“Shh,” Jory whispered, his fingers tightening around Sarah’s as he pulled her around a corner.
The stone walls absorbed the sound of their breathing while Ward’s heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, each boot-fall like a judge’s gavel.
Sarah pressed herself against the wall, feeling its ancient chill through her tunic. Her hand was in Jory’s now, their fingers intertwined, and it felt—good. His palm was warm against hers, slightly rough from work, but gentle all the same.
“Who goes there?” Ward’s voice boomed, bouncing off the stone. He hesitated, expecting to find only his own shadow, torch held high, squinting into the darkness. “Show yourself!”
A bubble of nervous laughter rose in Sarah’s throat. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, but a slight giggle escaped before she could suppress it. Jory’s eyes widened in warning, but his lips quirked with shared mischief.
Ward stamped forward a few more paces, then stopped, tilting his head. “Just my own boots,” he muttered to himself, scratching his chin. “This place makes you hear things.”
They remained frozen until Ward’s footsteps and torchlight receded down the corridor. Not until then did Jory straighten, tugging Sarah from their hiding place.
“Look at this,” he said, excitement dancing in his gaze. He moved to an unremarkable section of wall, pressing on a particular stone while simultaneously lifting a nearby sconce. The stone yielded with a soft scraping sound, and a narrow passage appeared—barely wide enough for them to inch through sideways.
“How did you find this?” Sarah whispered, but Jory just grinned, gesturing for her to go first.
The passage was tight, the rough stone walls brushing against her shoulders. Darkness surrounded them until suddenly the passage widened, opening into a spacious chamber. Dust motes danced in shafts of moonlight streaming through narrow, high windows. Shelves lined every wall, sagging under the weight of leather-bound tomes and scrolls. A massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with maps and papers held down by small figurines and crystals.
Sarah let out a little gasp, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. The air was heavy with secrets, knowledge both forgotten and forbidden. The weight and words of ages past pressed in around them, waiting to be rediscovered.
“What is this place?” she asked, running her fingers along the spine of a massive book, leaving a trail in the thick dust.
Jory shrugged. “Edric’s library,” he said, his smile widening as he watched her wonder. “But it’s our place, now.” He moved to one of the shelves, reaching behind a row of books. “Look over here.”
He pulled out a small wooden bird, intricately carved and painted with vibrant colors that hadn’t dulled with time. Sarah recognized it immediately—the same wooden bird that Jory had offered her in the great hall. It was meant to be her gift.
“Here,” Jory said gently, extending it toward her.
Sarah took it from him, her fingers lingering on his hands as she accepted the small treasure. Their touch held for a moment longer than necessary. She closed her eyes, feeling the smooth grain of the wooden bird beneath her fingertips, and then—a gentle pressure against her lips, soft and hesitant.
Her eyes flew open to find Jory’s face inches from hers, his gaze searching her expression. The kiss had been brief, but it left her skin tingling as if touched by lightning. Surprised, she broke away, the blood rushing to her face, warming her cheeks.
“I—” he started, then stopped, looking suddenly uncertain.
“And look at this,” he said quickly, moving toward a corner where a sack lay partially hidden beneath the desk. He pulled it open to reveal a small cache of provisions: red-skinned apples, strips of salted meat wrapped in cloth, wedges of hard cheese. “I’ve been grabbing it from the kitchen when I could...”
His voice dropped lower as he faced her, something serious settling over his features. “I’m going, Sarah,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Baker turned me in to the constable. When the Crown comes, I’ll be put in chains, or worse.” He drew his finger across his throat with a grimace. “Chik-chik.”
She looked at him, the wonder of the secret room suddenly overshadowed by the reality of what he was saying. Her expression fell, and she took a small step backward. “Goodbye, then,” she said, her voice small.
Jory shook his head vigorously, crossing the space between them in two quick strides. “No, no, this is all for us. We need to leave,” he insisted, pointing to the provisions. “We can make it across the pass with this, before the Crown arrives.”
He moved to a trunk in the corner and flipped it open, revealing ice axes, ropes, and two thick fur cloaks—items that must have taken him weeks to gather in secret.
“We could have another life in the south,” he continued, the words spilling out faster now. “I have an uncle there. We’d be free, and...” He averted his eyes, a flush creeping up his neck. “In love.”
The words hit Sarah like a physical force. Her heart jumped through her lungs, a rush of blood surging through her entire body, as her knees weakened with something that had nothing to do with fear.
“Here,” he said, handing her one of the fur cloaks, obviously scrounged from somewhere it wouldn’t be immediately missed. “The Crown’s coming—the signal’s been lit. We need to go. Now.”
Sarah’s fingers closed mechanically around the downy fur. “The signal’s been lit? The Crown’s coming?” she murmured, reality slowly filtering through the haze of emotion. “How do you know?”
“Seen it and heard it,” Jory replied, glancing nervously toward the secret passage. “The beacon on the tower was lit tonight. Everyone’s talking about it. Burying it don't make it disappear.”
Sarah put on the cloak, ever-so slowly. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine their life together: warm southern sun on her skin, the wash of distant waves, barefoot on rolling hills far from the snow and the secrets and shadows of her own uncertain nature.
Jory started to pack the supplies into a travel sack, then glanced up to see the cloak slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like shed skin.
“Why?” he asked, confusion and urgency mingling in his voice. “We need to go, Sarah. I’ll be killed if they catch me.”
Sarah released a long, slow breath, visible in the chill air of the library. “No—I can’t, Jory,” she said, looking back at the hidden entrance, then around at the shelves of knowledge, at the heart of the castle that had once belonged to a man who had sought to understand the very nature of what she was.
“What do you mean?” His voice cracked slightly.
“My destiny is here, Jory. In this place.” The words felt right as they left her lips, even as they pierced her heart.
“No,” he said, grabbing her hand with new desperation. “It’s us together. I have to run.”
“You have to, Jory,” she agreed, gently extracting her hand to pick up the pack of food, offering it to him. “Go.”
But as she extended it toward him, Jory moved away, shaking his head. The pack dropped from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud that echoed through the silent library. Both of them froze.
Outside, a new sound—a heavy fist pounding on wood.
“Hey, is anyone in there?” Ward’s voice carried through the thick door of the library proper. They heard keys fumbling and muttered curses.
“Go,” Sarah urged, fixed on Jory’s face, memorizing every line and shadow. “I spent a long time running from myself, running from who I need to be. I can’t hide anymore. We don’t get to decide what happens. We just get to decide who we are.” She smiled sadly. “It’s funny...”
The jangle of keys grew louder as Ward tried one after another, cursing as each failed to turn in the ancient lock.
“I spent so long believing I was nothing,” she continued, words flowing urgently now, “that I had no choice but to keep moving, to stay ahead of whatever was chasing me, to be the strongest one around, to be in control. But that’s not life. That’s just not dying.”
Jory swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “And this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at her, at the room, at everything.
“This is my life,” she said with quiet certainty. “I just… it’s just that, sometimes we need to choose to let things unfold, to accept ourselves.”
“Aha!” Ward’s triumphant voice came from beyond the door as Sarah pushed the pack firmly into Jory’s reluctant hands. He grabbed his cloak as the sound of the lock turning filled the quiet room—a decisive click that seemed to seal their fates.
Jory leapt to the hidden passage, then paused at its entrance, looking back at Sarah. The moonlight caught in his eyes, turning them to silver.
“Wait,” she called softly. He turned, half in shadow already.
“I love you too,” she said.
He nodded once, a gesture containing everything words couldn’t express, then disappeared into the darkness of the passage. The stone slid back into place just as the library door swung open.
Ward stood in the doorway, torch held high, his expression shifting from suspicion to confusion as he saw only Sarah standing amid the dust and forgotten knowledge.
“Just me,” she said, locking eyes with him.
He surveyed the room, squinting as he took in the disturbed dust. “How the hell did you get in here?”
Sarah just shrugged, her hand closing around the wooden bird still in her pocket, feeling its smooth contours like a promise of things that might have been. In some universe, she knew a different decision was made. In this one, she was locked in.