Demeus is normally a two day voyage from Ecea, but thanks to Arcadia’s affinity for wind and water, we make it at the end of the first. Time enough for my wounds to heal, though my left arm is still a bit stiff. I was sort of hoping we’d be able to relax there for a little while, take in the scenery, have some private time together to talk. Kiss. Touch. Whatever else. But now that we’ve been recognized it doesn’t seem like a wise course of action. We’re here to get what we came for, then promptly fuck off. Preferably to somewhere not under Ecean control.

That’ll take some sailing. Luckily Posca seems to have had a change of heart about us. It might have something to do with Arcadia’s bottomless coin purse, either that or he’s enjoying what her magic makes his little ship capable of. Or maybe he’s aware that I’ll thrash him if he yells at Arcadia again. All of the above, perhaps.

It’s late in the evening when the island comes into view on the horizon. The city of Demeus, named for the island itself, takes up most of its modest land mass, built along a crescent of lowland protected by the steep hills behind it. The Librarium Alcyoneum, the ‘Coral Library,’ is a campus of shining white buildings perched in the tall, grassy hills on the island’s west side. It is reached by making a lengthy climb up a single, interminably winding staircase that begins at the edge of the city.

Arcadia stands near the prow of the ship, looking out at the distant island. She glances over her shoulder at Posca as the wind plays with her hair.

“We can’t be seen,” she says.

Posca’s eyebrows arch up for a moment, and he frowns thoughtfully. “Easier said than done. But I think I can manage.”

He has his crewmen douse the lanterns, and steer us around to the south side of the island. Then we creep in toward the craggy shoreline, searching for a place to conceal the ship. We find a sheltered cove with waters just deep enough for her hull, the backside of the Librarium’s campus high above us in the rocky hills.

The gangplank is lowered to a broad, flat rock jutting out into the cove. Posca stands with us on the deck, chewing his lip anxiously as he glances out to sea.

“Will you be long?” he asks.

I turn my gaze to the rocky hills in our way, considering the question. “An hour, two at most. As long as everything goes as planned.”

“What do I do if someone sees my ship?”

“That won’t happen,” says Arcadia.

Posca’s eyebrow shoots up. “How can you be so sure?”

Arcadia smirks at him. “You’ll understand in a moment,” then she turns her gaze to me, and her expression shifts into a shy smile that makes my heart throb. “Are we ready?”

I beam a smile back at her, and nod. Posca rolls his eyes.

Arcadia takes the lead, walking down the gangplank ahead of me and stepping out onto the stone. She removes her cloak, drapes it on the rock, then she wades down into the dark water until she’s about waist deep. Her eyes close, and she begins whispering in that smooth, watery language. Her hands extend out to her sides, fingertips lightly brushing across the water’s surface. Occasionally, her hand lifts and flicks a few drops upward.

It's interesting to watch, but then it goes on for another ten minutes, and it is much less engrossing seeing the same motions over and over. But then I feel a thrum ring out through my body, just as I see a powerful ripple shoot across the water like a shockwave.

At first, it seems like nothing happened. I look at Arcadia curiously, and she answers with a relieved smile.

Then I realize what's going on. The horizon and the tops of the cliffs begin to fade away, disappearing behind a grayish haze. Fog rolls into existence all around us, concealing not only the ship but the entire cove. I can barely see my hand in front of my face.

“Over here!” she calls out.

I follow the sound of her voice, and the splashing noises as she wades out of the water and back onto the rocky shore, taking care not to misstep and fall into the cove myself. The fog dissipates as I walk further from its epicenter, and when I can see again I spot Arcadia ahead of me, her back turned as she fastens the clasp on her red cloak.

That butt looked delectable in her tight britches before. But now it’s wet. Unf.

The lovely visual doesn’t last, however. Arcadia looks down at herself, mutters a few arcane words and whisks her hand over her body. An unnatural breeze comes forth, swirling around her for a moment, and when it dissipates she’s mostly dry.

I fall into step beside her as we begin our ascent. In the beginning it’s easy enough, except that we have to find our own path upward through the brush and the sloping rocks, doing a good amount of zig-zagging to make it easy on ourselves. Arcadia seems preoccupied. She keeps giving me sidelong glances I can’t interpret.

I push back the worry, put on a smirk. “You look like you’re deep in thought,” I say.

She gives me a split-second’s worth of a smile. “Ah, sorry,” she laughs. “Just worried. I know the book we need is here, I’m only hoping it contains what I’m looking for.”

There’s a big rock ahead of us, a little too tall for Arcadia to scale. I crouch down and make a step with my palms, boosting her onto it before leaping up after her. “You haven’t said much about this book,” I say. “In fact I don’t think you’ve said anything about it.”

"It's Jhekata's Compendium. Legend says she's the only one to have found Amoraketh since it disappeared. She was a sorceress from eight hundred years ago, or so. Scholars disagree about exactly when she lived, or if she was even real."

That makes me raise an eyebrow. "How could this Jhekata write a book if she wasn't real?"

"Some scholars theorize that the Compendium is a fable written from the point of view of a fictional character."

“And what do you believe?” I ask.

She chews on her lip, considering the question. “I believe she was real. I think the idea of Jhekata as a mythic figure came along later, from people who didn’t believe in magic in the first place.”

I grin over at her. “Plenty of those types still around. Though I bet you changed some hearts and minds back at the Magnotto’s place.”

I was hoping that would get a laugh, but instead she looks away, shamefaced. Then one bad thought follows another; we haven’t talked about what happened back on the ship. We kissed. We held each other. But when Posca came to tell us we were closing in on Demeus, she just stood up and walked out.

Did I come on too strong? Did I misread the signs? Was I imagining signs that weren’t there? No. We kissed. Well, I kissed her. But it felt like she enjoyed it.

“Tell me more about the book,” I say, to get her to keep talking.

Arcadia glances at me and quickly nods, like she’s relieved I changed the subject. “Jhekata claims descent from Amoraketh itself. Her Compendium is supposed to be her personal story, as well as an account of Amorakethian magical techniques and, allegedly, where the city can be found.”

I’m quiet for a moment while I think about what to ask next. Nothing comes to mind. The worry over whether or not I stepped over the line keeps crowding out any other thoughts. We come up against another tall rock, this one far too high for a simple boost. Arcadia cranes her neck to get a view of the top of it, whispers a few words and then jets up into the air, like she did at Belina’s party. As she floats down to land I sigh and start to climb after her.

There are more than enough cracks and grooves in the cold, damp rock to give me handholds. It’s a much easier face to climb than the ones I trained on, back in Nar Jira. This time there aren’t any trainers hurling stones down at me while I do it, which also helps. My left arm gives me a bit of trouble, but the pain has long since lessened to a dull ache. Range of motion is all better, which is what matters.

Even so, it must be nice to just fly through the air.

That thought makes me realize how far Arcadia has come. I never had a real grasp of it, until we stole away from the palace. Now, seeing the things she can do, I begin to wonder how relevant I am. She made it through a battle with First Legion soldiers, and she barely has a scratch on her. The elements themselves bend to her will. Does she even need a bodyguard?

I haul myself up onto the stone where Arcadia waits for me, giving her a little grin that she answers with an awkward smile. Then it’s onward to the next steep rock, the next jump. Up and up we go in the dark, in leaps and bounds, and I can’t help but feel like I’m slowing Arcadia down.

We come at last to the final leg of the climb, a nearly vertical rock face about a hundred feet high. Arcadia frowns up at it. “I don’t think I can propel myself up there,” she says.

I look up as well, spotting all the handholds. It won’t be as easy as some of the rocks we just scaled, but it’s doable. I meet Arcadia’s gaze, give her a sheepish smile.

“I can climb it. Just jump on my back.”

Arcadia glances up the cliff as if reconsidering an attempt to fly. She chews at her lower lip idly then nods, "O-Okay."

She steps up behind me and waits for me to turn around. I do so, squatting down a little so she can wrap herself around me, slipping her arms around my neck and locking her ankles around my waist. Her little breaths are hot against my skin, and her body is pleasantly soft.

It doesn’t make the climb any more difficult than it would have been. She’s practically weightless. Though I wish she would say something, anything at all. The only sounds are those of the wind through the gullies and crevasses we pass on our climb, the occasional call of a water bird in the distance. I risk a glance over my shoulder, catch her gazing at the muscles of my arm and shoulder as I reach for the next handhold. She notices, blushes and looks away, her limbs squeezing a little tighter around me.

After a few more minutes of climbing in silence, we crawl up onto the library campus, a wide, grassy plateau dotted here and there with short, shrubby laurel trees, and encircled by smooth concrete walkways. Those walkways branch into further pathways leading higher into the hills, to other buildings adjoined with the main campus. I don’t see any guards on patrol, and all of the torches have been doused for the evening.

Arcadia points to a towering white structure at the center of the lawn, at the point where all the walkways converge. It’s a tall building of concrete upon a platform of three steps, surrounded by mighty pillars supporting its colossal peaked roof.

“That one’s the Librarium,” she says, and I nod.

There isn’t an especially stealthy way to get there, as the area lacks much that could be used for cover, so we simply hustle down the walkway. When we get to the stairs I crouch, put a finger to my lips. I hear the faint sound of voices inside, so I edge closer quietly, peer around the corner of the open archway.

The atrium of the library is palatial, tall white walls and polished marble floors decorated with long crimson drapes and luxurious rugs of deep burgundy. On the left and the right side of the atrium there are stairways leading to the second and third levels. Dark wooden bookshelves line the walls, all the way from the floor to the ceiling, and at the far end of the room I spy a table lit by a lone candle. Two armed men sit across from each other at that table, sharing a decanter of wine as they play a card game.

Crack security detail, they have. Ever vigilant.

I gesture for Arcadia to stay quiet and still, and she does so. These guards might get up in a moment and resume their patrol, and I don’t want to lose track of them while we’re trying to move around inside the library. The wait drags on for several minutes, and I begin to wonder if a wiser course of action would be to walk over there and clock them both over the head.

Their wine does the job for me, as it turns out. One of the men slumps over onto the table, cards still in hand, and begins to snore. His mate prods at him, sighs, gulps down the rest of his wine and leans back in his chair. Another minute or so and he’s dozing as well. I stifle a laugh, point at them with my thumb, and when Arcadia sees she snickers under her breath as well. The sound of it warms me up inside.

I let a few more moments pass, just to be sure, before we steal into the library together. They may skimp on guards, but they spare no expense on cleaning. Our shoes can’t help but squeak faintly on the immaculate floor, but it isn’t loud enough to wake the sleeping sentries. Arcadia tugs my wrist, points up the stairs, and I nod and let her take the lead.

This is a world of knowledge. I wonder if there’s a person alive who’s read all these books, or even come close. If so, Arcadia is certainly a contender. We’re on the second floor now, moving quietly down an aisle of bookshelves. She reaches out to let her fingertips brush over the spines of the neatly packed tomes as she passes them. But then she reads the cover of the one she’s touching that moment, and her expression sours.

I look at its title: Ecean Royal Families: the Complete Geneaology, Volumes I-V.

She stops walking, stares at it for a long moment. I can’t decipher the expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

Arcadia lets out a sigh. "I don't even know where to begin."

She turns away from the book, her shoulders slumped. "I'll probably go down in history as a laughingstock. Because why would a man do such a thing?” she says, the word ‘man’ coming out of her mouth with a note of bitterness. “The best I can hope for is for mother to keep it secret, to hide her own shame."

“Or you’ll be the Sorceress who changes the world with her magic,” I say.

That earns me a small smile, before she turns quietly and continues down the row of bookshelves. I follow along, watching her walk, my eyes drawn to the way her hips sway from side to side. But my mind doesn’t linger there, it drifts toward the topic of magic. To the things I’ve seen her do, the majesty of it, its godlike beauty. She could change the world. She could change it however she wanted to. The thought makes me feel proud, but also cold.

One day, Arcadia the Sorceress might leave all of us mere mortals behind. Me included.

I’m not ready for how deeply that thought hurts. Something cold and hard and heavy forms in my stomach, dredging up those things I was worrying over earlier. Maybe that’s the reason she walked away from me. She knows she won’t need me forever. I don’t think she even needs me right now. Maybe she doesn’t want to form those kinds of attachments. Maybe I’m imagining all of this, and I should actually say something, rather than drive myself mad worrying about it.

We’re near the stairs to the third floor when we pass by a window, in front of which sits a low table with a broad, shallow earthenware pot sitting on top. Two lotuses float upon the surface of the water in the pot, and the sight of the flowers makes me stop and gaze at them.

I whisper Arcadia’s name and she turns, a curious look on her face. Blue moonlight from the nearby window catches her profile when she does so, making her even more lovely than usual.

“Look,” I whisper, smiling as I point at the flowers.

She does, and all of a sudden she’s smiling too. “Just like the ones at the palace gardens.”

“Do you remember what we were talking about that day?” I ask.

“No. Do you?”

I smirk, shake my head. “All I remember is being pleased you wanted to be outside your chambers, for once.”

That makes her smile brighten, and it brings some color to her cheeks. But she doesn’t look away when it happens, like she usually does. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’ve always wondered why you opened up to me,” I say.

This time she does look away, directing her gaze back at the lotuses in their pot. But she’s still smiling. “I don’t know. You were different. I never felt like you were judging me.”

It seems like she has more to say on that topic, but she nips her lower lip down with her teeth to prevent it. The hue of her cheeks brightens a bit as well. Seeing it makes me bold, puts a grin on my face as I take a step closer to her.

“Oh I judged you,” I say. “And found you perfect the way you were.”

Arcadia’s smile sours a little. “I wasn’t perfect.”

And then I do again what I did all those years ago. I reach out and pluck a lotus from its stem, and offer it to her with a smile. Her face may be more feminine now than it was, but the look upon it is precisely the same. I remember it vividly. It’s just one of those indelible images, the kind you can recall with perfect clarity no matter how long it’s been. That was a boy, in the sunlight. This is a girl, in the moonlight.

The one who was hiding.

Back then I knew there was something different about Prince Arcadius of Ecea, the most exalted client a young K’zar could hope to acquire. The first time I did this, at the gardens, I had a sense of something present behind that boyish smile. Something more than what I was seeing with my eyes.

Now I know it was a tomboyish smile. Even better.

Arcadia accepts the flower, taking it delicately in both hands, bringing it close to her chest. She leans down to get a hint of its aroma, which makes her smile grow.

Her eyes shift up to mine, the redness on her cheeks flaring up some more. “You didn’t notice the paper flowers at Belina’s party, did you.”

“What do you mean?”

She tries to hold eye contact with me, but apparently it’s too much. She’s smiling like a fool as her eyes dart down to the flower I gave her. “They were lotuses.”

They were lotuses. For me. She was giving me back what I gave her.

How fucking dense am I!?

Apparently I’m wearing my emotions on my face, because the sight of my expression makes Arcadia cover a laugh. “It took me all day to fold those,” she says.

My heart flutters in my chest. There’s a big lump in my throat. And my stupid eyes are all hot and wet at the corners. “Now I feel like an ass for not saving one,” I say, my voice shaking a little as I rub my eye with a knuckle.

“It’s fine. I’ll make you more.”

This kiss is different than the last one. She comes right into my arms, and when they flex around her waist, pulling her up off of her feet, my reward is the most beautiful moan I’ve ever heard. We kiss for a few sweet moments that might as well be eternity.

Jhekata’s Compendium sits at the end a bookshelf on the third floor, between an anthology of Tarasconi children’s fables and a book of Avanese mythology. We find it in minutes. They don’t even have it locked up.