Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ELLA

A GOOD LIBRARY has lured me in more than once.

At fifteen, the boy who sat next to me in biology told me he’d stolen a key to the school library. When he invited me to sneak in one night with him, of course I couldn’t resist. But instead of looking at the books, all he was interested in was necking.

I didn’t much like him, so I kneed him in the groin and ran off with the library’s brand new copy of A Wrinkle in Time, which my bookseller parents naturally made me return.

The bottom line is that I’ve never been able to resist a library, no matter what kind of trouble they might get me in. So when I overheard Portia and Lucien chatting about the majestic tomes on Calder’s old ship, I knew that I had to get onboard.

Knowledge has always been my greatest weapon and steadfast ally, and if there’s a key to getting off this planet, it’s got to be on that ship.

I lie in bed, waiting for the sounds of the household to die off before I get up and head downstairs. Portia usually stays up in the kitchen until the wee hours of the morning, singing to herself as she cleans up the day’s messes. Sometimes I hear Lucien puttering around, grumbling about whatever problem he’s found with me that day.

Tonight, the castle is quiet and calm, and I tip-toe barefoot out my door only to come face to face with one of the maintenance bots.

I slap a hand over my mouth before I squeak in surprise. The things have been stalking around the castle since Portia brought them back yesterday, and even though she says they’re harmless, I can’t help but get a little spooked. They’re so quiet that I don’t ever seem to notice they’re there, and they’ve caught me by surprise more than a few times this week. But the bot passes me by without a peep, and I make my way back down the corridor.

I haven’t been back to the docking bay for Freyr’s Fury since that first time two weeks ago, but I’ve been working on re-tracing my steps and building up a solid memory of the castle. When I ultimately try to escape, I’ll want to know exactly how to get in and out if the opportunity arises.

I navigate my way to the spiral staircase in the dark, only grabbing a glow lamp at the last minute as I descend. The Fury is floating in the bowels of the castle, and I don’t want to lose my footing and plummet into the clouds. With any luck, I’ll track down the entrance and be able to gain access somehow, then I can learn everything there is to know about the Hyperboreans, this ship, and the means to get out of my contract of indenture.

And if all else fails, at least I’ll get to spend time in a library. I miss my dad’s shop; the smell of musty old tomes, the feel of pages underneath my fingertips. Books were such a boon to me growing up, and since I got here I’ve only been able to get my hands on a few histories.

I make my way around the edge of the ship, using the glow light to scan for a footbridge or panel. The Fury is massive—easily the size of the Empire State Building. My legs are sore from the day’s work, but I circle around a whole side with ease, scanning each port window for an entrance.

I come up empty, and make the long circle back to the stairs.

But I’m resolute in my desire to find this library, so I come around the other side, holding the glow lamp up to illuminate the Fury’s hull. It almost looks like wood, but there’s an odd crystalline sheen to the whole thing, like it’s got facets of technicolor mineral in the grain.

And then I see it: an entrance. The hatch is edged in gold that shines through the darkness, a rectangle of light in the pitch black. A narrow metal gangplank is the only way across, and I step onto it carefully as I try not to panic at the expanse of mist below me. I stumble the last few steps, and as I do the hatch slides open, leaving me sprawling on the floor with the glow lamp still hovering around my hand.

I groan as I push myself up again, tossing the glow lamp up to hover next to the door. My elbow is bruised from the fall, but other than that it seems like I’m all in one piece. Huffing a little, I dust myself off and right my thin sleeping gown.

Given that this ship hasn’t flown in several centuries, I thought it would be covered in dust inside. But the Fury’s interior is pristine, golden light filling the hull and every surface glimmering. Like the castle, it’s a bizarre fusion of ancient past and distant future, with archaic moulding set against alien technology. A panel lights up ahead of me, the ship anticipating my needs and providing a directory to different rooms.

My head aches a little as the translator does its work, and I scan the list of locations for the spot I’m looking for. The “archive”: that must be it. When I select it, a light shoots from the bottom of the screen to the floor, and I see a path marked out for me in violet light along the floor to my left.

That must be the way.

As I go, I get more of a feel for the ship. The Fury is huge: big enough to easily carry several hundred people. I pass through crew quarters and comfy living spaces, decorated with furs in bizarre technicolor—definitely alien—and plush furniture. At one point, a giant door looms to my right, and I glance inside to see a decadent feasting room with a throne at the head of the table.

Calder’s seat, abandoned for three hundred years.

Even at the thought of him, my fingertips tingle, my core getting tight. I’ve been trying to keep my head clear of these fantasies, but I can’t help but see him striding down the corridors of this ship, his broad shoulders filling the space. It’s not much of a leap to visions of sitting in his lap on that throne, of him between my legs, my feet tangled in his antlers as he —

I stop short when I hear something further down the hall.

The violet lights quiver underneath the transparent floor, leading me into a cavernous room straight ahead, but there’s definitely something in there. I’ve got to be reaching the end of the ship at this point, so I guess this is the library. I cautiously tip-toe forward, and my heart swells when I see a floor to ceiling bookshelf, packed full of everything from books like the ones we have where I come from, to scrolls, to tablets and other documents I’ve never seen before. The bookshelves frame an enormous window at the stern of the ship, the view looking out onto the glowing phosphorescent fog of Myste.

I’m salivating to get my hands on all that knowledge, but I need to figure out who’s in here first. I finally catch sight of him when I round the corner.

Calder.

He doesn’t appear to notice me, shuffling stacks of papers on the table. His back is to me, but he’s backlit by a glowing white light, his big shoulders casting a looming shadow. He’s shed his cloak, the garment lying discarded on the floor. From this distance, I can only make out vague shapes, but even here I can see the rippling muscles of his back, the tattoos etched into them. The rusted bronze of his skin shines in the flickering lights, making him look more like a work of art than something warm that breathes.

I want to touch him so bad it almost hurts. It’s like that new Beatles song is playing on repeat in my head.

I want you so bad it’s driving me mad.

I think it’s true; I’m going mad, here in this topsy-turvy world.

I step forward.