At the lift, King Zelig—the name I’d taken to calling him—regarded us regally. “Floor?”
“Two.”
As the lift ascended, the new worker toed the clouds curling around our feet. I pulled out the first delivery. It was for the To Traverse a Forgotten Ocean Suite.
When we arrived, a tan-skinned woman with sun-bleached hair, who I imagined to be a sea captain, answered the door in a nautical dressing gown. The worker presented her a whole fish on a platter.
Our next delivery was for the On a Carousel of Wishes Suite. A guest with light brown skin and hazel eyes answered. He didn’t speak Verdanniere and waved us goodbye with his pinkie finger in a gesture I’d never seen.
The occupant of the A Verdant Enchantment Suite placed the same order the past three days: a jar of dried berries and seeds. The door swung open on the fourth knock. A girl with deep golden skin and a nest of hair nearly the same color stuck her head through. She snatched the jar and slammed the door.
“That was interesting,” the worker said.
“You’ll find most things here are.”
On the third floor, I told him to finish the deliveries then wait for me in the kitchens, while I took the last delivery myself.
The library was a plush space near the salon. I pulled out the delivery of chopped fruit before I entered so the rustling parchment wouldn’t disturb the library guests. Or the creature. Written on the parchment in Chef’s hasty scrawl was a twice-underlined note: Don’t wake the bird.
Great advice, for this particular bird was as large as my torso and fast asleep, its obsidian feathers tucked against its body.
The bird wasn’t just pretty to look at, but proved useful; its coo soothed library-goers, and it squawked if a guest became too loud. Good thing its cage was kept out of reach; there was gossip about a kitchen worker who once startled the bird. Unfortunate for her, considering it bit off her ear.
I scaled the library’s small ladder, opened the cage, and plopped the fruit inside. Thankfully the bird didn’t wake. I climbed down and looked around.
Above me, stacks of books appeared to go up forever, connected by a web of ivory ladders and ornate catwalks. Robed guests populated the perimeter. Each clutched a pair of lorgnettes with filigreed handles, pressing the elaborate glasses to their eyes as they read.
It reminded me of Bézier’s sitting room, how I would lose myself for hours hunched over books and atlases. Longing moved through me as I took in all the books. I supposed it wouldn’t be difficult to borrow one now, then slip it back later. Guests did it all the time.
I ran a finger over a book embossed with a language I’d never seen, then a book in a different language made up of vowels mashed together. A pair of lorgnettes lay forgotten on a low shelf. I grabbed them. When I raised them to my eyes, the title of each book appeared in crisp Verdanniere. I scanned the shelf. No geographies, so I shoved a scandalous-looking romance in my pocket, along with the lorgnettes.
“What are you doing?”
I spotted his silver hair first. Hellas, the Botaniste, appeared at my side. He brought a playing card to my chin and tilted my face up with the sharp edge. Magic tingled where the card touched my jaw.
“I’m running deliveries, sir,” I squeaked.
He glanced down. The lorgnette’s handle stuck out of my pocket, and my heart dropped. He pulled the glasses out, along with the book. I expected him to grab my shoulder and drag me away, but he didn’t. “Next time the ma?tre will hear about it, understand?”
He was letting me go. I nodded.
“Now run along.” He released me, then added, “Mol.”
My eyes widened. The kitchens had at least two hundred workers. There was no way he remembered the name of one girl without a reason for it. He must suspect something.
But I’d taken every precaution since that night in Alastair’s office; there wasn’t anything I’d done to garner his notice. Besides, the closest I’d ever come to him before this moment was at that first soirée—when he’d practically turned a guest into a tree with the barest flick of his wrist at the midnight show.
Hellas ran his thumb down the edge of a glossy playing card.
I had to move. I could feel his eyes on me as I forced myself through the library entrance and into the lobby. Once I was out of sight, my shoulders collapsed against the wall. I clutched Maman’s necklace, attempting to calm myself.
When my hands no longer shook, I skirted the lobby shadows until I found the small alcove a few feet from the entrance to the salon. It had served as the perfect hiding spot over the past few weeks, with a clear view of the lobby.