Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The heavy doors behind her groaned as they opened, and she stepped into the corridor beyond. Her two ever-present guards were already waiting, flanking the archway like statues that had never moved.

She gave them a sideways glance. “I… don’t actually remember how to get to the kitchens from here.”

Neither of them spoke. But after a beat, one turned and started walking.

The other followed.

Emily sighed and fell in step between them. “Thanks,” she muttered.

It didn’t take long. The halls grew warmer, brighter—carrying scents of spices, fresh bread, and something meatier as they neared the kitchen wing. The murmur of voices and clinking metal rose, familiar and oddly comforting.

Dozens of people moved between prep tables and fire-warmed ovens, chattering softly as they chopped, stirred, plated, and carried trays through swinging doors that led deeper into the keep. Steam curled from pots, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs, roasted meat, and sweet bread.

Emily’s stomach growled audibly.

She stepped to the side, letting her guards linger near the door, and scanned the space. Then her gaze landed on a familiar face.

“Varis?” she called.

The healer turned from a table where she’d been speaking to one of the kitchen staff, a small smile forming when she spotted her.

“Ah, Emily,” she said warmly, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into her belt. “Hungry, I imagine?”

“Starving,” she admitted.

“Come, the bread’s fresh.” she said.

As Emily drew closer, just behind Varis a small blonde girl sat perched on the edge of a prep table, swinging her legs and gnawing on a slice of fruit with both hands. Her brown worker’s robes were a size too big, the sleeves rolled unevenly and the hem brushing her ankles. A soft cloth belt cinched the fabric at her waist, more for function than style.

She had blonde, curly hair that framed her face in soft, uneven waves—like it hadn’t been brushed thoroughly but someone had at least tried. Her skin was fair and smudged faintly at the cheeks, and her bare feet kicked the table absently as she chewed.

But it was her eyes that struck Emily most.

Wide. Pale blue. Watchful.

They tracked everything—every movement, every glance. Not fearful, exactly, but alert in the way of someone used to surviving, not playing.

The little girl looked up—and smiled.

Emily blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sweetness of it.

“Hey,” she said gently, stepping closer. “I remember you. From yesterday.” Her voice softened. “I didn’t get your name.”

The girl wiped a bit of juice from her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Tess,” she said simply.

Emily smiled. “Tess. It’s good to see you again. Are you feeling better?”

Tess nodded, still chewing. “It’s warm here,” she added quietly, like it was the most important fact in the world.

Varis, who’d been quietly watching the exchange, offered Emily a slice of fresh bread and a knowing smile. “She’s said more to you in thirty seconds than she did to anyone yesterday.”

“I’m honored,” Emily murmured, accepting the bread and tearing off a bite. Then, glancing back to Tess: “You’re in good hands now.”

Tess just smiled again, quieter this time—and kept swinging her legs.

Emily smiled at Tess but glanced toward the doorway, remembering Caelan’s parting words. “I can’t stay long,” she murmured. “Caelan told me to meet him in the library after lunch.”

Varis raised a brow. “His Majesty can wait. You need to eat.”

Before Emily could argue, Varis turned and retrieved a plate from the sideboard, piling it with warm vegetables and sliced meat, then handed it to her with a firm look. She followed it with a smaller plate, this one topped with soft cheese, fruit, and a small roll.

Then, with practiced ease, Varis scooped Tess into her arms.

“Come on,” she said, glancing back at Emily. “You too.”

Emily obeyed, trailing behind as Varis led them to a quieter corner of the kitchen where a low wooden table sat tucked beneath a wide window.

Varis set Tess gently onto one of the bench seats. “Eat, please.”

“Okay,” Tess said cheerfully, already reaching for a grape.

Emily settled across from her and dug into her own plate. The warmth of the food spread through her like relief she hadn’t known she needed. She glanced at Tess again, then back to Varis.

“How’s she doing?” she asked quietly.

Varis sat beside the girl, watching her for a moment before answering. “She’s… coping. She won’t sleep unless someone’s nearby. When she does, the nightmares start. She thrashes. Cries.” Her voice softened. “She won’t let me leave her side.”

Emily’s stomach twisted. She looked back at the little girl—so small in her oversized robes, yet so composed. Too composed.

“Does she have any family left?” Emily asked.

Varis shook her head. “We checked. No grandparents. No siblings. Not even a distant cousin. The whole village was wiped out.”

Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the soft clink of plates and the kitchen’s background bustle.

Emily looked over at Varis. “What’ll happen to her? I mean… does the keep have a system for orphans?”

Varis let out a breath. “There are a few places. The orphanage at the southern ward takes children when no one else can. It’s safe enough. Clean. But overrun.”

Emily glanced down at Tess, who was now humming softly to herself.

“She deserves more than ‘safe enough.’”

“I know,” Varis said quietly.

The meal didn’t last long, but Emily was grateful for every bite. For the warmth of the food, the quiet company, and the odd sense of normalcy that settled between them.

Tess finished her plate with small, determined motions, then leaned sleepily against Varis’s side, still humming softly.

Emily gave a faint smile, then glanced toward the high kitchen windows. The pale light outside had shifted—clouds gathering against a waning sky. Time was slipping again.

She stood, brushing the crumbs from her robe.

“I should go,” she said gently. “He’s probably already in the library.”

Varis nodded but didn’t move, her arm curving around the child beside her. “If he asks, I kept you hostage with warm food and a toddler.”

Emily smiled. “I’ll back your story.”

She gave Tess a soft wave, and the little girl lifted her hand in return—slow and sleepy. Then Emily turned, her guards falling into silent step behind her as she left the kitchens.

By the time Emily reached the library, her thoughts were far from the rows of stone pillars and soul-lit shelves.

Tess’s face lingered in her mind—the oversized robes, the too-quiet eyes, the way she’d said “It’s warm here,” like it was the first time she’d felt safe in weeks.

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Emily hugged her arms around herself as she walked, her footsteps echoing down the familiar corridor. Maybe there was something more they could do. Something better than a crowded orphanage tucked away in a forgotten corner of the keep.

Maybe she could talk to Caelan about it.

Not that she had any idea how that conversation would go.

Still, she paused outside the tall stone doors, exhaled slowly, and squared her shoulders.

One problem at a time. Then pushed the door.

The stone door obeyed her touch.

It slid inward without a sound, revealing a room that felt more like a cathedral than a library.

A domed ceiling arched overhead, painted in sweeping patterns of gold and black. Constellations she didn’t recognize shimmered faintly across the mural like drifting stars. Scrolls and tomes lined every curved wall, stacked floor to ceiling. A long chandelier of enchanted glass hung from the apex, it’s strange white lights flickering like trapped will-o'-the-wisps.

Emily stepped into the quiet.

At the far end of the massive chamber, beneath the halo of a hanging light, stood Caelan. His dark robes moved like smoke as he leaned over a broad, crescent-shaped console. The surface glowed with floating script—runes twisting in midair, rearranging themselves in response to his touch.

Beside him, a narrow-shouldered man in dark blue robes stood stiffly behind the desk. The librarian. He looked like he was trying to hold his breath and keep his mouth shut at the same time.

Emily moved closer, her footsteps soft against the stone floor.

“…that’s a vast search, my lord,” the librarian was saying, cautious. “Some of those entries haven’t been fully translated. Others were redacted—or marked unapproved.”

Caelan didn’t look up. “Nothing is unapproved in Viremoor.”

The man flinched slightly.

Caelan continued, voice cool and final. “Begin with the ones my father would have ‘unapproved' of. Then work your way backward. I want everything. Folklore. Experiments. Failed rituals. Banned theories. If it touches on soulbonds, I want it in this index.”

The librarian gave a shallow bow, the stiffness in his posture betraying nerves. “As you command, my lord.”

“You’re dismissed.”

He turned without another word and left, his robes whispering across the floor.

Emily came to a halt a few feet from the console, watching the shimmering interface. Caelan still hadn’t looked at her.

“You’re late,” he said, the words flat.

She didn’t answer that. Her attention was already stolen.

The table—if it could even be called that—was mesmerizing.

Rows of glowing symbols hovered just above the surface, floating as if suspended in invisible liquid. Some pulsed faintly. Others flickered and re-formed like living things, shifting between alphabets she didn’t recognize. When Caelan passed a hand across the text, the symbols responded—reshuffling, enlarging, sorting themselves like a living index.

It was… kind of cool.

Not that she was going to admit that out loud.

“What is this?” she asked softly, stepping closer.

“The Threadkeep,” Caelan said. “Every recorded truth, every named event, every titled work—written or whispered—threads itself into that archive. If it was ever given a name, it’s in there. Even if the name was cursed or forgotten."

Emily blinked. Her eyes trailed over the cascading entries. There were hundreds. No—thousands. Books, scrolls, etched metal slates, ritual logs, blacklisted monographs. The list scrolled endlessly with a soft, ghostly flick of light.

“Okay,” she muttered. “That’s… not overwhelming at all.”

Caelan’s mouth ticked, almost imperceptibly.

Emily’s eyes skimmed the endless scroll of entries. The list didn’t stop. Every time she blinked, new titles shimmered into view—some in alphabets she couldn’t parse, others in jagged script that looked like it had been burned into the Threadkeep itself.

Before she could ask how they were supposed to read any of this, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind.

The librarian returned, his expression tight with focus—and floating behind him were three perfectly stacked columns of books, suspended in the air by invisible threads of magic. They followed him in quiet procession, drifting like obedient ghosts.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly to Caelan, “this is what we have here for now. I’ll need to contact the outer libraries for the rest.”

He straightened, lifting a hand toward the stacks.

“Oh—and I’ve ordered them accordingly. Topmost are the most… ‘unapproved.’ The bottom few are common texts, widely taught.”

Emily stared at the stacks as they hovered into full view. Each pile had at least fifteen thick tomes—some bound in cracked leather, others etched into blackstone or sealed with wax. A few hummed faintly, like they were warded or breathing.

Her eyes widened. She leaned slightly toward Caelan and murmured, “We’re going through all of those?”

He turned to look at her.

Flat. Unbothered. A look that said: Obviously.

She blinked, then exhaled. “Right. Of course.”

Caelan glanced back to the librarian and pointed toward a tall archway to their right—an open door leading into a smaller chamber. Through it, she could just make out a long table surrounded by high-backed chairs, a stone hearth, and a pair of narrow windows filtering in soullight from above.

“Put them there,” he said.

“At once, my lord.” The librarian gave another bow, then directed the books with a flick of his fingers. The stacks floated toward the study like a procession of sleeping relics.

Caelan stepped away from the Threadkeep and began to follow.

Emily stayed still for a second longer, eyes on the shimmering console, before finally turning to trail after him.

The study chamber was quieter than the library.

Light filtered down from narrow vertical slits in the walls, washing the room in pale blue. The long stone table dominated the center, its surface etched with old runes that had faded to silver. At its head sat a massive high-backed chair—almost throne-like, with ridged sides and dark metal inlays.

Naturally, Caelan took it.

He settled without ceremony, the light catching the sigils embroidered into his robes as he reached for the first book atop the nearest stack.

Without speaking, he gestured to the chair just to his right.

Emily looked at it. Then, with the smallest tilt of her chin, she walked to the chair to his left instead and sat down—deliberately. She offered a small, satisfied smile to no one in particular.

Caelan didn’t react. He didn’t even look up.

Of course he didn’t.

The top book in his hand was bound in something that looked like cured shadow hide, its corners fitted with tarnished brass. He flipped it open, sparing only a glance toward the archway.

The librarian was still there, hovering just outside.

“Leave,” Caelan said.

The man bowed so fast it was nearly a stumble, robes flaring behind him as he vanished back into the main library.

Emily raised her eyebrows. She grabbed the top book from her own stack—thinner than his, but older—and looked toward the now-empty doorway before turning to Caelan.

“Did you have to be so rude?”

He didn’t answer. He was already reading.

She opened her book and flipped past the front matter, glancing sideways at him. “Do you even know his name?”

That got his attention.

Caelan’s eyes lifted. He looked at her for a long second.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he turned his head slightly toward the open archway and said—loud and sharp:

“Librarian!”

A beat. Then the sound of startled footsteps, and the man appeared again, breathless, bowing quickly at the threshold.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“What is your name?” Caelan asked, voice calm and unreadable.

The man blinked. “Uh—um—Krockry, Your Majesty.”

Caelan nodded once.

“Leave.”

Krockry looked vaguely startled, hesitated for half a heartbeat, then bowed again and with a quick glance back he disappeared.

Emily stared, mouth slightly open.

Caelan turned another page without looking at her. “There. Now read.”

Time blurred.

Scroll after scroll. Tome after tome. Some were dry, academic dissections of ancient rituals. Others felt more like paranoid ramblings scribbled in candlelit panic—half-legible accounts of soulbound lovers or cursed generals who dragged their bonded partners to the grave. A few texts practically crumbled in their hands, pages flaking like ash.

At some point, Caelan ordered food. A servant arrived without a word, placing a silver tray of flatbread, tea, dried fruits, and something hot and spiced Emily didn’t recognize onto a side table. Neither of them paused to thank him.

The books kept coming.

Emily was halfway through what had to be a children's story—something about a "heart-thread binding" between two noble families and a marriage oath carved into bone—when she finally set it down with a quiet sigh and reached for the next one near the end of her stack.

It was… boring.

At least at first glance.

Plain brown leather. No title. No wax seals or arcane clasps. Just a dull, unremarkable book that looked like it might contain instructions for bonding with a sword—or a teacup.

She set it on the table, pressed a palm to the cover, and tried to lift it open.

Nothing.

Emily frowned. She tried again, harder this time. Still nothing.

She glanced around the edges, checked the spine, even felt for hidden clasps or dried wax. Nothing was keeping it shut. But it wouldn't budge. Not even a millimeter.

“Caelan,” she said, pushing the book toward him. “This one’s stuck.”

He looked up from his own text, mildly annoyed, then picked up the book.

His fingers tested the cover. Then the spine. Then the edges.

Nothing.

He tried to pry it open with more force than she had—but the cover held fast.

His brow furrowed. “It’s magically sealed.”

He turned the book over in his hand, angling it toward the light.

Nothing.

No title. No symbol. No etched mark. Just a completely blank, worn brown surface.

He looked toward the archway.

“Krockry!” he called, voice sharp.

A minute later, the librarian skittered into view again, breathless.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

Caelan held up the book. “What is this?”

Krockry blinked. “I—I don’t know, my lord. It wasn’t part of the inventory I retrieved.”

“Get the Threadkeep,” Caelan said.

Krockry vanished again, returning moments later with the shimmering console trailing behind him, now compacted into a hovering square of light. He activated the index with a touch, scrolling through the retrieved list, eyes darting between the runes and the books on the table.

One by one, he picked up each book and matched it with the Threadkeep’s glowing catalog.

Until there was only one left unlisted.

The sealed one.

Krockry leaned forward. “It’s not in the archive, my lord. It… it shouldn’t be here.”

Caelan looked at the cover again, then spoke quietly:

“What’s its name?”

Krockry hesitated. Then scanned the list again.

Finally, a single title hovered into view—unlinked, unattached to any known record.

The Obedience Manuscript.

Emily stared at it, a chill crawling down her spine.