The fantastical capital was a place that Alira had always dreamed of seeing. Growing up in a single cabin in the woods and then spending a short time in a village of less than a hundred souls had set her imagination running wild.

What must it be like to be shoulder to shoulder with hundreds, thousands, of other people? A young Alira had imagined Endmoore being a huge, bustling city. It was impressive to a country girl who had spent her days catching fish and gathering wild strawberries. Lightholde was many times as large as the small Endmoore and infinitely older.

It was several days of travel but with the supplies that Ohira had given her coupled with the things she was able to take from her own cottage, she was well provisioned and made good time. Henry was silent, a ghost inside her mind, and the journey was lonely. She wondered how much of her mind Henry was privy to, how many of her thoughts were private. She was tempted to ask but the carefully laid binding that kept him dormant was difficult to replace and she did not want to risk him abusing his limited freedom.

As she crested a ridge to the north of the city, Alira gasped. The sun would set within the hour and the light danced across the deep blue-green of the Bay of Halcyon. Ships with crisp white sails bobbed in the water, their tall masts echoing the enormous spires of the church that overlooked the entire sparkling city. Apprehension bloomed thickly in her gut and fear and excitement mingled with hope. She took a deep breath before continuing toward the enormous black and gold gates.

The two sentries that stood at the gate, their glistening conical helmets neat and straight, let her in with little fuss, taking in her travel-worn appearance before directing her to an inn a few minutes from the gates. She thanked them quietly and watched them retreat back into the guardhouse and set down their heavy halberds.

“Make haste, lady. The gates are closing for the night,” the bearded sentry called to her. As soon as Alira was beyond the gates she turned and watched as they creaked and groaned, the chains and winches that worked to pull them closed clanging loudly. The gilded black iron gates slammed shut with a deep metallic boom that felt both definitive and safe.

She turned toward the Capital and shook her hair out of her eyes. The setting sun cast golden beams between the two and three storey buildings near the gate and she gaped at all there was to see.

Children dashed past her as she walked, mothers calling to them from open doors. A woman in a kerchief emptied a slop bucket into the street, barely missing Alira as she ambled past. Shutters were being closed with sharp snaps, people were rushing past her to their homes or on some form of business. No one looked at her for more than a brief second and she felt their dismissal as they glanced away quickly. The city seemed to be closing down for the night, just as Endmoore had when the night fell.

She found the inn called The Warren, the heavy rectangular sign branded with a bright white rabbit, and she procured a room for the night. Alira paid the fee and ordered a dinner of rabbit stew and a mug of dark, thick beer. Eating quietly in a corner she watched as candles were lit, windows covered. A slight woman, several years younger than Alira, swept up the straw from the floor and then returned a few minutes later and spread fresh, clean smelling straw. The woman then approached her table and smiled weakly.

“Anything else?” asked the working woman with a heavy southern accent. “I can have hot water brought up for you for a double fee.” Alira wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin that had been provided and looked up into her face. Her deep brown eyes were kind but tired and she seemed like she was ready to call her day done.

“If that’s not too much trouble,” Alira agreed. She pulled a couple more coins from the small pouch at her waist and handed them to the server. “Do you know of anywhere I could get information about the Library at the church?” Alira added as she leaned forward, her arms on the table.

“Tomorrow morning, go to the monastery at the Basilica Academia,” she said, pocketing the coins. “It’s a big white building with pillars and a dome, and the monastery is right next to it.” she added helpfully, taking in Alira’s puzzled expression.

“Thank you,” Alira said and stood to retire to her rented room.

Forty-five minutes later, she was dressed in a relatively clean white shirt and linen trousers, her hair and body scrubbed clean of the journey from the north. The weather here was noticeably milder, the nights cooler and the breeze from the ocean smelling tangy. She wrapped her cloak around herself and sat at the small vanity in her cramped room.

As she carefully twisted her hair into two long plaits, pulling her hair tightly against her scalp, she was overcome with a sense of enormous dread and anxiety. The tasks set before her were impossible, the size and weight of her responsibility almost crippling. Tears gathered in her eyes as she tied the last of the two braids and stared at her hollow face in the cracked mirror.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Her cheeks were sunken, the skin pulling tightly against the bones of her face. Her large dark eyes were bright and scared, the tears in them making them sparkle in the light of the single candle on the small table before her. She was tanned and freckled from the time she spent outdoors but she could see the lines of worry appearing across her forehead and around her eyes. As she stared, a flicker of something flitted across her features, turning her eyes white, her hair silver, long pointed ears replacing her own. The horrific vision was gone before she could register it and she blinked away the shock.

Shadesorrow. Henry whispered in her mind.

“Alira,” she said in defiance. She blew the candle out and crawled into her borrowed bed, collapsing into a dreamless sleep.

When she woke in the morning, she could smell bacon and fresh bread. Her stomach clenched in hunger despite her large dinner the night before. She got out of bed, put on her laced leather trousers over her linen pants, pulled her boots on over stockinged feet, and slung her pack over her shoulder. Checking that her draggers were tucked into her belt safely and that her coin purse was tied tightly, she went downstairs to the tavern and ordered a lavish, hearty breakfast.

The bacon was crispy and greasy, the heavily buttered slabs of brown bread the perfect choice to sop up the runny orange egg yolks. She chugged a mug of creamy milk and relished in the feeling of her full stomach for the first time in a long time. After emptying the last of the hot, dark tea from a second mug she tossed several coins on the counter and left The Warren, nodding politely to the server woman as she passed.

The Basilica Academia was exactly as the woman had described. The tall white building shone brilliantly in the morning sun. The attached monastery beside it was a square, red brick building that looked practical and austere beside the ostentation of the pillared and domed basilica. She walked up the set of steps to the monastery and hesitated, unsure if she should knock or just enter. Her quandary was answered for her when a tall, broad monk exited, his face buried in a book. He collided with Alira, knocking her backward down the steep steps. As she cried out, she felt a heavy hand grab her upper arm and jerk her back onto her feet.

“Gods!” the monk breathed in surprise and he tossed his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes. “Apologies, ma’am.” He bowed his head in a show of contrition, his crown of golden curls sparkling, and Alira shook her head.

“No, it’s alright. I was lingering, trying to figure out if I needed to knock or just enter...”

“Well, that depends.” He looked her up and down, trying to decide something. “I’m guessing you’re not looking to join our brotherhood.” His pale blue eyes met hers and she smiled.

“I’m not, no. I’m looking for information about the Great Library here in Lightholde.” She bent and picked up his fallen tome and handed it to him.

“I’m Brother Therin.” He held out his hand and she shook it. It was enormous, warm and calloused. His face was open and innocent, his skin smooth and hairless. “I was actually on my way to return this book to the library if you’d like to accompany me.” His smile was warm and catchy and Alira returned it with ease. They made their way down the steps and turned toward the Basilica.

“Anything you’re looking for in particular?” Therin asked politely as they entered the enormous building. Alira remained silent as she thought about her answer. She could tell this monk honestly what she was looking for and hope he could direct her to her quarry. But that plan left people in her wake that were aware that she was hunting for a dangerous book.

“I’m interested in books about the Covens.”

The monk didn’t answer for a beat, hesitating.

“Then you’ll want to speak to Devan,” he said. “He’s the most knowledgeable about the Witches.”

He led her into the foyer of the enormous religious building and she gasped.

The floor was slick slabs of quartz made into a stunning mosaic of a four-pointed star. The wooden pillars that stretched up to the ceiling far above were polished mahogany, heavy and wide enough she would not be able to get her arms around them. Far across the foyer were two enormous wooden doors thrown wide open, allowing her an unfettered view of the red carpeted corridor beyond. She craned her neck up and saw that the domed ceiling was made of crystal, clear and sparkling. Her shock must have been amusing and Therin chuckled.

“You get used to it,” he said dismissively. At her incredulous look he smiled sheepishly. “Eventually,” he amended.

“I’ve never seen something so beautiful,” Alira breathed and tore her eyes from the glittering dome above to follow the monk to the left.

They entered a small office where several desks were laid out, some piled with papers and books, quills and ink. Some were empty, hinting at either vacancy or a tidy owner who preferred a clear work surface. Therin led her to the messiest desk of them all and sat down behind it, yanking open the top drawer and pulling out a thick leather bound ledger.

“Let me just note this down,” he said as he grabbed a mangled quill and scribbled illegibly in the tome. “There,” he said, laying the large book open and smiling down at it. “My fourteenth book read this month. I’ll be at my goal in no time.” Alira looked down at him politely, eyebrows raised in silent questioning.

“I’m gonna get my tabard and spurs,” announced the monk proudly. “Just need to meet the book quota and then pass a few combat trials,” he waved his hand dismissively, clearly not worried. “Then I can swear my oath and accept a mission.”

He breathed the last word with such reverence that Alira wished she understood what he was talking about so she could sincerely congratulate him. As it was, though, it was all foreign nonsense so she just smiled politely and waited for him to put away the ledger.

“Let’s find High Lord Devan.”

“Lead the way,” Alira replied patiently.