(Skeleton Key) Into Elurien (6 page)

“Not all cultures deserve to be saved,” Auphel said.

“But what about their knowledge?” I climbed up the pile to reach a book that lay open to a picture of a tree. Each page held a similar image of a plant, all labelled and marked with medicinal or culinary uses. “What about the things they’ve learned that would be good for everyone else to know?”

Auphel’s brow furrowed. “We’re fine on our own.” But she sounded doubtful.

“What about magic?” I asked more quietly, and my chest tightened at the realization of what might be about to go up in flames. “What if my answer is in there, and they burn it?”

Auphel didn’t answer.

“Are you sure this is what Grys wanted?” I searched the faces around the square, as though someone in authority might suddenly appear. “Is he even in charge?”

Auphel tossed her book onto the pile as another load skittered down, dumped from above by the giants. “He’s the leader we have. He’s not a king or a mayor. We don’t have that yet. Right now we’re to be free, to do as we see fit, and to get rid of the human things. That
is
an order.”

“This is a mistake,” I said, more to myself than Auphel. Even though I didn’t adore all books, even though I knew Auphel might be right that these weren’t all valuable, I felt a deep and instinctive revulsion at the thought of them being destroyed without question. And maybe the books weren’t mine to save, but there was a good chance that the information in them could be my only hope of ever getting home.

“Even if you’re right, no one will listen if you try to stop them.” Auphel nodded toward the giants, then at a small group of gaublings that stood in the shadows of a nearby building who watched us with sharp and mistrustful eyes. “Maybe where you come from, these things are important. Maybe people listen to you there. Here, you’re a human. If you try to save these books, it’s only going to get them burned faster. And maybe you with them.”

I clutched the botany book to my chest and backed away. The gaublings stepped closer. I couldn’t help but notice their sharp teeth as they raised their lips to snarl at me.

“Hazel, put it down,” Auphel said. “Let’s just go to the palace and rest. You can look at the books there. You can’t stop this.”

Something Zinian had said the day before came back to me.

“I know I can’t,” I said. “But I might know someone who can.”

I turned and ran.

A
uphel’s
heavy footsteps ran close behind me, the uneven silences between filled with the pitter patter of the gaublings’ smaller, quicker feet. One of them shrieked right behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Auphel grab a gaubling by the scruff of his neck. She held him until we passed a soft-looking pile of discarded human clothes outside of a cottage, then tossed him into it.

She reached for me. I darted around the corner, and she missed. The palace came into sight, all white spires and shining gold, and I ran harder. A stitch formed in my side. I hadn’t been a runner since I’d quit track and field in sixth grade. Still, I kept ahead of the lumbering ogress and the short-legged gaublings, racing to find Zinian.

The wrong turns we’d made earlier fouled me up, but I found the corridor to the meeting room. The door opened as I approached, and Jaid stepped out.

I slid to a halt before I ran into her. She closed the door tight.

“What’s all this racket?”

“I need to speak with Zinian,” I gasped, pressing a hand to my side. “Please.”

“He’s busy. As are we all.” One feline ear twitched, and her tail cut sharp arcs through the air behind her. She glared upward as Auphel approached, breathing hard and limping worse than she had before. “You were supposed to keep an eye on her.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Auphel looked at me, appearing more hurt than angry. “I don’t know what got into her.”

“I have information that Zinian will be interested in,” I said.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Tell me. I’ll pass it along.”

Something told me that no matter how I phrased it, Jaid would see no point in preserving the books. And maybe she would be right. This was stupid. I had no connection to the people of this city, no reason to care if their knowledge burned. Except that I did. Libraries and bookstores were safe places. Rich places. Dusty and quiet and predictable places. At least, they always had been for me. Havens full of knowledge.

It wasn’t my city. It wasn’t my library. I didn’t care. I couldn’t watch it burn, and I couldn’t let what might be my only chance of ending this nightmare go up with it.

This is too risky,
objected the part of my brain that usually controlled my emotions and my actions.
Back down now.

Not this time.

I clutched the book to my chest and straightened my shoulders. “I need to speak to him myself.”

“No. In fact—”

The door opened behind her, and Zinian stepped out.

“What’s going on out here?” He frowned at me. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Please,” I said. “They’re going to burn all of the books from the library.”

“As they’ve been ordered to do,” Zinian said quietly. “This is not a situation you want to involve yourself in, Hazel.”

“But so much could be lost.” I glanced at Jaid and wished she’d leave. Her eyes seemed to cut me every time she shot me one of her disgusted looks.

Zinian took the book from me and flipped through it slowly, as though absorbing the images. “Better to make a clean start.”

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “With respect, there’s no such thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

Think, Hazel
. This was basic negotiation. I couldn’t ask them to save the library because I wanted to see whether it held my answers, or because I wanted to keep a familiar place where I would feel safe while I learned how to escape from this strange world. No, I had to think of what
they
would get out of saving it.

I forced myself to ignore Jaid’s glare and Auphel’s hurt expression, and focused on Zinian. When I looked into his eyes, it was almost possible to forget how monstrous he was.
They’re reasonable people,
I reminded myself, protecting themselves from the real monsters.

“What if the answer to Verelle’s disappearance is in those books?” I asked. “What if they’re about to burn your only chance at finding and finishing her?”

Jaid hissed. “She has no idea what she’s talking about, Zin. Verelle is gone, and Grys has called off the hunt. For your own sake, forget this. You said you would.”

Zinian gave her a sharp look. “I’m well aware of what I’ve agreed to.” When he turned to me, his eyes remained hard, but there was no anger there. I’d never been good at reading people, but I thought I read interest in his keen gaze. “You may be correct, Hazel. And I imagine you’ve considered the fact that the books may contain answers regarding your own journey home. But I can’t walk into that room and say we have to restore the library for the sake of one human or my own lingering…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Obsession,” Jaid offered. “Think of your reputation. If you stand before Grys and show any weakness toward a human or their culture, it will confirm everything your detractors say about you. If anything, you should stand in the square tonight and drop the torch that starts the fire. Seal your position. Claim the victory, remind them who made it possible. You’ve been too quiet since Verelle disappeared. Too absent from the streets.”

The relief I felt at hearing he hadn’t been out there ripping off people’s legs hit me hard.
It doesn’t mean he’s safe,
I reminded myself.

Zinian rolled his shoulders back and flexed his wings. “You see the problem, Hazel?”

I didn’t think I saw all of it, but it gave me an idea of what he was up against. He’d mentioned how his human aspects had set him apart from other monsters, but I suspected it went deeper than that. Zinian’s position seemed to be nearly as precarious as mine.

“You can’t ask the general to save the library for my sake, or for yours.”

Jaid flicked an ear. “She can be taught. Incredible.” She leaned against the wall and tapped her claws against the dark stone. The casual pose did nothing to make her seem less dangerous. “Go back to Verelle’s rooms, human Hazel.” She glared at Auphel. “And stay out of the way, this time.”

I ignored the claws, my trembling heart, and the sweat that had formed on my forehead in spite of the cool air. Zinian was still listening, so I focused on him again.

“There’s a saying in my world that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it,” I said. Jaid narrowed her eyes, but didn’t interrupt me. “The history of your world seems as cold and cruel as mine, but surely forgetting isn’t the answer. At least make sure you’re not throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”

Zinian’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I mean…” I shrugged. It seemed my ability to speak and understand their language didn’t extend to idioms. “Maybe a lot of what’s there in those books is bad. But maybe there’s some knowledge that should be salvaged. And maybe it’s better not to forget where the humans went so wrong. If we—if you, I mean, could learn how they thought, what they believed, how they became the horrible creatures they were, it would benefit your new society so much.”

“We won’t repeat their mistakes,” Jaid growled. “We’re nothing like you.”

I forced myself to look at her without flinching. “Then let it be a monument to their foolishness. Build your new city in the remains of the old, and let the library stand as a reminder of what you overcame.”

“She has nothing to do with any of this,” Jaid reminded Zinian.

“I know,” Zinian said, but one corner of his mouth had turned up slightly as I spoke. His reaction pleased me, and I told myself it was only because it gave me hope for the library. “But that doesn’t mean she’s wrong. What if Verelle found a way back? What if another enemy rose some day? We’d be better prepared to fight if we had this knowledge.”

Jaid’s ears lay flat against the smooth curves of her skull. “This is insanity.”

“No. It might be the first sane idea we’ve heard in days, since the destruction and killing began. I’ll speak to Grys.”

Jaid’s lip lifted in a snarl. “Fine. But be sure to discuss the punishment for a human’s insubordination when meddling in the affairs of monsters. We need to set a proper precedent.”

Zinian nodded without looking at me and returned to the meeting room with Jaid close behind.

“What does that mean?” I asked Auphel. “Punishment?”

She didn’t answer.

“Auphel, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about this getting you in trouble. I shouldn’t have run, but you see why this is important, don’t you?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I’d just as soon see the books gone, myself, but Zinian seems to understand.” She twirled the hem of her shirt around her fingers. “I thought we were going to be friends, you and me.”

“I want that, too. Would it help if I promised not to run from you again?”

She nodded, but I supposed I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to regain her trust. I hoped Zinian would be persuasive, that I hadn’t just hurt Auphel and pissed Jaid off for nothing.

We walked back to Verelle’s rooms.

“Auphel, what did Jaid mean about punishment?”

She shrugged. “When humans kept us as servants and slaves, we weren’t allowed to talk back or have ideas unless they asked us something—and then our ideas became their ideas. If you didn’t follow the rules, you were beaten. Or killed, if you weren’t useful enough. Guess things are flipped upside down now.”

“I’m not a servant or a slave,” I said quietly.

“You’re a human, and it’s not your world. Why do you think I tried so hard to stop you when you ran?”

My stomach clenched. Speaking up and risking confrontation had been terrifying, but it had seemed worthwhile. I remembered the massive axe that Auphel had wielded the night we met, and a chill came over me.

This is why I never stick my neck out,
I thought.
You never know when it’s going to end with losing your head.

A
uphel came
out of the pantry covered in flour. She sneezed, sending a cloud of white dust into the air. “Is this enough?”

“Should be. Enough to give it a try, anyway.”

She’d agreed to take me to the palace kitchens that afternoon to find my own meal. In spite of my current anxiety over my future, my stomach kept insisting it needed to be fed. The squashed tomatoes Auphel brought me weren’t keeping me full, and I suspected I should keep my strength up.

The kitchens were better stocked than I’d expected. No refrigerator, but there was a deep pantry with a cold storage room containing pickled vegetables in clay pots. I couldn’t find any meat, but there was butter and a few eggs. Any food that might have been prepared before the attack on the palace was long gone, but I could work with this.

I hoped.

Auphel, who had no experience with cooking, seemed surprised that I might be willing to eat such things. She helped me build a fire in the stone oven that covered a wall of the kitchen. I had no idea how to control the temperature, but we had the place to ourselves. Trial and error would have to work out eventually.

The kitchen became hot enough that my dress stuck to my sweaty body. I tied my hair up, but the shorter locks at the front kept falling down as I kneaded my attempt at bread. I brushed the strands aside with dough-covered hands, and they stuck in place.

We left the kitchen to visit the orchard, and Auphel gleefully hacked apart far more apples than I needed. I mixed them with butter and something that smelled like cinnamon, then wrapped the mess inside a flat slab of dough.

“That looks horrid,” Auphel noted, though not without great interest. “Humans have such strange tastes.”

“It will probably taste horrid, too. I’ve never been much of a cook. More of a takeout girl.”

Auphel’s confused look led to a discussion about my world that carried us through the time it took the makeshift apple flip to bake… or rather, through the time it took to burn on the outside while remaining raw in the middle, and then through the process of trying again.

Explaining the use of telephones and computers to order food was nearly impossible.

“So it’s like I said. You do know magic.”

“No, we really don’t have it in my world. It’s technology. Research and experimentation and… physics.” I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how it all works, exactly.”

“But you can talk to another human on the other side of the world. Even see them.”

“Right.”

“Because of the electri-thingy. And machines with tiny parts that remember things without them being written down. They’re just… there.”

I laughed. “There are people in my world who could explain it. I’m just not one of them.”

She gave me a look that said I must be pulling her leg about the whole thing.

We sat together on the floor, and I offered her a bite of the pastry (which was still a bit doughy in the middle, but quite delicious). She pronounced it “not bad,” but refused seconds. “Ogres don’t go in for baked goods and such,” she said. “Some of the palace monsters were cooks for the humans, but I don’t think you’ll have much luck getting them to help you.”

“No. It’s a start, though.” I could work with this bread, and I’d see what else I could salvage in the garden. Surely there had to be meat around somewhere, but I didn’t want to ask. They’d probably tell me I’d have to kill it myself.

The door swung open. Zinian stepped in, looking serious, and I held back the urge to vomit my meal all over the smooth stone floor at the realization that my punishment had come. Maybe I shouldn’t be worrying about food if I was doomed anyway.

He nodded cordially to Auphel. “Having fun?” he asked.

“I was. Why are you… What’s happening?” Her brow furrowed.

“I need to speak with Hazel alone.”

My heart stilled.
It will be fine. Nothing to worry about. It’s just a terrifying monster who hates humans coming to tell you how you’ll be punished for pissing them all off. Not a big deal.

I forced myself to stand. He’d already seen me on my knees, begging for my life. I didn’t feel like repeating that. I doubted I had it in me to go out with grace and dignity, but he might listen to a rational argument.

At least they hadn’t sent Jaid or that other ogre. Zinian was reasonable, if not necessarily soft-hearted.

I tried not to remember the cold hate in his eyes when he’d snapped the head off the human doll.

Auphel shuffled away as Zinian stepped closer to me. “You won’t just take her away without telling me, will you?” she asked, her voice timid.

Zinian smiled at her, with more warmth than I’d seen in him before. “You’ll know before anything happens, I promise.”

I supposed that should make me feel better. It didn’t.

After Auphel left, Zinian looked around the kitchen. “Quite the mess.”

“I know. I’ll clean it up. If I get a chance, I mean.”

“Hmm. Shall we talk outside?”

As we walked, I noted that the pants he now wore were clean and far less ragged than the others had been. Still no shirt. I supposed it might be hard to find one that fit his shape—the broad shoulders, the extra muscles on his chest and back, and the wings that needed so much room to move. All told, it wasn’t a bad view—or it wouldn’t have been if my mind had been in any kind of shape to appreciate such things.

Or if we weren’t different species.

More importantly, I noted that he wasn’t carrying any weapons. Though he couldn’t leave his claws, horns, or teeth behind, he’d done me the courtesy of removing his sword.

“Do I at least get a trial?” I asked as we stepped into the cooler air of the kitchen garden.

Zinian didn’t answer until we’d passed through the smashed door into the orchard. “No.”

“I see.”

He turned to face me and crossed his arms. “Grys agreed to preserve the library. Books from houses and shops will be burned tonight, along with other items we wish to see destroyed. But he agrees that we could benefit from keeping the memory of what we survived, and that there may turn out to be information there we won’t want to lose yet.”

I relaxed slightly. At least it wasn’t all for nothing.

“I had to tell him it was mostly my idea,” he continued. “If he knew the arguments came from you, it would have been the end of the discussion.”

“Fine by me.” The less Grys thought about me, the better. “Does that mean I’m not in trouble?”

“No. I told him that you’d brought the issue to my attention.”

“Why—Oh. You don’t want Jaid to be angry with you.”

It hadn’t been a question, but he nodded. “She’s not wrong about my situation. If anyone so much as suspects that I’m protecting you, it will cause trouble for me. Jaid is an old friend, and the last person I can afford to offend. So while we may in the end be grateful for your intervention, Grys ordered me to think of an appropriate way to remind you of your proper place in this world.”

He flexed his fingers and looked down at his dark claws.

A chill came over me, and I felt ill again. “What is it?”

“It’s terrible.”

“Tell me!”

He took a deep breath. “You’re to be sentenced to reorganization of the library.”

“What?” My stomach dropped. “That’s it? I expected you to say you had to break my legs, or whip me, or…” I felt light-headed, and sat on the ground next to a broken tomato plant. I rubbed a leaf between my fingers, releasing their comfortingly familiar, earthy scent.

He smiled down at me.

“So you do have a sense of humour,” I said when I was able to raise my head from between my knees. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“There hasn’t been much call for one for some time,” he said, and offered a hand to pull me to my feet. His smile had disappeared, but his grasp was gentle. “The punishment is no joke. You may soon wish you had been whipped. At least that would be done quickly. We’ll have the giants move the books back to the building for you before dark, but you will be responsible for the rest of it. Sort through, see what’s worth salvaging and what’s not, re-shelve them. I imagine the shelves will need to be rebuilt in places, and the clean-up required will be significant. There’s a human apartment on the top level of the building, and you’ll live there.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Under Auphel’s care, of course. It’s going to take ages to get all of that done. And I suppose by the time you’ve finished all of that, you’ll be asked to stay on. You’ll be the only one with any idea where to find things. Might be hard for you to leave and go to a human settlement in the country. You’ll be trapped here with your key and all these doors it will surely never unlock, though I have no doubt you’ll keep trying.” Zinian set his fists on his hips and seemed to have a hard time holding back a grin. “It’s the cruelest punishment I could think of.”

I smiled, slowly. “Terrible. You should watch yourself from here on out. I know how to hold a grudge.”

In fact, I didn’t. I’d never liked grudges any more than I’d liked confrontations or unpredictable situations.

“Thank you,” I said. Something passed between us then. Mutual understanding, at the very least. I decided that I wanted to know more about him. He was intriguing, not to mention tolerant of me. I needed as many friends as I could get here, even if those friends had made streets run red with blood.

His humour made him seem more familiar and friendly, revealing a side of him I thought I could like quite a lot. Maybe nothing in this world was black and white, any more than it was in mine.

I caught my gaze slipping down the hard planes of his upper body and forced myself to look at his eyes.

Friends, Hazel. You need friends. That’s all.

He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome. I don’t imagine this will be an easy adjustment for you, being here. But at least you’ll have something to do, and I’ll see that you’re compensated for your work.” He frowned. “But don’t expect this sort of lenience again. If you get it into your head to step out of line and it reflects badly on me—”

“I won’t. I’ll be good as… as…” Not gold. They didn’t pay for anything with it. “I’ll be good,” I finished.

“I hope so. You have a promising mind, and I believe a far kinder spirit than the humans of this world. If you can find a way to fit in here, I think you could do quite well. Give it time, though.”

The way he looked at me made me uncomfortable. As though he was studying me and liked what he saw.

“I should go,” I said, at the same time as he said, “Have supper with me tonight.”

“What?”

He smiled, awkwardly this time. “You look like you could use a good meal. I’m curious to hear about where you come from, and thought you might wish to learn a little more about our world.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I have no desire to attend the bonfire, and everyone else will be gone.”

The idea of being alone with him in the palace made me shiver, and yet I wasn’t afraid he’d hurt me. Not now. His eyes looked deep into mine, searching for something. They were quite beautiful, really. Like liquid emeralds.

I straightened my shoulders. “That sounds quite pleasant. Thank you.”

I’m not attracted to him,
I decided. I was objectively aware of his attractiveness as a creature. That was all. I ignored the warmth that shot through me when he smiled again, a slightly roguish glint in his eyes.

Besides, a monster and a human couldn’t… I mean, surely even in this world it wouldn’t be… Would it?

Hazel. No.

The very idea of searching for love back home had frayed my nerves since I’d booted jackass of the year out of my heart, and the risks would be far greater here, even with a human.

Which he’s definitely not.

I followed him into the kitchen where Auphel waited. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” I told her. “We’re moving out of the palace. I’ll explain later.”

Her massive shoulders relaxed. “That’s good news.”

Zinian reached the door and turned back.

“Hazel?”

“Yes?”

He gave me a quick once-over and pressed his lips together. “You might want to see about a bath before supper.”

It wasn’t until he left and I found a shiny pot I could use as a mirror that I realized he’d been trying to bite back a laugh. My hair was streaked with hardened bread dough, and a smudge of flour covered the bridge of my nose.

And I’d looked this fantastic the whole time we’d been speaking. Whatever I’d thought might have passed between us had nothing to do with my own appeal, that was for certain.

“At least I know he’s not interested in any funny business,” I muttered, and scrubbed my nose with the filthy sleeve of my dress. The realization brought as much relief as embarrassment.

I loosened the ribbon that held my hair, but the grease and dough kept it solidly in place. I was suddenly aware of how dirty my feet were—I’d abandoned the golden slippers after they got blood on them, and had found nothing to replace them.
I must smell lovely.

“Auphel, are there baths here?”

She grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”