The whole room had a lonely kind of feel to it, as if the books on the shelves, covering the entire room, had not been opened and read in centuries. I felt lonely here, and I think even the books felt lonely. I took a quiet moment then to really appreciate the sheer height and magnificence of floor to roof books, divided by snaking platforms with winding staircases leading up. In my personal little nook, the landing fattened out a little, making room for a cosy armchair, a round rug and a small table to rest a coffee cup on. Perfect. This was my new favourite room.
All the books on the shelves in this dark little nook looked like old non-fiction reads, half of them behind locked glass screens. But since Morgaine said this was my own personal reading space, I’d have them all replaced with paranormal romance and classics.
I propped my hands on my hips, looking up then down, and all around; somewhere in these shelves there had to be a book on the Markings I inherited from my oath. Morgaine promised they’d all fade, but each time I checked my body in the mirror, one line kept staring back out at me. It hadn't bothered me until I woke this morning to realise it wasn't planning on going anywhere.
I fingered the spines along the shelves, reading the titles aloud to myself, and came upon an opening in the rail, the ground dropping for a windy staircase. It was sturdy, made of solid wood rather than metal, taking my weight easily as I headed down; I half expected it to rattle and tremble.
Downstairs, the room opened out to the massive windows overlooking the south side of the manor, and between them, a round rug sat guard in front of a huge fireplace, flanked by another armchair—a place I could envision Arthur sitting, with two eager-eyed boys looking up at him while he read stories, maybe even with Arietta beside him.
I smiled and wandered forward, touching the large oak tables, chairs and lamps as I passed, familiarising myself with every surface in the room. But it would take a lifetime to be that familiar with all these books. There was no way I’d ever find the time to read them all. And as I gazed over the locked cabinets and thick spines of century-old hardbacks, I realised there’d be no way to find a book about a topic I wasn’t sure anyone had even written about.
I scratched my ribcage, where the Mark remained, then headed out the second floor door. There was only one person I could think of who’d know where to find a book about my Markings.
“Arthur?” I wandered into his room, uninvited.
“Amara, how are you feeling this morning?”
“I'm okay,” I said, and nodded at the bowl on the table in front of him. “What's that for?”
He looked down, considering the contents carefully. “It’s to relieve extreme night terrors.”
“Night terrors? What, like, bad dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. “Well, who’s having night terrors?”
“A friend.”
“Anyone I know?”
He looked up from the bowl. “Is there something I can help you with, Amara?”
“Um.” My shoulders sunk. “It’s just…can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Morgaine said all my Markings would fade after I finished my coronation, but one didn't.”
“Oh.” Arthur placed the stone utensil he was mixing with into the bowl. “Where is it? May I see?”
I stood up, gathered the base of my top and lifted it up over my belly then my ribs, and turned slightly so Arthur could see the two lines of scripture just below my breast, like a poem sneaking its way toward my spine.
His eyes traced my curves, stopping on the tattoo. “And this is a remaining Mark—it’s not new, is it? You found this immediately after the coronation?” he asked, wandering over to kneel in front of me.
“Yeah, it was there when I got undressed that night.” I giggled a bit when he smoothed his hands up my ribs to push my top completely out of the way.
I watched his lips move and his face contort as he obviously translated the text inside his head, his long fingers firmly holding my waist, looking ever so much like David's skin against mine.
“It’s strange,” he said. “And Morgaine was right, Queen Lilith was not left with any Markings, but this is simply a signature—a line of promise, like a wedding band. Speaking of which—” He stood again and gently lowered my top, then turned and grabbed something off the table. “Mike asked me to give these to you.”
“Oh, thanks.” I slipped my wedding ring back on and put the key in my pocket, wondering why Mike didn't just give them to me himself. “He makes me take all my jewellery off when I go in the cage.”
“I know.” He leaned his butt on the table, bobbing his head like he was thinking. “I don't like that cage, Amara. I’ve asked him to stop using it.”
“He won't. He thinks it’s vital to the study of my powers. And Mike’s always right—about everything.” I rolled my eyes.
“Not this time.” His folded arms tightened. “I won't see you treated that way. It’s not acceptable.”
“It’s okay. It’s all in the name of science.”
He shook his head and looked at my hand where I scratched at my Mark. “What is it? What’s bothering you?”
I dropped my hand. “I don't like tattoos.”
“It’s not a tattoo.”
“Well, it looks like one.”
“Even then, it suits you.”
“You think?”
He grinned, his gaze running from my waist to my eyes. “Yes, it’s very…sexy.”
I thrust my head back, laughing loudly. “That word sounds so funny coming from your mouth.”
“Right. Well—” He nodded, clearing his throat. “That’s the last time I attempt crass modern-day lingo for the purpose of flattery.”
I laughed again. “So, what did the Mark actually say, anyway?”
“Can you not read it?”
I shook my head.
“It says something along the lines of By oath of blood, by promise of heart, I honour my vow,” he said, then turned away and wandered over to his window box, grabbing the scissors to trim leaves off a plant.
I walked around to the side of his bed and sunk down. “Well, I don't want it there. It sucks.”
He looked up quickly. “Language, please, my lady.”
I rolled my eyes at the old man and flopped onto my back with a huff. “Will it go away?”
“I can find out, if you like.”