Anarah Prideaux finds herself in the castle library more often than not. When she is not guarding their young prince, she makes herself at home in a pile of tomes, studying alongside the physicians of the Church. As a scribe, she had learned more surrounded by parchment than surrounded by people.

  The library resides on the lower floor of the castle, on the eastern side, beneath the Guard’s quarters. Its ceilings loom overhead, where the sunlight from the lower windows cannot reach them, and the many aisles are tight, allowing for little more than one person to pass between shelves. Scribes meander through the passages, wearing simple cotton robes the color of red wine. In the shelves, there are scrolls and leatherbacks describing the histories of every country, written in detail by aged scholars from the millennia before. Their parchment is yellowed and torn, soft from years of gentle handling. How many hands had touched this vellum before?

  Sitting at one of the reading desks in the light of an eastern window, Anarah unfurls a document the color of beeswax. She breathes in its musty scent as her hands tenderly pull at the edges, pinning it to her wooden bookstand, its corners curling defiantly. The writing is dull, splotched in spots, and scrawled in delicate script. At the top is inscribed, “Abdominal Disease: An Imbalance of Bile”.

  Although the Church handles matters when it comes to healing, Anarah finds a deep interest in the workings of the human body. For most of the city, however, medical care was a rarity. Typically, the Church was responsible for keeping the kingdom’s royalty in good health; the Church could only handle so many civilian cases, and hundreds were turned away. A helping hand was always welcome. Anarah was often sent into the villages on the outskirts of Erah for home visits. Though illness was indiscriminate, it always hit the poorest the hardest, and the ragged face of disparity had brought her to Taeg’s desk more than once.

  Anarah studies the penmanship of the article, picturing the faces of patients she’d seen with such ailments before. Their eyes yellowed, their bellies ached. Many of them were older men, farmers, fishermen, and vassals. They were working men, middle class family men, as well as the occasional brothel madame, all frequent patrons of the city’s taverns. By the time most of them had plucked up the courage to ask for help, they were gone in months.

  She hears the southern door rumble open. A clink of armor straps precedes the sturdy build of Nathis Stoles stepping through the aisle nearest Anarah. She looks up as he emerges from the shadows, one corner of his lips turned up into what she had come to know as a smile.

  “Always was your favorite place to be as a child,” he rasps in the quiet, taking the seat across from her. The tiny stool is almost too small for his frame. “What is the script of choice today?” His voice grates low, carrying through the airy space of the library, wizened blue eyes following her hands as she adjusts the parchment.

  “You never understood my fascination with scrolls.” She gives him a small grin, returning her eyes to the article. “I imagine I’ve learned a great deal more here in twenty-three years than you ever did after forty years on the battlefield.”

  “Ah, but you learned more about the propensities of men while training with me than you ever did in here,” Nathis states, leaning upon the table. “Which, if you’re aiming for a spot on the council, you’ll need.”

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  She tears her gaze from the page, leaning back in her chair. “Kurst’s narrative on warfare might say otherwise. Besides, why would one want to learn only about the ‘propensities of men’?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head.

  “I always joke with you,” she adds, “but I hope you know I appreciate everything you’ve taught me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t pick your grimy little behind off the streets expecting you to agree with me all the time.” Nathis points a meaty finger in her direction, smirking. “Though I’ll admit, you were quite a mouthy one. It comforts me to know we’ve calmed you down over the years. I think I can handle the jests.”

  Anarah rests her chin in her hand, hiding a mischievous grin. “So, what brings you here? I haven’t seen you pick up a book since I was little.”

  Nathis sighs. “I come from council. Taeg pulled me aside to fill me in afterwards. He’s calling a Guard conference.”

  Anarah stares down at the table, her voice soft. “We’ve found something, then?”

  In the middle of the small table, Nathis rubs one tanned hand over the other. “He had his father’s look. Haven’t seen that look in a long while. Seems like he’s coming to terms with his position. Conference this afternoon, in the drawing room.”

  “I’ll be there,” Anarah nods.

  Nathis pats a dry hand over Anarah’s arm, his eyes holding hers for a moment. She notices a tired haze to his pupils, a yellowing around the edges. He hauls himself off the bench, hand on the pommel of the sword at his belt.

  “If you see Drair,” he drawls, turning back, “please let her know. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. She’s probably in the city prowling, as she does. I doubt she wants to see me anyway. Caught her trying to execute a captive.”

  Anarah’s eyebrows knit. “Why would she do that?”

  Nathis shrugs, his hands in the air. “I’m not sure. She’s always been a little… aggressive, if that’s the right word.”

  A hum escapes her lips, pressed together in thought. “Weird.”

  Her father shrugs again, and she watches him walk toward the aisles. A ray of sunshine crosses his back as he passes through it, the light landing on the floor, dust motes swimming.

  “General?” she calls. Her voice feels small in the halls of the library. Nathis pauses, turning to face her again. “Please come to the church when you get a chance. I’d like for the physicians to look at you.”

  She watches his reaction. His nose crinkles, lined eyes narrowing. She backpedals quickly, knowing her father’s thought before it exits his mouth.

  “With any impending conflict, I’d like for all the Guard – as well as Taeg – to be checked out. Just in case. It makes for good practice.” She shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Besides, I think the Prince harbors a little fear for the medical ward. It would be good for him.”

  Nathis looks down at the sunlight on the ground before meeting her eyes again. “I admire your ability to think ahead. I wonder who taught you that?”

  Anarah murmurs, “You, of course.”

  Nathis laughs lightly. “Yes, I’ll be there. We can discuss at the conference.”

  He sidles through the aisle, his wide shoulders taking up most of the span, and disappears into the shadows. Anarah waits for the sound of the door closing before allowing her tears to escape, carefully wiping them away before they land on the parchment before her.