Chapter Thirteen

The library was nothing like she’d expected.

Anastasia had grown up in a castle with a library, a giant chamber that included books from the kingdom’s early history as well as manuscripts from right across the Allied Lands. The tomes had been written in several different languages, some effectively extinct outside the scholarly communities, and some had been so fragile, despite hundreds of preservation spells, that no one was allowed to touch them. The castle library was the domain of a stern-faced librarian who believed the printing press was a fad that would fade, when the public lost its mania for cheap textbooks and dubious fiction printed on flimsy paper; he’d certainly never allowed the shelves to be contaminated by blue books or indeed anything that wasn’t at least fifty years old. The castle archives weren’t much better, boxes of paperwork that had been filed away and then forgotten. Anastasia had spent as little time as possible in the library and never thought twice about it.

The Great Library of Beneficence was different. It was a massive building, designed to allow the light to shine down from high overhead and illuminate the shelves to visiting members of the public. And it was open to the public. Anastasia had expected to have to answer some questions before she was allowed into the chamber, but instead she was just waved inside. A handful of wards glittered around the entrances, presumably to keep people from stealing the books. She glanced at a dedication plaque – someone had tried to scratch out a name, VESPERIAN – and then walked into the first chamber. It was bigger than she’d thought, endless wooden stacks creaking under the weight of thousands of newfangled books. If there was a filing system, she couldn’t find it. The books seemed to have been thrown in at random.

She shook her head and forced herself to walk around the chambers. The library teemed with people, speaking in hushed voices. The librarian back home would have a fit at the thought of so many commoners in his domain, but the local librarians didn’t seem to mind as long as the visitors kept their voices low. She rolled her eyes as she spotted collections of textbooks, covering everything from magic and warfare to agriculture and architecture, and then frowned as she stepped into the newspaper section. The broadsheet craze had produced thousands upon thousands of newsletters that had published one or two editions and then vanished, but a few hundred had managed to turn themselves into self-sustaining businesses. The Gilded Age was one such broadsheet, somehow selling thousands of copies across the Allied Lands even though everyone she knew denied reading it. She had never liked it herself – it was a collection of real news about the aristocracy and rumours that were either exaggerated or made up of whole cloth – but it did have its uses. Sometimes.

“You’ll find copies of the latest editions on that shelf,” the librarian told her, when she asked. “The earlier editions are either behind the current edition or down in the store.”

Anastasia nodded, wondering how the library intended to keep copies of every broadsheet ever produced. Even if they just collected broadsheets published in Benifience itself, they’d still need a great deal of storage space for a collection that was largely nothing more than waste paper. She shrugged – it wasn’t her problem – and collected the broadsheets, before sitting down to flip through the pages. The Gilded Age prided itself on keeping the public informed of what the great and the good were doing and it was very effective. Nearly every kingdom was covered, in greater or lesser detail. Including hers.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the stories, one by one. She’d hoped her parents would ask questions about Circe’s cover story, but it looked as though they’d bought it hook, line and sinker. Princess Anastasia had narrowly escaped a kidnap attempt, her maid bravely sacrificing her life to save her mistress … it made Anastasia want to throw up. There was a cuckoo in her father’s nest and he hadn’t even noticed! There weren’t many other stories filed from Rockfall, save one. Apparently, the princess was attending court with her father. The writer seemed to approve of that development.

Bastard, Anastasia thought. She had always been aware of just how many people thought they had the right to pass judgement on her, but … she swallowed, hard. The writer didn’t have the slightest idea of what life was like for her. He hadn’t even realised it wasn’t her! If he knew what was actually going on …

She stopped, dead, as a thought ran through her mind. What if they did know about the switch … and they didn’t care? What if they thought Circe was a better Crown Princess than Anastasia? It was supposed to be impossible to take someone out of the line of succession and replace them with a complete newcomer, but … if everyone carefully looked the other way, they might just get away with it. The idea a king and queen could be fooled … it wouldn’t be that hard to fool spells intended to check bloodline, if you had their cooperation. And anyone who dared suggest it would be laughed out of court.

Anastasia’s blood ran cold. What if she got home … and they didn’t want her?

The thought nearly made her scream. She hadn’t been that good a daughter. She’d neglected the duties of the Crown Princess. She hadn’t studied, she hadn’t practiced, she hadn’t even looked for a husband who could sire a heir, without threatening her position. And she couldn’t be put aside, not easily. The exact question of just who was second in the line of succession had never been settled, and even trying could easily lead to a civil war. Her father was kind and loving, but he could also be ruthlessly pragmatic. If he chose to pretend to believe Circe was his daughter …

Tears prickled in her eyes. She wouldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t!

She put the broadsheets aside and went hunting for maps. There was a surprisingly large collection, ranging from old and faded outlines that hadn’t been updated for years to newer and better maps that showed the post-war world. It was easy enough to trace out a route to Rockfall, harder to figure out how to make the trip. The railway networks weren’t connected up very well, not yet, and …

Her eyes narrowed. Beneficence was right next door to Cockatrice. Lady Emily lived there … a young woman who had beaten a necromancer in single combat would have no trouble with Circe … Anastasia felt a hot flash of envy, mingled with rage. She could ask for help, but the curse would kill her. She couldn’t ask Queen Alassa or any of the other monarchs for their assistance either. Paranoia gnawed at the back of her mind. What if they liked Circe too? What if they thought they could take advantage of her? Or if they were too scared to confront her? The idea was terrifying. She really was alone.

A librarian came up to her. “Are you alright?”

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Anastasia shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Her heart felt twisted, bitterness threatening to overpower her. She had very little money left, too little to get more than a few hundred miles … she ground her teeth in silent frustration. Her kingdom was rich. She could get practically anything she wanted, if she had access to the kingdom’s funds. But she couldn’t go to the bankers and reveal her true identity. The curse wouldn’t let her.

“Come with me,” the librarian said. “Please.”

It wasn’t a request. Anastasia allowed herself to be led into a private sitting room, so similar to Caster’s that she almost turned and ran. The librarian poured her a glass of water and passed it to her, allowing her to drink. Anastasia sipped it slowly, wondering if it was another mistake. If the librarian meant her ill, drinking anything she offered might be the last thing she’d do.

“You were whimpering,” the librarian told her. There was a faint but unmistakable hint of reproof in her tone. “And disturbing the other patrons.”

“I’m sorry,” Anastasia managed. That hadn’t been a problem in the castle library. Or had it? She had been the princess. The only people allowed to discipline her were her parents, and they rarely bothered. If she’d been disturbing the other visitors, no one had pointed it out to her. There hadn’t been many visitors. “I’m just …”

The librarian patted her on the shoulder. “You remind me a lot of my daughter,” she said, gently. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Anastasia almost laughed. “I need to earn some money,” she said, sourly. The very idea seemed absurd. She was a princess, not a servant! And yet, she’d been forced to work as a servant. She found herself laughing bitterly. “How do I get some cash?”

The librarian studied her for a long moment. “Your parents kicked you out?”

“Something like that,” Anastasia said. She didn’t know enough to tell a good lie. “I don’t want to marry their choices, and so …”

“You’re husband-high, to be sure,” the librarian agreed. “If you go down to the café here, you’ll see a set of job advertisements. Mostly for posts you can’t get through word-of-mouth. Some more serious than others, but … go take a look.”

Anastasia frowned. “Word of mouth?”

“Shopkeepers tell their friends they’re in the market for a new shopgirl, would one of their daughters like the job?” The librarian gave her an odd look. “Your parents don’t have any friends?”

“None that’ll give me a job,” Anastasia said. She had been in line for a job, if one she could only start after her father died. The idea of one of her father’s nobles offering her a post on his estate was just absurd. “I … what do you recommend?”

The librarian preened, just a little. Anastasia relaxed. She’d guessed right. Most older woman loved to be asked for their advice, although they got a little offended if the advice wasn’t taken.

“Look for a post that needs skills you have,” she said. “You can clearly read and that’s a skill, so make use of it. The less skill you need, the easier you can be replaced. Choose your master carefully and don’t show him any more loyalty than he shows you. And don’t let him take you to bed.”

Anastasia flushed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You might not, but he will,” the librarian said. “That’s what happened to our Annie. She has a baby who has never met his father and never will.”

Anastasia gritted her teeth as she finished her water and stood. She had known she was sheltered … she’d known, but she hadn’t really believed it. The realities of her life and the realities of other women’s lives were very different, particularly when they were poor and vulnerable. How many of her maids, she asked herself, had been harassed by the guards, or male servants, or even aristocrats? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. And yet, now she understood what it meant, she knew she couldn’t look away. Things would be different, when she returned home.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely. It was nice to know that some kindness existed in the world, flickers of light holding back the darkness. “I’ll go look at the adverts now.”

She brushed back her hair, then headed down to the café. It was larger than she’d expected and surprisingly crude, the food and drink very simple and the mugs and plates showing every sign of being overused. One wall was covered in pieces of paper, some written by hand and others printed, listing possible jobs. She felt her heart sink as she ran her eye over the selection. Some were very basic, or too poorly paid; others were long-term, or asked for someone with skills she lacked. The idea of signing up as a magician’s assistant and apprentice was tempting, but the advert made it clear she’d be doing it for years. By the time she got out, Circe would have taken her place for good.

Yeah, she might, her thoughts pointed out. And would that be a bad thing?

Anastasia gritted her teeth. The thought was galling, but if Circe was a better Crown Princess … no, Anastasia was the Crown Princess. It was her post, hers by right. And Circe had infiltrated the castle, spending years gathering the information she needed to pose as Anastasia … a sorceress willing to go to such extremes, time and time again, wouldn’t wait for the monarch to die of natural causes. Anastasia could imagine several ways to kill the king without making it look suspicious and she’d bet what little money she had left that Circe could think of a few … dozen … more. Her father was living on borrowed time, now he’d accepted the cuckoo in his nest. If Anastasia didn’t get back before it was too late, she would never see her father again.

I will get back, she told herself. I will.

She kept looking, reading through the list. A handful were looking for young women – and being very vague about everything from the exact requirements to pay. She suspected it was a trap and moved onwards. One was looking for a potioneer … she wondered if she could get that job – the pay was good – before realising she simply didn’t know enough to pull it off. Her lips twisted darkly as she spotted an advert for a librarian’s post, but the pay wasn’t high. Where the hell was she going to live!

Despair shot through her. It had never been a problem before, but it was now. She couldn’t sleep on the streets, which meant she’d need to get a room and that would cost money. Too much money. Money she didn’t have. Just something else she’d never thought about, until it was too late. She was trapped …

No wonder Circe didn’t cut my throat or turn me into a frog, she thought. The sorceress hadn’t had to break her word, not in any real sense. She knew I’d be trapped as long as the curse kept me from telling everyone who I really was.

A advert caught her eye, because it was written in OldScript. A broadsheet was looking for a worker … someone who could read and write in both the old script and the new. The advert itself was a test, she realised. She couldn’t have made head or tails of it without the skills they wanted … clever. She checked the address, then headed back to the streets. The office shouldn’t be that far away.

Her stomach rumbled as she stepped outside. She hadn’t had anything for lunch, beyond a cup of tea, and it was already mid-afternoon. The sky was darkening rapidly, the streets emptying as thunder rumbled in the distance. The clouds looked unusually dark, almost purplish. She glanced up, then forced herself to hurry down the street. The stallkeepers were closing up, covering their simmering pots and pans and shoeing away their customers. The more permanent shops and cafes looked unbothered by the threatened storm. Anastasia felt the first drops of rain and walked into the nearest café. The skies opened a second later, rain falling from the heavens with a vigour she’d never seen before. The water came down so hard the streets were rapidly drenched to the bone.

“Have a seat,” the café owner said. “What can I get you?”

Anastasia felt her stomach rumble again as she looked at the prices. What could she afford? Not much, she realised grimly. A sandwich, perhaps two … the fish and rice was cheaper, oddly, and the constant stew was cheaper still. She ordered a bowl of stew and sat down to wait, her stomach heaving when she laid eyes on the meal. The liquid was oily, the meat straggly, the liquid lacking in any sort of vegetables … the taste oddly unfamiliar. She didn’t want to know what went into the stew or how it was cooked. Her stomach clenched as she fought it down, her mind trying to think about something – anything – else. It was the cheapest thing on the menu, and she might be eating it every day as she tried to save money. Even gruel might be preferable.

The café owner ignored her, cleaning his store as the rain slowly died away. Anastasia stepped outside, her shoes splashing through the water as it flowed into the drains. She forced herself to keep going, trying not to grimace as she spotted a handful of people sleeping rough in the alleyway, unable to find anywhere better for the night. She wondered what she’d do, if she had to sleep there herself. She wouldn’t be safe, not even for a single night. Someone would find her and then …

She cut off that line of thought as she picked her way through the streets. The city was coming back to life, street vendors reopening and customers flowing out of stores … some carrying purchases they’d made while they’d been hiding from the rain. Her lips twitched as she spotted a pair of young women, their clothes suggesting their family was wealthy … their eyes passed over Anastasia, as if she wasn’t there at all. Had she been like that, when she had been a carefree princess? Or had she been worse? She didn’t want to know.

I’ll get back, she promised herself, again. She would be a good Crown Princess and Queen, devoting herself to the interests of her kingdom rather than pleasuring herself. She would hear petitions and address concerns and everything else her father did, and she didn’t. I will do it. And things will be different.