Page 13 of The Never List
A low, amused murmur rumbles in his chest, and I swear I feel it between my thighs.Who is he?
“Are you a writer?” he asks.
“No,” I admit.
“Then what bothers you about it?”
I swallow hard. Telling the truth is grounds for imprisonment, and I’ve already run my mouth past its allowance tonight.
“Is it the romance?” he whispers in my ear when I don’t answer. I can feel the heat of him, can smell his smoke-and-leather scent as it curls around my body. “The history? Or is it the unbelievable parts that are hard to swallow?”
Surprise flits through me, and I glance back at him. He’s so close, my lips almost brush his mask, but then again, we’re all crowded together. “Which unbelievable parts?” I whisper. There are so many.
The performance ends, and Ivy and Layce clap along with the rest of the crowd.
He could be talking about the goddesses blessing the people of Lumathyst and making them demis for no reason, or the fact that they fell in love and chose non-gods as their mates—
“The part where the goddesses leave their beloved sons for the sake of a threat they could’ve easily wiped out with half a thought,” he says under the sound of the crowd’s approval.
Shock tightens my skin. He could be baiting me, or he could merely share my thoughts on our kingdom’s founding mythology. Either way, I can’t take the risk. As much as my body is begging me to keep talking to him, keep standing near him, keep inhaling that intoxicating scent and getting lost in those indigo eyes, I didn’t come here for that.
It’s not to eat and drink and dance. To gossip and laugh and flirt. I’m here to find my sister, or at least discover where she went.
So, I turn around and give him my best, most nothing smile. “No honorable citizen of Lumathyst would say or agree with such heresy,” I say.
His eyes flicker down to my lips. “Who says I’m an honorable citizen?”
The words send lightning through my veins. “Well, I most certainly am,” I manage to say, my voice cracking slightly. “And I must do my duty.” I bow slightly to him. “And submit myself to the Legends as a potential choice.”
Those eyes grin like a cat catching a canary. “With all the other sheep?”
I’m already backing away, but I don’t break his gaze. “Baa,” I say, then wink at him before whirling around and losing myself in the crowd.
6
Rylee
One thing I can give the kings credit for—beyond the beauty of their palace—is their insistence on keeping a gargantuan library of records.
I follow the route I’ve memorized from Ivy’s map of the palace, easily slipping from the balcony and inside, turning left down one hallway and right down another until I’ve found the room I’ve been waiting a year to get into.
I can almost hear my sister’s voice challenging me, urging me to look for all the exits, even the ones that aren’t obvious.
Slipping through the unguarded double doors, I note two doors in the back of the expansive room and a dozen windows on the second level that I can duck out of if necessary.
The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves encrusted with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. The tomes glow from hidden lights lining the shelves, making each glisten like a gem begging to be plucked. The amount of magic it must take to power this place is completely unfathomable to me.
I hurry deeper into the room, the smell of leather and paper beckoning me. I’ve always loved books, but they’rea rarity in the Ashlands. Stealing books is the only thing I’ve ever actually felt bad about. Taking the wealthy’s food or money never brings me guilt, but their books? What kind of an asshole steals someone’s favorite escape?
Me.
I’m the asshole.
But to be fair, the kings banned books from Ashlanders, so desperate times. We’re all taught to read so we can better serve in the Ashlands, but reading for pleasure is what’s forbidden.
But I’m not after a book today, despite the worn bindings lining the shelves practically screaming for my attention. One crack of a cover and I can be in a different world. Between the pages, I’m not a thieving Ashlander living for scraps from the royals—I can be a princess or a warrior or an enchantress. Any given story can become my entire personality if I wish.
I skim my fingers over a wooden table the size of a small pond that dominates the center of the records room, stopping before a massive row of scrolls speared on iron rods for easy access. This information isn’t secured because no one cares about the names on it. And knowing the names and locations on the list doesn’t hold any power, either—hence this room remaining unguarded.
