A hand touched Felitïa’s back, just below the nape of her neck. With it came a familiar presence, tinged with feelings of amusement, happiness, and a hint of attraction that she was beginning to not just enjoy, but also desire. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, extending the feeling of the hand on her skin, but she couldn’t stop herself smiling. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She’d just put her head down for a moment.

The hand moved across her shoulder as Maneshka slid onto the bench beside her. “You have been overworking.”

Felitïa opened her eyes and raised her head. Maneshka was looking at her with concern. “I don’t think so. Have I?”

Maneshka grinned. “You were the one asleep at the table.”

Felitïa’s cheeks warmed. “I was out in the sun too much yesterday—with you, then waiting to speak with the Ninifins.”

“Perhaps.”

Felitïa looked away from Maneshka’s eyes for a moment. They were alone in the room. “Where are Meleng and Sinitïa?”

“In the stacks,” Maneshka replied. “Meleng is answering Sinitïa’s questions. Suspecting it would take awhile, I decided to bring some of the books we found up to you.”

Felitïa smirked. “Yes, that will likely take awhile.” Quilla was with Garet today. He was getting impatient again and she was keeping him calm—attempting to, at any rate. “What have you found?”

Maneshka reached over to a small stack of books on the table and took the top one. “Meleng says you might be interested in this one. I do not recognise the language, but Meleng says he thinks it might be Folithan. He says you might be able to read it.”

Felitïa took the book and opened the delicate leather cover. Like all the books here, it was very old, but in remarkable shape—the magic of this place keeping them preserved through the millennia. “My Folithan is really out of practice.” The words that stared back at her weren’t familiar—not at first, though as she looked more closely, she thought she recognised a couple. “Though if this is Folithan, it’s very old Folithan. Even if I was in practice, I’m not sure I could read it. But Meleng’s right that I’m the best one for this. I have a better idea where to start deciphering.”

“The other books,” Maneshka said, reaching to take one of them, “are more from the Volganth collection. Meleng and I will continue our attempts to decipher them.”

“I guess I’d better get started,” Felitïa said.

A short while later, she looked up from the book. Maneshka had moved down the table a short distance and was writing notes on the book she was reading. “You know,” Felitïa said, “this is reminding me of the lessons I had with Ardon when I was young.” Ardon would probably be better at reading or deciphering this than she would. She wondered what he was up to. She’d seen very little of him on Scovese. She should seek him out and inform him what she’d been doing. Then again, he probably already knew.

“Ardon?” Maneshka said without looking up. “I thought you said your teacher was Elderaan.”

“Yes, Elderaan was my magic teacher, but Ardon was the teacher I had before Elderaan, when my family was forcing me to study for the priesthood. That was before I ran away.”

Maneshka put down her pen and looked up. “Ran away?”

“Oh right, I haven’t told you about that.”

“You have told me very little about yourself,” Maneshka said.

“Well, I ran away from the palace when I was young.”

“Why?”

“I hated it there. I wanted to be a wizard and they wouldn’t let me, so I ran away.”

“You are a very unusual individual, Felitïa. If I had been born to royalty, I cannot imagine that I would ever want to leave it.”

“Yeah, I am unusual,” Felitïa admitted. “Does it bother you?”

Maneshka shook her head. “No, it does not bother me. I am very intrigued by it. Tell me more about yourself.”

So Felitïa began to tell Maneshka about how she’d travelled across Arnor, how she’d met Elderaan, and how he had taken her in. She told her about Zandrue and eventually about her telepathy. Felitïa paused at that moment and waited for a response from Maneshka.

Her response was slow, but measured. “You know my thoughts?” There was wariness and uncertainty coming from her now, but the intrigue emanating from her didn’t diminish. If anything, it increased.

“Not exactly. I just sort of sense feelings. Sometimes it’s stronger than other times, sometimes strong enough that I almost get visual impressions of what people are thinking. Sometimes I barely detect anything at all. Over the years, I’ve gotten a little better at using it, but not really at understanding it. It can be unpredictable at the best of times. Once or twice, it’s made me act...odd.”

Maneshka smiled and Felitïa felt a wave of understanding pass from her. “That explains how you blocked the translation spell so easily, and what you said afterwards. Something about a room?”

“Oh, right. I told you that, didn’t I?” Felitïa had forgotten about that.

“Yes, though it made little sense to me at the time. You made no mention of telepathy then.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s not something I tell everyone. But I wasn’t even thinking about the fact you didn’t know. I just started babbling. Blocking the translation took more effort than I realised. It had a weird effect on me.”

Maneshka smirked. “And then you fell asleep.”

Felitïa blushed—she wondered if it was noticeable over her sunburnt face. “Yes, I fell asleep. You must have thought me terribly rude.”

“No, just odd. But intriguing. You clearly had a strong mind and were very intelligent.” Maneshka placed a hand on Felitïa’s. “The kind of people who visit here tend to be intelligent, but there was something different about you.”

They spent several moments just staring into each other’s eyes. Felitïa could feel that attraction emanating from Maneshka again. No, not just attraction. Lust. There was lust there. It was starting to become difficult to tell where her own feelings ended and Maneshka’s began. Her heart was beating fast again. A sense of panic passed over her—she was pretty certain it was her own.

“Tell me about yourself,” Felitïa blurted, pulling her hand away.

Momentary start passed from Maneshka and the feeling of lust diminished, but only a little. “I do not know what to say. My life is nowhere near as interesting. I do not know magic. I am not being chased by Volganths or the Servants of Sunset. I do not have secret telepathic powers. I am just a humble librarian.”

Felitïa was starting to feel a little guilty from pulling away from her, so she tried placing her hand back on Maneshka’s. This was so new to her. She didn’t know what she should be doing.

Research. That’s what she was here for. That was what she should be doing.

But right now, she just didn’t want to.

“Oh, don’t be modest. You’re a highly trained linguist, fluent in a bunch of languages, competent in a dozen more.” Just not her own, Felitïa thought. “There has to be something to say. No secrets?”

Maneshka lowered her head with a smile. “I once kept pet rats in secret. My mother would have been very angry if she had ever found out. I was always afraid she would. Does that count?”

Felitïa smiled. “I think so.”

Maneshka leaned in closer, raised her other hand to the side of Felitïa’s face. “I am curious. If you can sense the feelings of others, what must it be like when you get very close to someone, to feel both your own desire and the other person’s?”

Once more, panic flooded Felitïa and she pulled away. “I should get back to work.” Again, she blurted the words. Again, she regretted it almost immediately.

“Of course,” Maneshka said, disappointment coming from her. “Apologies. I have been too forward again.” Maneshka picked her pen back up, dipped it in her inkwell, and returned to the book she had been deciphering.

“No, no,” Felitïa said. “I...I just...I’m just a little scared. That’s all. This is new to me.”

Maneshka put the pen down and looked back at her. “You have never...?”

Felitïa turned her head away, looked down at the table, and shook her head.

“It is all right. We will go more slowly then.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have any other secrets to tell me? Perhaps telekinetic powers or the ability to teleport?”

Felitïa laughed and shook her head. “No, just the telepathy. Although there is this weird thing, and it’s related to something I’ve wanted to ask you. I have this...vision or dream or something. In my head. I think it’s been there a long time, for years probably. At least as long as I’ve known Zandrue, I think, although I didn’t realise it at the time. There are these people in my head. Not literally, of course. They’re real people, and I see them in complete, total detail. I’m not sure how many there are. They’re only revealed to me as I meet or learn of them in real life. Anyway, one of them is the head of Emperor Rojdan’s personal guard, a man named Kindanog. I was wondering if maybe you knew a way I could make some sort of formal petition to see him. I asked Adranaska and he said he asked for me, but Kindanog is too busy. But if you know some sort of process, a waiting list I can be put on...”

Felitïa paused. Surprise and disappointment, even anger, surged from Maneshka. “Is everything okay?”

“So this is what this is all about?” Maneshka said, standing up and glaring at Felitïa. “You have just been using me.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“You wish me to get you a meeting with Kindanog.” Maneshka turned away from her. “That is why you make advances on me and pull away when I reciprocate because you are not truly interested.”

“No, not at all. I just wanted—Can you get me a meeting? No, no, that’s not what I’ve been after. I want a meeting with him, yes, but I just wondered if you knew the process. Why would that be a problem? I don’t understand.”

Maneshka turned back to her. “You do not know?”

“Know what?”

“No, how could you know?” Maneshka’s anger was diminishing now, replaced with some embarrassment. “I am sorry again. I keep reacting wrongly around you. There is no reason why you would know. Kindanog is my husband.”

Felitïa’s heart sank. “You’re married?”

“Yes. To Kindanog.”

“Now I don’t understand again,” Felitïa said.

“What is there to understand?” Maneshka asked, sitting back down beside Felitïa. She reached for Felitïa’s hand, but Felitïa pulled it away.

“You’re married,” Felitïa said. “I thought...I mean...You and me, I thought...”

“You did not think wrongly. My marriage to Kindanog is a political one. Our parents arranged it before I could even walk.”

“Oh. So you’re married to him, but you’re not married married.” Felitïa’s cheeks warmed again.

Maneshka tilted her head slightly. “I think you just confused the translation spell.”

“I mean, you don’t love him?”

Maneshka smiled. “I would say that, yes, I do love him. He is a good man. I like and respect him a great deal. I have come to love him. But more in the way I might love a brother if I had one. The fact is, though, we rarely see each other. Either I am away or he is. This is the first time he has ever come to Scovese, but even now, I have barely seen him, only late at night when we are both too tired even to talk more than a few words wishing each other a good night.”

They sat in silence for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes again. Then the main doors opened, and they both sighed.

Four Isyar entered the library and looked about.

Maneshka stood up and spread her arms wide in the Sanalog greeting. “Welcome, friends.” She walked towards them. “I am Maneshka, head librarian. How may I be of service?”

The four Isyar spread their arms in the same manner. One of them said, “We represent the Isyar Lords. Their Honours would like to visit the library. They have sent us to make the appropriate arrangements.”

“Their Honours will be most welcome,” Maneshka said. “Please give me a moment and I will summon my staff.”

The Isyar bowed their heads in acknowledgement, and Maneshka returned to Felitïa. “Duty calls. I will talk to Kindanog for you.”

“Thank you,” Felitïa said.

“Hopefully I will see you before, but if not, will I see you at the ball?”

“Ball?”

“Yes, there is to be a ball tomorrow night,” Maneshka said. “To celebrate the coming together of so many peoples. It was announced this morning.”

“I missed that,” Felitïa said, feeling embarrassed again. “I came straight here.”

Maneshka smirked. “I told you you work too hard. I had better go.”

Felitïa watched Maneshka until she disappeared through one of the back doors. Then she looked back over at the four Isyar, who were talking amongst themselves, commenting on the library and the translation spell, which they had all noticed already.

“It is a sophisticated spell,” one of them said. “Definitely not of human design. However, it is old and could use some reinforcement. I may ask Lord Zizzintharus to allow me to make some adjustments to it, to strengthen it.”

Figured. They had broken it down and analysed it in a matter of moments. She wondered what Maneshka would think of that and if she would still be impressed by Felitïa’s handling of the spell.

With a sigh, Felitïa turned back to the ancient Folithan book.

* * * * *

“Do you intend to stare at that young woman all night?”

Felitïa looked over at Cerus. “What do you mean?” Was it that obvious?

“You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since she arrived,” Cerus answered. “I will confess that she is very attractive and can understand a desire to look at her, but unless you intend to go over and talk to her, I can’t see that staring will accomplish much.”

Felitïa blushed. She felt like she was doing that a lot these days. “I’m not staring.”

Cerus chuckled. “Ah, my apologies. Clearly she’s just standing where you’re looking.”

“Yes, exactly,” Felitïa said.

“And when she moves, you’re not following her with your gaze. She just happens to be moving where you’re choosing to look.”

“Right,” Felitïa said, and forced herself to look around the rest of the room.

The ballroom was crowded with people of all different races, ethnicities, and nationalities. Felitïa was hard-pressed to identify even a small fraction of the peoples here. Many of them wore extravagant outfits particular to their customs. Many danced to the music of the small orchestra on one of the four daises. Many more milled about the circumference on both the main floor and balcony.

“I take it she’s the librarian you’ve spoken of?” Cerus said.

“Yes, how did you know?” Felitïa made a conscious effort not to look at Maneshka.

“Because you speak so enthusiastically about her and so frequently that it simply made sense that the person you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of for the last hour would be her.”

“Have I really talked that much about her?”

“Oh yes. Meleng and I were talking about it this afternoon, weren’t we, Meleng?”

“Hmm?” Meleng was struggling with his cape and trying to loosen his collar. Sinitïa was trying to help him. “Oh, yeah. It’s been pretty obvious, really.”

“You should go ask her to dance,” Sinitïa said.

Most of Felitïa wanted to do just that, but the terrified part of her held her back. “Maybe later.” She’d been hoping that maybe Maneshka would come to her instead. Unfortunately, Maneshka hadn’t made any moves in her direction.

Felitïa found that her gaze had wandered back to Maneshka, who was talking to Nebrovich and another Sanalog woman. Maneshka hadn’t even glanced in Felitïa’s direction the entire time. Felitïa forced herself to look elsewhere again.

“You want to dance, Meleng?” Sinitïa said.

“Oh, I don’t think I’d be very good,” Meleng replied.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, silly! Come on.” Sinitïa grabbed Meleng’s arm and pulled him along as he tried to protest. She led him down one of the two wide staircases that connected the balcony to the main floor of the ballroom. Even with her vantage point by the balcony’s edge, Felitïa soon lost them amongst the crowd.

Felitïa let her gaze sweep the room, still making an effort not to look at Maneshka. Rojdan VI, King of Sanalogia, Emperor of Endoria, and about a dozen other titles that had been announced on his arrival, sat in a high-backed chair on the dais opposite the one where the orchestra played. It was the first Felitïa had seen him, and as best she could tell, it was the first almost anyone had seen him. He had arrived about two hours earlier to great fanfare, and had remained seated in that chair ever since. The Emperor was dressed in heavy crimson red robes and wore a feathered headdress over his grey hair. Kindanog stood to his right, a spear clutched in his right hand. People were lined up in front of the dais waiting a chance to meet the Emperor.

Felitïa and her family had been amongst the first in that line. At the time, Felitïa had hoped it might present an opportunity to speak with Kindanog—even if only briefly. However, the only ones in her family who got to do any talking were her mother and father, and the meeting had ended in only a couple minutes. Her mother had not been happy, and had complained for some time afterwards that it wasn’t right that the Emperor be treated as their superior. Arnor controlled a greater area of land than Endoria, after all. Felitïa had enjoyed seeing her mother treated in such a “lowly” manner.

But she would have liked to talk to Kindanog. Oh well. She reminded herself that Maneshka had said she would try to arrange something. Maneshka, who had not even looked at Felitïa since arriving an hour ago.

Her mother and father were now a short distance away, separated by only a dozen or so people from Felitïa and Cerus. They were talking to three men, one older and the other two younger, all dressed in a military uniform similar to the Arnorin one, though a dull red in colour. Egorthian, if Felitïa wasn’t mistaken. The three men could easily be Foliths, and Felitïa seemed to recall that Egorthians and Foliths came from the same root people.

Felitïa’s mother had a smile on her face, and Felitïa couldn’t tell if it was real or forced. She glanced over in Felitïa’s direction and for a moment, her smile almost looked like a sneer.

Annai stood beside their mother, beaming at one of the two younger men.

“Sinitïa’s right, you know,” Cerus said.

“Right about what?”

“Asking her to dance.”

“You think I should ask Sinitïa to dance?” Felitïa grinned. “Okay then. When she’s done with Meleng, I’ll ask her.”

Cerus laughed. “Well, I’m glad you still at least have a sense of humour.”

“Honestly,” Felitïa said, “I’ve been hoping she’d come ask me.”

“Then you might have a problem,” Cerus said.

“What do you mean?”

“As I understand it, Sanalogs have a very rigid hierarchical system. Although we may come from outside it, we are placed within it. You and I have a position similar to any of the Emperor’s children.”

Felitïa grimaced. “Yes, I’ve seen a bit of that. You think that’s holding her back? She’s relaxed a lot since finding out I’m royalty.”

“In private, perhaps. This is very public. It would be the height of impropriety for her to talk to you without you talking to her first.”

“Oh. I should have thought of that. She must be even more on edge than me, waiting for me to say something.”

“I’m no expert. This is merely what I’ve picked up speaking to Adranaska and others.”

“All right then. I suppose I’d better go to her.”

“You might want to hurry, too. I think your mother may have other plans for you.” Cerus nodded in the Queen’s direction, and Felitïa noticed that her mother was looking at her again.

“I do wish you’d stop making a point of calling her my mother.”

“She’s not mine,” Cerus said with a grin.

“Felitïa!”

“There you go,” Cerus said. “You’ve lost your chance.”

Felitïa took a deep breath. “We’ll see about that.”

“Felitïa!” her mother repeated. There was no anger in her voice, which surprised Felitïa. Instead, she sounded almost friendly.

Steeling herself, she walked over to her mother, father, and Annai.

“Felitïa, my darling,” the Queen said. “We’d like to introduce you to some people.”

Darling? Felitïa had never heard her mother utter those words in relation to her before.

The Queen indicated the older of the three men. “This is his Majesty, King Stoban of Egorthia. Your Majesty, this is my second daughter, Felitïa.”

“Your Majesty.” Felitïa curtsied and held out her hand.

King Stoban took her gloved hand, and bent low to kiss it. “Enchanted, my dear. Your mother and father have had many fine things to say about you. They are very proud of you.”

Felitïa forced herself to keep looking at the King, a smile on her face. Her mother would never say she was proud of Felitïa without an ulterior motive, and Felitïa could guess what it was. Separate from that, though, the King’s out-of-synch lip movements were making her dizzy. She had thought she’d gotten used to it in the library, but the spell here seemed to work a little differently, and so she was having to get used to it all over again. That made looking at a person in the face difficult.

“May I present my sons, Stoban the Younger, and Restov?” The King indicated the other men.

Felitïa curtsied to each of the younger men and offered them her hand as well.

“His Majesty, your father, and I were thinking that you and Annai would get along splendidly with his sons,” Felitïa’s mother said as Stoban the Younger kissed Felitïa’s hand. As Restov took his turn, her mother continued, “Stoban the Younger has already asked your sister to dance.”

“And I would be deeply honoured if you would grant me a dance,” Restov said as he rose from his kiss, not having let go of her hand.

“We thought it would make for a regal sight if the four of you headed to the dance floor together,” her mother said.

Felitïa thought fast. She was not about to have her mother playing match-maker, maybe even arranging a marriage between her and someone she had only just met. So she smiled and curtsied again. “I would be delighted to dance with you. However, I have already promised my first dance to my girlfriend. I hope you will not be offended to wait for the second dance.”

Restov removed his hand from hers. “Your...girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Felitïa said. “My lover, my... Perhaps the translation spell is not working properly. The person I intend to sleep with tonight, to have sex with. I have promised her the first dance, but I will be happy to dance with you after we are done.”

“Of course,” Prince Restov stammered. “I would be happy to wait.”

Felitïa smiled and curtsied again. “Thank you, your Highness.”

Her mother’s face had gone pale, as had Annai’s. Her father, on the other hand, looked stoic, but Felitïa thought she could detect amusement from him, though it was hard to tell with so many other people around.

“If you will excuse me, then, I will return as soon as I can.”

Felitïa hurried to the stairs, doing her best to hide her joy. As she left, King Stoban said, “Your daughter is involved in carnal relations before marriage? And with a woman?”

She couldn’t hear what, if anything, her mother said as she was too far away now. She was glad she could still remember some of the things she’d learnt under Ardon’s tutelage, notably that Egorthians had very traditional views—like Foliths, but even more so.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced up at Cerus, who nodded to her. Then she made her way around the circular room towards where she last seen Maneshka. Past the tables full of food and drink on one of the other daises. Past where the four ancient Isyar—the Isyar Lords—stood.

She wanted to run, but she kept herself to a dignified walk. There were too many people around to run anyway. She found her way to where Maneshka was still talking with Nebrovich and the other woman. When the three saw that she was approaching them, they all bowed.

Felitïa held out a hand. “Maneshka, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

Maneshka straightened up and smiled. “I would be honoured, your Highness.”

Felitïa took her hand and led her towards the dance floor.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would come at all,” Maneshka said.

“I just had to work out some issues with my nerves,” Felitïa replied. “Like I said, I’m really not experienced in this sort of thing.”

“There has never been anyone else at all?”

Felitïa shook her head. “Some people I’ve been interested in, but nothing’s ever come of it.”

“Where are you taking me?” Maneshka asked a few moments later. “We have crossed almost the entire room.”

“Just over here. I want to make sure my mother can see us.”

Maneshka smiled and squeezed Felitïa’s hand a little tighter. “I am doubly honoured that you wish to display me to your mother.”

“It’s not that, exactly. She won’t like it. She just tried to set me up with a prince of Egorthia.”

“That would be a prestigious union.”

Felitïa laughed. “Not for me, it wouldn’t.”

“You would defy your mother’s wishes?”

“I would.” They reached a spot where Felitïa could be reasonably certain her mother would be able to see them—if she even looked in this direction. “I’m afraid I haven’t danced in a very long time. Not since I was a child.”

Maneshka took both of Felitïa’s hands. “Do not worry. I have danced many times. I am told I am very good. I will lead.” As they began to dance, she continued, “I could never do what you do, defy my mother like that, and my mother is not a queen.”

“Though you don’t seem to disapprove,” Felitïa said.

“You are right. I do not. I should, but I do not. I find it strangely exciting.”

“Good. My mother and I don’t get along.”

“You will have to explain why sometime,” Maneshka said. “For now, though, let us just dance, and enjoy our time together.”

Felitïa had intended to look to see if her mother was watching, but once they started dancing, she couldn’t take her eyes off Maneshka again. They danced together through several pieces the orchestra played, each time getting closer and closer together, her own feelings of desire becoming indistinguishable from Maneshka’s and getting stronger.

“You’ve been very quiet,” Felitïa said eventually. She could barely get the words out over her own nerves.

“There will be ample time for talking. Sometimes it is best just to enjoy the moment.” After another minute or so of dance—or maybe it was just seconds; Felitïa couldn’t tell—Maneshka added, “However, I will remind you that I could never defy expectations like you.”

“I know,” Felitïa said.

Maneshka smirked. “No, you are not understanding me. I mean that you must kiss me first.”

Felitïa pushed aside the sense of panic that threatened to wash over her that moment. “Oh, right.” She leaned in closer, tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She took a deep breath and touched her lips to Maneshka’s.

And everyone else vanished.

No, that wasn’t right. They were still there in the ballroom, but in the Room, Maneshka’s was the only presence other than Felitïa’s own—and it was almost overlapping hers. All her feelings, not just her desire, overlapped and became indistinguishable from Maneshka’s.

And that was only the beginning.

* * * * *

The library was dark. Meleng had never seen it like this before. Was it because it was late at night and no one was here? Perhaps. Whatever the case, he had no idea how to make it light again.

It did remind him, though, that when he had first entered the Nabrinja, he had wanted to study the way it stayed lit and find a way to replicate it, but because of all the time spent in the library, he had forgotten about it. He would have to make sure to take a look at it before leaving Scovese.

And that translation spell! He’d love to know how that worked. Except that was mentalism-based. He’d have no chance of understanding that, as interesting as it was bound to be. The lighting, on the other hand, would be enchantment, and although he probably still wouldn’t be able to understand all its intricacies—the magic was likely way beyond his skill—he might be able to work out the basics.

He edged forward into the darkened room, feeling for the nearest bench and table. He had only gone a few steps when the room lit up. With a sigh of relief, he picked up his pace to the table. Some sort of motion detection, he suspected. He was even more intrigued by the spell now.

He was glad to see neither Maneshka nor Nebrovich had put away the books and papers he’d been working through. They were sitting on the table where he’d left them. He’d hate to have to search through the stacks for them again.

He was glad to have gotten away from the ball. Sinitïa would have kept him dancing all night if she’d had her way, but he just didn’t like dancing. Besides, he wasn’t any good at it. And the people. Too many people. He’d always been uncomfortable with so many other people around—other people who might be watching. Plus, he hadn’t been able to get his mind off something he’d noticed earlier.

Undoing the clasp of his cloak, he slipped it off and tossed it over the table. Another reason he was glad to get away from the ball. That cloak was too tight and far too warm for the climate here, even the cooler air of the Nabrinja. Cerus had insisted he wear it this evening.

He pulled the book he had been looking at earlier over to him, as well as the vocabulary list Maneshka had been working on. As best they could tell, the book was a compilation of Volg legends and stories, perhaps their most promising find so far. Like all the books here, it was old and was written in a language that was likely long gone, this time an ancient Volg language. The problem was, with books in human languages, they could look for modern languages that had similarities—ones that the ancient language might have evolved into—but in this case, no one had knowledge of, or access to any modern Volg languages, so the only things to base a comparison on were a few faded illustrations in the few manuscripts they had. Some previous scholars, librarians, and other visitors to the library had attempted to decipher a vocabulary list, and Maneshka was attempting to add to it, but it was far from complete and not very reliable.

Nonetheless, something Meleng had seen had been bothering him all evening, and he turned to the page.

“This Volganth language seems to have two different, but similar words for child or youth,” Maneshka had told him earlier when he had asked her assistance with a confusing passage. “At first, I thought it was either a gender variance or simply a different declination. However, the change is not consistent with known declinations, and there are no indications that this language is gendered at all, unlike the other two Volganth languages. I have not even found a way to differentiate between a man and a woman. Of course, it is still very early, so I cannot be sure. However, I may have found an explanation. It appears that these Volganths might have used separate words to indicate species, this one here for a child of their own people, and this one for a child of another people.”

The explanation had made sense for what he was reading, and Meleng had continued struggling through the work, picking up on maybe one tenth of its total meaning—if that much. But then he’d come across another use of the word for youth of another people, but not in that manner—at least he didn’t think it was in that manner. Maneshka had already left to prepare for the ball, and he knew he should be doing the same. So he had shrugged it off, put the book aside, and gone to change.

But it had continued to nag at the back of his mind.

The word appeared alongside the one word Maneshka was close to one hundred percent certain on the translation of: the Volg word for their own people, the Volg word for Volg. However, if she was right about the word for youth, then the implication seemed to be a Volg youth who was not of the Volg people. Could it be referring to a different nation of Volgs?

Yet there was something else on the page that he had skimmed over at the time. It was a number—a date, he felt certain—and, although they had a pretty good idea of Volg numbers, Meleng had been skipping over them as he felt knowing the exact number wouldn’t be necessary unless something else in the text indicated the number was relevant. He realised now, though, that his subconscious had half translated that particular number, and that was what was bothering him.

He pored over the vocabulary lists, comparing the individual digits of the number, the words indicating the date. The number was a year—a very recent year, long past the time this manuscript had been written.

A few words before the one for youth was another word that was listed as creation, though with an indicator that the translation had a high uncertainty. Meleng now wondered about another possible translation: birth.

The date was the first day of the two thousand three hundred twenty-third year. Just over nine years ago.

The day Corvinian was born.

The child of the Volgs.