It takes me a moment to realize that he’s not yelling “thief” or demanding I turn out my pockets. “I…What?”
His finger shifts to the side, pointing to the door behind me. “Are you daft? I said, do I need to call the guards, or are you capable of removing yourself?”
“No, no. I’ll leave,” I hastily reply.
I spin around to get the hell out as quickly as I can, yanking open the heavy door. I slip out of it as soon as the space is big enough for me to fit through. The door heaves shut with a thud behind me, and I lean back against it, hand over my chest to quell my racing heart.
I’ve met a lot of unpleasant people in my life, but that scribe was an ass.
With a shake of my head, I let out a breath. Beneath my fingertips, I feel the hard corners of the book like a badge of secrecy digging into my skin. I don’t have any idea what’s in it, but it feels furtive. As if the pages are whispers, and I’m leaning in to hear its secrets.
Once my breathing is back to normal, I let my hand drop and I straighten up from the door. Now that I’m no longer worried about being caught, irritation rises up at the contempt the old scribe showed. He looked at me like I wasn’t good enough to even breathe the library’s musty air, let alone read anything.
Do not think of entering again, because you are not welcome here.
He acts like my mere presence was a blot on the entire library, like I would’ve dog-eared a page or cracked a spine.
I mean, yes, I did just steal a book, but that’s irrelevant. And yes, in the past, I have accidentally turned some pages solid gold when I wasn’t careful. Also not relevant.
The scribe did have one good point though, even if it was meant to be an insult.
Return yourself to the saddle wing where you belong.
Funny, that’s exactly where I wanted to go next.
Chapter 11
AUREN
Finding the saddle wing isn’t easy. Not only because I don’t know where it is, but also because I have to keep sneaking around. This means a lot of ducking inside rooms or doubling back whenever there’s a servant or guard nearby, and it takes up a lot of time.
Yet searching and roaming around means I’m also able to map the floors, to get a feel for where everything is, which will be helpful for my plan of escape. A plan that’s solidifying in my mind with every step I take.
A couple of hours later, I get lucky as I peek around a corner and find a pair of guards sitting outside a door.
“This post is a hell of a lot better than north wall. We don’t have to freeze our asses off for once,” one man says.
The other guard is leaning back on his stool, ear pressed to the door. “Shit, I think I can hear one of ’em moanin’。”
“Really?” That perks the other one up, and I roll my eyes as he presses his ear to the door too. “You think they just…fuck each other all day?”
A male groan echoes down. “Shit, I hope so.”
“Midas has much better whores than Fulke did. Did you see the tits on that redhead?”
Well, I found the saddles.
I hesitate for a moment, trying to formulate a plan, but I know that I don’t have all day lurking around this corner. Sooner or later, someone is going to walk by.
I don’t recognize the guards, and obviously, they’re new at this post, which may work in my favor. So, with a half-cocked idea, I take a deep breath and round the corner. I walk confidently down the ice-blue corridor, passing the decorative pillars that line the wall.
Since they’re still trying to spy on the saddles, the gold-clad guards don’t notice me until I’m two feet away. They immediately jump to their feet at my approach, looking flustered. One is older, with graying temples, while the other seems to be younger than me, with blond facial hair growing in sad little patches over his chin.
“Who are you?” Patch Beard asks.
The older one glances at him pointedly. “Who is she? Look at her. She’s gold, you idiot. Who do you think it is?”
“Oh. Right.” Twin dots of red appear on his cheeks.
I smile brightly. “Hello, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just going inside the saddle wing.”
Gray Hair frowns in confusion. “Uh, that’s not permitted, miss.”
I adopt a haughty look. “Of course it’s permitted.” The best way to convince people that you’re allowed to do something is to act offended when they assume otherwise. “You know who I am.”
It’s not really a question, but they nod anyway.
“So you know that I’m King Midas’s gold-touched favored. His favorite saddle,” I say slowly, my words punctuated with an arch of my brow to make them feel like idiots for not realizing this. “And this is the saddle wing, is it not?”