anything.

He hadn't seen a soul since being ushered into the library's basement and locked in the windowless cell. Surely if Chelise had been so eager to uncover the mysteries of the Books, she would have come that first night and demanded he read more.

Maybe the reading was a thin abstraction for her. Or maybe it was Qurong who wanted to hear him read. Or Perhaps Ciphus had arranged it, eager for another chance to be shown the power Thomas had promised.

They'd been in the Horde city three days. Would Mikil have mounted a rescue? No, not if she followed their agreement. Not so long ago the Forest Guard would have stormed in with swords drawn, killed a few hundred Scabs, and freed them or died trying. But without weapons the task was far too dangerous. They all knew that.

Thomas rested his head against the stone wall and lifted his hand in front of his face. If he used his imagination, he could see it. Or could he? Like his dreams, there but beyond normal sight. Like the Shataiki bats that lived in the trees. Like Justin. Without the proper illumination they were all out of sight. It didn't mean they weren't there.

The door suddenly eased open. He scrambled to his feet.

Two temple guards dressed in hooded black robes stood in the door-way, broad swords drawn. “Out. Step carefully.”

He walked into the basement's dim light. They marched him up the stairs and down a corridor that paralleled the main library where the scribes worked. He could see the royal garden through a row of windows. Other than the sound of birds chirping outside, the only sound was their feet on the wooden floor.

One of the guards unlocked a door with a large key. “Wait inside.”

Thomas entered the large storeroom where the Books of Histories were kept. The door closed. Locked.

Four tall torches added to the light that streamed in through two sky-lights. They'd left him alone with the Books. He didn't know how long he had, but he had an opportunity here. If he could only find a Book that recorded what had happened during the Great Deception. Any Book that discussed the Raison Strain.

Thomas hurried to the nearest shelf and pulled out the first Book.
The
Histories as Recorded by Ezekiel.

Ezekiel? The prophet Ezekiel?

Heart hammering, Thomas opened the Book. If he wasn't mistaken, this was the prophet Ezekiel. The sentences sounded biblical, at least as he recalled biblical from his dreams.

He replaced the Book and tried another. This one was about someone named Artimus—a name that meant nothing to him. And if he was right, unrelated in any way to the Book of Ezekiel beside it. There was no order to the Books.

There were thousands of Books! He ran for the ladder, pushed it to the far end, and climbed to the top shelf. There was only one way to do this—a methodical search, from top to bottom, Book by Book. And he would have to go by the titles alone. There were way too many Books to inspect each carefully.

He pulled out the farthest to his right. Cyrus. No.

Next.

Alexander. No.

Next. No.

He quickened his pace, pulling out Books, scanning their covers, slamming them back in when they struck no chord. The sound of each volume hitting the back wall echoed with a soft thud. No. No. No.

“Quite frantic, are we?”

Thomas twisted on the ladder. The Book in his hands flew free, sailed through the air, and fell two stories to the wood floor. It landed near her feet with a loud bang.

She didn't move. Her round gray eyes studied him as if she couldn't decide whether he was an amusement or a distraction. A faint smile formed on her mouth.

“I didn't mean to interrupt the great warrior.”

Thomas started to climb down. “I'm sorry. I was just looking for a Book.”

“Oh? Which Book?”

“I don't know. One that I hoped would ring a bell.”

“I've never heard of a Book ringing a bell.”

He stepped off the ladder and faced her. “An expression we use in the histories.”

“You mean in the Books of Histories. You said
in
the histories.”

“Yes.”

She picked up the fallen Book. “Did you find it?”

“Find what?”

“The Book.”

“No.” He looked at the shelves. “And I'm not sure I can.”

“Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. I hardly can tell one Book from another.”

So here she was, his master. He was relieved it was her and not Ciphus or Qurong. This slender woman had a powerful tongue—she'd proven that much. But she was also genuinely interested in the Books for what they could teach her, not for how they might give her power. Her motives seemed pure. Or at least purer than the others. In some ways she reminded Thomas of Rachelle.

She wore a green robe with a hood. Silk. Before taking the forests, the Horde had been limited to their coarse fabrics woven from thread rolled out of desert wheat stalks.

“Do you like it?”

“I'm sorry?”

“My dress. You were looking at it.”

“It's beautiful.”

She walked slowly around him. “And me?”

His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't dare tell her what he really thought, that her breath was foul and her skin sickly and her eyes dead. He had to win this woman's favor for his plan to work. He had to dream. It was the only way he could see out of this.

“I'm only an albino,” he said. “What does it matter what I think?”

“True. But even an albino must have a heart. You're given to strange beliefs and this cult of yours, but surely the great warrior whose name once struck terror in all of the Horde can still react to a woman.”

If he didn't know better, he would say that there was a hint of seduction in her voice.

How would Elyon see her?

He answered with as much conviction as he could muster. “You're beautiful.”

“Really? I would have thought you'd find me repelling. Does a fish find a bird attractive? I think you're lying.”

“Beauty is beauty, fish or fowl.”

She stopped her pacing, ten feet from him. “I'm not asking if I'm beautiful. I'm asking if you find me beautiful.”

He couldn't stoop to this deception any longer. “Then to be perfectly honest, I see both beauty in you and some things that aren't so beautiful.”

“Such as?”

“Such as your skin. Your eyes. Your scent.”

She looked at him for a few moments, expressionless. He'd wounded her. Pity stabbed his heart.

“I'm sorry, I was only trying to—”

“I was asking because I wanted to be sure that you found no attraction in me,” she said. “If you had found any beauty in me, I would have kept my distance.”

She turned and walked toward the desk. “Naturally, you must keep your distance from me anyway. I find you as repelling as you find me.”

“I didn't say you repelled me. Only the disease does that.”

This wasn't a good start. “How long will we be together here?” he asked.

“That depends on how long I can stand you.”

“Then please, I beg your forgiveness. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“You think an albino can offend me so easily?”

“You don't understand. I'm sure that beneath the disease you're a stunning woman. Breathtaking. If I could see you as Elyon sees you . . .”

She turned to him. “I bathe in Elyon's lake nearly every day. He has nothing to do with this. I think it would be better if we change the subject. You're here to teach me to read these Books. You're my slave; keep it in mind.”

“I am your most humble servant,” he said, dipping his head.

Chelise walked gracefully to the bookshelf and ran her fingers along the spines of several Books. She pulled one out, looked at it, then put it back and went down the row. What did it matter which Book if she couldn't read?

“I used to spend hours looking through these Books when I was a child,” she said softly. “I was lost in a hope that I would eventually find one that I could read. A few words even. When I was older, a man once told me that some of them were written in English. If I could only find those, I would be happy.”

“A man named Roland,” he said.

Chelise turned. “How did you know?”

“I knew Roland. He met you in the desert and you gave him a horse. You saved his life, he said.”

“Roland, the assassin. Is he now an albino as well?”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

Thomas followed her along the shelf, running his fingers along the Books. “And there is more. All of the Books are written in English.”

She laughed. “Then you know less than you think. How many of these Books have you actually read?”

“I think it's time for our lesson. Pick one.”

She looked at him, then the Books.

“Any of them. It doesn't matter.”

She pulled a thick black Book from the shelf and carefully ran her palm over its cover.

“May I see it?” he asked, reaching out a hand.

She walked to Thomas and gave him the Book. He could have walked to the desk; it certainly would have been natural to read such a big Book on the desk. But he had ulterior motives now.

He opened the Book in both arms and scanned the page. A Book about some history in Africa. She started to turn for the desk.

“Here, let me show you something,” he said.

She looked at the Book.

“Come here. Let me show you.” He let half the Book fall and drew his finger along the words on the half he held. She drew close to him, inches from his body.

“Do you see this word?”

“Yes,” she said.

He adjusted his grip. “Can you help me with this?”

She reached out and lifted the end that had fallen. Now they stood side by side, each holding one cover of the Book. Her shoulder touched his lightly. A strong waft of her perfume—the smell of roses—filled his nostrils. It didn't cover the odor of her skin entirely, but her scent was surprisingly tolerable.

“Put your finger on this word, as I'm doing.”