Taste of Divine Knowledge

Cecilia questioned her sanity the entire way . She told herself this was a ridiculous idea with every step down the narrow corridor, every heartbeat echoing in her ears as she neared the library. Yet she went, carrying no offering of tea or anything else, unless she considered herself sacrificial.

At this point, though, perhaps that was worth counting.

Just like Atison, the heiress was waiting in just the room Cecilia had seen her last. Calliope sat on a chaise by the tall window, her gown spilled like rose-petal silk across the carpet, a book balanced in her lap. When she looked up, her eyes gleamed, beckoning blue in the dim light of a single lamp.

“I thought you would come,” she said, smiling as though they shared a secret pact. “The house likes to test its new servants. It whispers. It unsettles. You’ve heard it, haven’t you?”

Cecilia’s throat tightened. “Something like that,” she admitted.

Calliope’s smile deepened, smart and coaxing. “Yes. You’ve heard what most pretend not to hear—Or, who knows, maybe you are just one of the few who actually can. That is why you must learn. Power, my dear, is not in obedience, nor in service—It is in knowledge.”

She tapped the cover of her book, one that was far too familiar.

“Is that…”

“A journal, so they call it, yes.”

“From my room?”

Calliope rolled her eyes fondly, as if Cecilia had told a silly joke. “From anywhere you take a closer look at, my dearest.”

It was indeed that very book, or at least its identical twin. It bared the same cracks in its forest-green leather, its spine stitched in unfamiliar sigils. The small four-sided star remained, etched deep, as did the band of animals surrounding it. However, as Cecilia looked more closely, she realized one was missing.

“The deer,” she whispered, a shiver running down her spine.

“You have a good memory,” Calliope praised, gazing at the cover alongside her. “Or perhaps it has already engrained itself in your mind. A good thing either way, I’m sure! But hear, hear—” She tapped its cover with excited fingernails, her gaze aflame with intrigue at her audience. “This book is special; you must already know. It tells stories that the world does not want you to believe, sharing words that make walls breathe and shadows obey. Extremely dangerous, yes. And absolutely delicious, too.”

Cecilia’s fingers curled at her sides. The thought of defying the lord, of breaking free from his quiet, suffocating dominion, made her mind reel, already weighing chances and consequences.

If this woman truly knew a way…If this book was really the key…

The guest leaned forward, offering the book as one might offer an apple in a garden. “I offer you a look, angel. It only need be a page or two. You will feel the difference at once.”

Hesitating for a moment, Cecilia eventually took it in her hands, holding it low with a look of uncertainty. “I’ve already looked through it, though,” she said. “I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”

Calliope practically bounced on her heels, excitement sending her into a barely contained tizzy. “But this one is mine! I cannot read it, but maybe, someway, somehow, someone else could.”

Cecilia hesitated. She thought of the other maids, of the long hours of scrubbing and silence. She thought of Olrin, his eyes so sharp they seemed to pin her in place. She thought of Dmitri, how she never knew what would happen but always that he was there. And she thought of her own fear—that she was nothing here but another piece of furniture, another doll playing house at the whims of some higher power, earthly or not.

Her hand rose, trembling, to its corner. For a moment, it burned cold against her fingertips, then practically flew open with a sound like a sigh. The book fell open, and the air in the chamber shifted—as though the house itself had paused to listen, and Cecilia’s heart hammered along with it.

The heiress watched, smiling with indulgent delight. “What do you see?” she whispered, peering over Cecilia’s shoulder to glaze over the long-studied symbols. “Can you make anything out yourself?”

Cecilia blinked.

“What the…”

“What? Can you decipher it? Is there something unusual in this lost language of magic and genesis? Amazing? Life-changing? Reality-shattering?”

She blinked again, unsure whether to laugh or scream. “This is Vietnamese.”

Calliope blinked in turn, curious, as she tilted her head. “It’s what?”

“This is…” Cecilia flipped through a few more pages, confirming what she was interpreting. “Yeah, it’s literally all Vietnamese in here.” She brought the book up to her nose, her eyes speeding over the characters with ease. “Are you seriously telling me I could have come in here and just—” She threw the hand that was not clenching the journal in a death grip in the air, bewildered. “—Just read this one this whole time?!”

Calliope gasped, eyes and teeth glittering in the lamplight. “Great stars above, you truly are a divine being! An angel sent to enact godly retribution through hidden knowledges!”

This time Cecilia really did scream, her frustrated cry erupting through the manor and startling the nearest flock of birds outside.