The librarian didn't object when I asked to borrow the ancient text; she simply offered a supportive, solemn nod as I closed the heavy leather binding. Clutching the massive tome tightly against my chest, I left the quiet sanctuary of the library and went straight back to my room, my heart hammering a frantic, determined rhythm against my ribs.
I locked the heavy oak doors behind me, seeking the absolute privacy of the royal bedchamber.
Setting the book down on the mattress, I flipped it open back to the hand-drawn illustration of the Eis-Vara. I sat cross-legged on the sheets, reading the passage over a few times, committing exactly what I needed to do to memory. The librarian's warning echoed in my head, but the thought of my father casually breaching my mind while I slept left me with
