“It would be helpful if you’d tell me exactly what you’re after,” Therin said for the fifth time as he locked up the third glass case they had searched.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” she murmured, hoping she wasn’t lying.

“We have another ten minutes before we should clear out,” the monk sighed as he sat in a leather chair, sprawling and bored.

“Thank you, Therin,” Alira said quietly as she glanced at him and went back to the cabinet he had just opened for her.

“I’ve always wondered what was so important to the Order that we couldn’t keep these in the public stacks. It’s just books on witchcraft.” He tossed his golden curls out of his eyes and she heard him adjusting himself in the creaky chair.

Alira felt her skin tingle at his words. By all definitions, she herself was the prey this man and his order were after. Whether she’d have time to explain that she was an unwilling witch, or that they were technically on the same side as she was trying to end the control the dark witches had somehow gained was doubtful. The young monk’s zealotry was only a few tests away from being unleashed, his fervent desire to be part of the Holy Knights was the only real detail she knew of him.

“It’s not here,” she said and turned to face him. “Any other cabinets?”

“If I were you, I’d just spit it out.” He drummed his fingers on the small side table beside him, tapping out an excited, quick beat.

“Yeah? You’d be an idiot then.” The temptation was there, to rope this energetic, enthusiastic monk into her plight. Help would be…helpful.

And then he’d turn you into the paladins and we’d all be screwed. Henry said, his voice vivid and scathing.

“I thought I told you to shut up?” Alira muttered aloud. Her eyes flickered to Therin and she grinned sheepishly. “Not you,” she said hurriedly as she clocked the alarm on his face.

But his eyes widened and she felt her stomach drop. Before she could say another word, she watched his eyes dart to the blades in her belt then back to her face. Slowly, she raised her hands, palms up, placating.

“I think we’d better go,” Therin said quietly as he stared at her. He stood, deliberately slow and held his hand out to her. “If you’ll just follow me.” His voice was low and void of all his flippant casualness that he’d held all morning.

Run. Henry commanded. Alira closed her eyes and bid the spirit further back into her mind, tamping him down, binding him. She felt her strength fade as she slowly returned to herself and met Therin’s wary gaze.

“I’m trying to stop them,” she whispered, taking a calculated risk. “I’m trying to find their book of prophecies so I can thwart the Witches of Morinn.” The monk just stared at her, unmoving.

From the deepest, darkest part of her mind, she felt a flash of coolness, a soothing brightness that took her breath away. Her left hand jerked out of her control, her eyes snapping wide open. Henry was trying to take control of her body. Therin must have noticed something was amiss because his eyes narrowed suspiciously and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

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

“I need your help,” she said as she bent double, fighting Henry. Therin’s hands opened and he leaned toward her a fraction. She held up her hand to stop him from touching her. “Give me a second.”

Straightening, she closed her eyes and let Henry’s consciousness free, intending to talk with him, to reason with him. He wasn’t stupid. Clearly he could see that this young monk could be useful.

If we let him lead us to the book, we’re one step closer.

And he’ll turn us into his precious High Lord. They’ll force an exorcism, trap me in a gem and destroy you for being a witch! Henry’s voice inside her head was laced with terror, anger and indignation.

Not if you stay hidden. He knows something’s wrong, but let me talk to him. Let me… The word she wanted was lie but she knew that would taint her argument. She felt Henry slowly, angrily recede and she locked him behind the mental bars she had learned to erect.

“Sorry,” she gasped as she opened her eyes. “I get headaches sometimes.”

“Headaches,” Therin repeated but he sounded unconvinced.

“I just need to find The Word of Shadesorrow that the witches compiled.” Alira said, her voice soft yet determined. “I was told the answers I’m looking for are in the book.” They stood staring at each other for several long minutes, the silence falling around them so thick it felt like snow. As they stood facing one another, Alira’s mind raced, her eyes locked on Therin’s, silently pleading.

He must have seen something in her eyes because he suddenly looked away, having made some kind of decision. He nodded once and grabbed her hand, dragging her back to the public area of the library.

“Remember how I said it’d be ironic if the book you’re looking for was the one book we don’t have?” He stopped in front of the low glass case and nodded toward it, dropping her hand. “Word of Shadesorrow was stolen. It’s the only book we do not have a copy of, to my knowledge.”

“Stolen? By whom?” But something in her mind screamed. Not Henry, but a different, primal part of her that could see the pattern before her consciousness could.

“A witch.” His voice was laden with disgust. “She posed as a nun.”

Alira merely gaped at him. Her mind was racing faster than she could keep up.

“She posed as a nun from another city, befriended Devan, then seduced him one night. She got him drunk and then stole his keys, broke in here and stole the book.”

“How did you know she was a witch?” Alira asked but she knew the answer already. Slowly, his hand reached out. She thought he was going to take hers but he brushed it aside and put a finger on the blade at her waist.

“She carried that, they said,” Therin whispered, taking a step closer to Alira. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of her mother’s Witch Knife.

“Therin–” she began but he drew the blade and held it to her throat.

“What do you really want?” he demanded through clenched teeth. Her eyes were wide with terror. Not of him, but for him. She felt the cool darkness inside her unbinding Henry, felt the spirit uncoiling inside her, filling her hands, inflating her lungs. Panic made her heart race faster, pulsing the darkness into her veins even quicker.

“Therin,” she whispered. “I swear to you. I am trying to stop the Morinn.” Her voice crackled strangely in her suddenly dry throat. It was taking all her might to hold back Henry.

“Why are you carrying a Witch Knife?” he said between his teeth. “Why this blade?”

“I promise to tell you. Just lower the blade. I can’t be held responsible if you don’t lower the blade.” Her voice held a strange tone to it, one deeper and more resonant than her own and it made him jerk back suddenly. His eyes filled with his own brand of terror and he dropped the blade. It clattered noisily in the silent, dusty room. Alira closed her eyes once more and tamped down the darkness, herding Henry’s silent rage into a corner.

“Let’s get out of here, and I’ll tell you everything I can.”