Chapter 21- Gnostheon Academy

I was up too late last night, and it shows. Melina tells me so the moment she walks into the meeting room.

“You look like you slept in the library.”

“I did not sleep in the library.”

“But you were in the library?”

“All night,” I admit.

“Doing what, exactly?” Xanthe chimes in, though her face already knows. She settles into a chair with Chloe drawn in close at her side, the girl quiet and watchful, dressed again like a doll.

“Reading. Old records. Anything the histories say about the dark beasts, where they came from, why there are more of them every season.” I rub my eyes. “There is almost nothing. A few folk tales. Stuff I already discovered last time.”

“This again? How many times will you keep trying to look into these old fairytales?” Xanthe huffs.

“As many times as it takes until I learn something useful.”

“You are the Empress. You could order a scholar to look into it for you.”

“I do not want a scholar. I want to read it myself.” I respond to Xanthe in a tone more irritated than I wanted.

Melina picks a crumb off her plate and considers it. “If you can’t find what you’re looking for in the castle library, Gnostheon would be the next best place to search. It has over four hundred years of history with special emphasis on magic. Every noble sends their child to study there once they turn seven.”

“Gnostheon?”

“The academy.” Xanthe contributes. “The best magical academy in Skiagreth.”

Melina nods. “You likely have not heard of them as they are only open to the nobility in the South or those of great magical talent.” She tilts her head. “Their archive is famous. If a thing about the beasts was ever written down, it is likely there and not here.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” I say and stand up. “Let’s head out immediately. Iona, send a messenger hawk to the Academy at once to let them know I will arrive.”

Iona bows and scurries off. As she does, I then turn to Melina, Xanthe, and Chloe.

“You ladies will accompany me as I am unfamiliar with the place.”

Melina is already nodding.

Xanthe looks at me a moment longer.

“I will come,” she says. “But Chloe will need to come with me.” She says firmly. “She will keep out of the way.”

“That is no issue, in fact, she can even help if she likes,” I say, and I reach into the basket at my feet and lift out Aodh, who has been pretending to sleep and is deeply annoyed to be handled. “This is my fox, Aodh. He will need to be looked after.”

Chloe’s eyes go round. Aodh, playing his part, yawns and his tail does not set anything on fire, which I count as cooperation.

Iona returns and guides us to the carriage. Within the hour the five of us and one disgruntled fox are out of the gates, and through to the Capitol City of Pothos and up to a high rocky outcrop rising where the towers of Gnostheon stand above the city.

By the time we arrive the dean of the Academy is waiting on the steps with his black and gold robes neatly arranged.

“Your Majesty. I am Dean Anaxis. We are honored to have you here. Your correspondence said you have taken an interest in the arts?”

“Yes, that’s right. I wish to have access to the institution's library.”

“Of course.” Dean Anaxis folds his hands. “Though I confess we were surprised. Gnostheon trains those gifted in magic. While we do also have much on the history of art, music, and even alchemy, we tend to focus more on what runs in the blood.” His smile does not move. “I would not want Your Majesty to travel all this way and find nothing here that speaks to her. Given your delicate constitution."

I immediately frown.

“Delicate constitution? I am quite hardy.” I interject. Confused by his words, but when I look at Xanthe and Melina I realize the dean was referring to something else.

Xanthe confirms this the moment she speaks.

“Careful, Dean.” She does not raise her voice. She lifts one finger, and the teacup on the tray beside him, held up by a servant, crumbles as though a hand had pressed it into the tray, the porcelain grinding against the silver, the whole tray bowing under a weight that is not there. “You are speaking to the Empress of the south. What runs in her blood is not your concern. What runs in mine is pressure. I would choose your next words wisely.”

Behind her, unbothered, Melina lifts an arm, and several crows drop out of the bright sky and land on her arm as if called. “The crows tell me many things,” she says pleasantly. “There are a great many of them on your roof, Dean. They find you very interesting. We wouldn’t want any slander to come to the Academy on account of you, yes?”

The dean’s smile slips.

“Yes, of course. My apologies. Please follow me.” He takes us down to the archive himself. We take several flights of stairs which I count. We are now three floors below the light among the cold shelves, but what surprises me most is that when we all enter I see my husband there.

Theron is standing at a long table with a book open in front of him and two more waiting at his elbow.

“Your Majesty,” I say.

“Wife.” A pause. “I see you brought some company.”

I nod. “I did. These are my ladies in waiting. Lady Melina and Lady Xanthe. And this is Lady’s Xanthe daughter, Chloe.”

They curtsy and Theron's eyes linger a bit longer on his sister and neice.

“You are a long way from home.” I say to break the silence.

“So are you.” He closes the book. “I come here sometimes. My mother had a hundred old stories and no proof any of them were true. This is the only place I could think of that may have any information.” He watches me with a cold eye. I’m surprised when his focus turns away from the books and entirely on me, physically drawing me closer to him by wrapping an arm around my waist. “Why don’t you help me search for books over here?”

Xanthe and Melina share a look and head to the other side along with Chloe, Aodh, and Iona. So now it is just me and Theron in this section of the library.

I’m a bit annoyed that he pushed my company away, but I don’t say anything about it. Instead, I focus on looking over the shelves to see if I can find any useful information. So far I have found nothing. Just guardian tales, Old watch-songs, things filed under stories for children, because no grown archivist would put them anywhere else.

I am halfway through a cracked volume of them when I hear Chloe.

She is crying. But not loudly, as if she is trying to hide her sniffles.

I follow the sound around the shelves to where three students in academy uniform have her backed against the stone, three boys the same age as her.

“…not even allowed inside,” one is saying. “My father says they should never let hollows past the gate.”

“You should leave as it’s not proper. You can’t catch magic. It’s something you're born with.”

“I bet her brain is as hollow as her.” The boys snicker. Despite them being no older than Chloe, I step in front of her.

“Leave her alone,” I say.

They turn, and they see a woman and not the crown, because I am not wearing it, and the biggest one smirks. “This is a school. You are not—”

“I am the Empress of the south, and you are just a child.” I do not raise my voice, but my tone is firm. “You shouldn’t pick on anyone. It makes you look foolish.”

Chloe then reaches for me, and I take her hand in mine.

“This girl can name every beetle on a tree, can you?” Silence. “No? Then do not judge her. Her gift may not be magic, but she is not less than. Never forget that or I’ll see to your punishments personally. Now go.”

The three boys then scurry off, and soon Xanthe appears.

Xanthe is now standing at the end of the row. I’m not sure how much she has seen, but it doesn’t really matter. I squeeze Chloe’s hand in mine. She then turns to look up at me and I smile before she lets go and heads to her mother, who kneels down to comfort her.

Theron saw it too. He doesn’t say anything either.

He only holds out the book in his hands when I come back, open to a page, and says, “Read this.”

It is a rhyme. An old one, meant to be sung, the ink gone brown with age.

Under the tree roots, under the cracks,

count the four watchers and never look back.

One keeps the fire and one keeps the score,

one keeps the dreaming and one holds the door.

Leave the hole open, and the roots will turn black,

and what the wood takes, the wood will never give back.

I read it twice. This is the closest thing I could find mentioning any of the watchers and their roles directly. .

Four watchers. Fire, score, dreaming, and door. Aodh has told me before about the roles of the watchers.

"You've been staring at that paragraph for ten minutes. Either it’s incredibly fascinating, or you’ve completely lost your train of thought. Need a distraction?"

I snort. “No, I don’t need a distraction. This is the first piece of evidence I have found that directly references the watchers.”

Theron hums at this. "Ah, researching that, are we? You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart. Good thing I'm here to make sure you don't get yourself into something you can't crawl out of."

I huff. “I don’t need to be saved. This is important, or is this just all a game to you?” I can’t help but feel my voice rise.

He stops leaning against the book shelf, his smirk completely vanishing as his golden gaze locks onto mine. He steps closer, pulling the heavy book gently but firmly from my hands and setting it down.

"Look at me. Do I look like I'm playing, Sweetie? If this were a game, I wouldn't waste my time sitting in a dusty room watching you burn yourself out. I tease because you’re wound tighter than a lyre string. If this matters to you, it matters to me. Now, take a breath, and let's find what you're looking for. Together."

I relax a bit at his words. I take a steading breath. “It is the first thing that specifically states ‘the watchers’ directly,” I say. “I want to see if I can find anything about it or the old stories you mentioned about the god beneath the mountain.”

“It says a great deal, for a thing of no value. A door left open. Roots gone black.” He does not name the wood close to the castle where the trees have all turned black. “Someone knew something once, and folded it into a rhyme for children, and everyone agreed to forget it was never more than that.”

“That is what I came here to find,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Someone who knew. Or something. Anything, really. I have pieces of it. We need to find out what that thing down under the mountain is. And how to stop it.”

He reaches out, his hand covering mine, I could feel his thumb brush against the back of my hand. His grip was firm, unyielding.

"Don't look so terrified, Sweetie," he murmured, his gaze shifting from the page to meet my eyes. "Even if we don’t know what this being is, we will find out together. I will not let it hurt you, never again. You are safe with me. I promise.”

I blush from his words and look up at his eyes. Pools of gold and I can’t help but feel a fierce ache blooming in my chest.

He was right because I did not have to be alone in this fight. Perhaps I never was. My gaze locked onto Theron’s, and before he could question me, I leaned up to press my lips to his.

Theron froze for a fraction of a second, a rare moment of genuine surprise rippling through his massive frame. But the hesitation vanished instantly. A low, ragged groan vibrated deep in his throat as his hand came to rest at the back of my head, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer to him until I was flush against his chest. His other hand wrapped around my waist with a fierce possessive finality. The kiss wasn't gentle; it was desperate, a burning reassurance in the dark. I blushed as his lips moved against mine with a demanding hunger and an intensity that left me breathless.

When we finally parted, he didn't let go. A small smile formed on his lips.

"Well," Theron murmured, his voice a rough, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "If that’s how you plan on motivating me, Sweetie... I should demand more kisses as compensation."

I laugh. Genuine, startled, and pulled from me. He seems surprised and I grin. “You're right. Let’s figure this out together.”

We keep searching, but find nothing. I thank my ladies in waiting for helping and together we ride in the carriage in silence.

Melina watches the hills go by. Xanthe sits with her eyes closed. Chloe is folded into the corner with Aodh, a red weight in her lap, both of them half asleep, and there is only the wheels and the wind.

Then Chloe starts to sing.

Deep in Nibheis the horned one sleeps,

Deep under stone where water does weep.

Chains cannot hold him, only blood claimed,

Only a fire that dies can end his reign.

She sings it again, softer, and every part of me goes cold.

"That is a grim little song," Melina says, without opening her eyes. "Where did you learn that one, sweet?"

Chloe shrugs, already drifting. "The fox taught me."

Melina smiles. Xanthe chuckles.

“A fox taught her. Of course it did. Children say such silly things.” She then places a hand through her hair in a gentle manner. I freeze. I had the ladies helping me. Looking for clues about the watcher or an old god. I never told them about how he had a single horn on his head. I stair at Chloe as Aodh sits in her lap. He likely told her.

He knew I could not sit in that archive and write down what he knows, not with Theron at my shoulder and my hands already full of secrets, so he put it somewhere no one would think to search. He told a child. In a nonsense rhyme. In the one voice too small for anyone to suspect.

Nibheis. Where Eloria’s famous ore is harnessed. And apparently where this old god, the horned one, sleeps.

The thing at the tree line, the thing that has been reaching for me, is not loose in the world at all.

It is buried, and it is buried at home.

And only a fire that dies can end his reign, whatever that is meant to mean.

I could tell Theron.

An hour ago I kissed him over a book and swore we would do this together, and I meant it. But the moment he asks how I know the name of that mountain, the fox is the answer. How the beast I saved can actually talk. Has been able to talk this whole time.

He might be upset, or angry at me. He told me before if there was anything wrong or dangerous about the fox he would kill it, and I don’t want Aodh to die. So I hold it, and decide to keep it to myself.

By the time the castle towers come up in the dusk, Chloe is asleep, the fox is asleep, and I have the whole of it locked behind my teeth.

Once I am alone in my room Iona finds me.

She has plates in her hands the way she does when she needs a reason to be somewhere, and she does not put them down.

“My lady, may I speak with you,” she says. “But not as your maid?”

“Always.”

“You know Cassius and I have grown close this season.” Color rises in her face and she pushes past it. “I let it happen. I told myself it was only that he made me laugh. Or his kindness. I have been watching him for you all season. Covering your afternoons. Sending your escort off on invented errands. Standing at the wrong window so no one thinks to look down at the lower garden.”

“Iona—”

“I know, my lady. I know you asked me to help you distract him so you could meet with Torsten. I did it because you were kind to me when no one in this place is kind to anyone.” She swallows. “But Cassius is not a fool, and I have not been half as clever as I believed. He has been gathering things. Papers. Dates. Every afternoon the northern envoy came to that garden, written in his own hand beside every message that reached the north too fast after. He is building a case that you are a spy.” Her voice drops. “And last night he asked me a question he already knew the answer to, and watched my face the whole time I lied. He suspects me of helping you. He is right to. And if he has come as far as me, he is close to the end of it.”

I look away then. I remember the kiss I shared with Theron this afternoon.

“How close,” I say.

“Close, my lady.” Iona finally sets the plates down. “Whatever you mean to do. Do it now before it is too late.”