Nesta didn’t know how to unpack that statement. So she just said, “Ah.”
Gwyn went on, “These females took me in. Gave me shelter and healing and family.” Again, her large eyes darkened. “I cannot stand to fail them in anything. Especially someone as demanding as Merrill. Even when it might seem trivial.”
Admirable, though Nesta was loath to admit it. “Have you left this mountain since you arrived?”
“No. Once we come in, we do not leave unless it is time for us to depart—back to the world at large. Though some of us remain forever.”
“And never see daylight again? Never feel fresh air?”
“We have windows, in our dormitories.” At Nesta’s confused expression, she clarified, “They’re glamoured from sight on the mountainside. Only the High Lord knows about them, since they’re his spells. And you now, I suppose.”
“But you don’t leave?”
“No,” Gwyn said. “We don’t.”
Nesta knew she could let the conversation end there, but she asked, “And what do you do with the time you’re not in the library? Practice your … religious things?”
Gwyn huffed a soft laugh. “In part. We honor the Mother, and the Cauldron, and the Forces That Be. We have a service at dawn and at dusk, and on every holy day.”
Nesta must have made a face of distaste because Gwyn snorted. “It’s not so dull as all that. The services are beautiful, the songs as fair as any you’d hear in a music hall.”
That did sound rather interesting.
“I enjoy the dusk services,” Gwyn continued. “The music was always my favorite part of it, you know. I mean, not here. I was a priestess—an acolyte still—before I came here.” She added a shade quietly, “In Sangravah.”
The name sounded familiar to Nesta, but she couldn’t place it.
Gwyn shook her head, her face pale enough that her freckles stood out in stark relief. “I need to return to Merrill before she starts wondering where I am. And come up with some way to save my hide when she can’t find that book in the pile.” She jerked her chin to the books in Nesta’s hands. “Thanks for that.”
Nesta only nodded, and the priestess was gone, coppery-brown hair fading from sight.
She made it back to her cart with minimal wincing and grunting, though standing still for so long with Gwyn had made it nearly impossible for her to start walking again.
A few priestesses drifted by, either directly past her or on one of the levels above or below, utterly silent. This whole place was utterly silent. The only bit of color and sound came from Gwyn.
Would she remain here, locked beneath the earth, for the rest of her immortal life?
It seemed a shame. Understandable for what Gwyn must have endured, yes—what all these females had endured and survived. But a shame as well.
Nesta didn’t know why she did it. Why she waited until no one was around before she said into the hushed air of the library, “Can you do me a favor?”
She could have sworn she sensed a pause in the dust and dimness, a piqued interest. So she asked, “Can you get me volume seven of The Great War? By someone named Lavinia.” The House had no problem sending her food—perhaps it could find the tome for her.
Again, Nesta could have sworn she felt that pause of interest, then a sudden vacancy.
And then a thump sounded on her cart as a gray leather-bound book with silver lettering landed atop her pile. Nesta’s lips curved upward. “Thank you.” A soft, warm breeze brushed past her legs, like a cat wending between them in warm greeting and farewell.
When the next priestess passed, Nesta approached her. “Excuse me.”
The female halted so swiftly her pale robes swayed with her, the blue stone on her hood gleaming in the soft faelight. “Yes?” Her voice was soft, breathy. Curly black hair peeked out from her robe, and rich brown skin gleamed on her lovely, delicate hands. Like Clotho, she wore her hood over her face.
“Merrill’s office—where is it?” Nesta gestured to the cart behind her. “I have a few books for her but don’t know where she works.”
The priestess pointed. “Three levels up—Level Two—at the end of the hall on your right.”
“Thank you.”
The priestess hurried along, as if even that moment of social interaction had been too much.
But Nesta gazed toward the level three stories above.
Her aching body did not make for easy stealth work, but Nesta mercifully didn’t encounter anyone on her way up. She knocked on the shut wood door.