The Chosen One (The First Book)

Chapter 11

The second morning went almost exactly like the first, which I was beginning to understand was the point of it.

Same hall. Same seats, more or less, because we'd all chosen them once and nobody wanted to be the one who moved. Same silence from the King, who ate like a man getting a chore out of the way. Julian arrived late and didn't seem particularly concerned about it.

Cassian arrived on time and said nothing for the first eleven minutes.

Celeste broke the silence.

"Your Highness, is it true the palace has the original northern charters?"

She addressed Cassian in a voice that sounded casual enough to be innocent.

"Some of them."

"My father has copies of the ones from Northmarch. He says they're difficult to make sense of without the originals."

"He's probably right."

Celeste smiled.

"Have you seen the upper library?"

"Yes."

"I've heard it's beautiful."

Cassian looked up from his plate.

"It is."

That was enough to keep her going.

She started talking about the library after that — the upper gallery, the old collections, the glass in the western windows. I stopped listening somewhere around the word library.

There was a library.

I had been in this palace for almost a week. I'd spent those days learning which women sat where, which corridors led back to my

room, and what happened to your plans when the people in charge decided there would be no more eliminations.

In all that time, it had never once occurred to me to wonder whether a house this large might have books.

Six.

That was how many we had at home. I knew all of them the way you know a person.

Celeste was still talking. I ate the rest of my breakfast without tasting any of it.

⸻

It took me most of the morning to find the thing.

The palace did not believe in signs. It seemed to assume that anyone who belonged here already knew where everything was, which was an efficient way of telling you who didn't.

I took two wrong turns and a staircase I didn't remember climbing. One servant sent me toward the east wing, which turned out to be wrong.

Eventually I found a set of doors twice my height, carved with leaves.

I assumed they led to some ceremonial room.

They didn't.

The shelves rose higher than I could comfortably look and ran along every wall. A ladder sat on a brass rail, stretching the length of the room.

I decided immediately that I was going to find an excuse to use it before I left this palace.

For a moment, I just stood there.

Then I remembered I was allowed to touch the books.

I took one from a low shelf, mostly because it was within reach, and settled into a window seat.

For a while, I forgot where I was.

"You don't have to get up."

I looked up.

Cassian stood a few feet away, a book already tucked beneath one arm.

I glanced down at myself.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

He crossed to the shelves and ran a finger along a row of spines. He didn't seem to be searching for anything. More like checking that it was still where he remembered.

I went back to my book and read the same sentence twice.

"What are you reading?"

I held it up without looking away from the page.

"I don't know yet."

He came and sat in the other window seat.

Not close. Just near enough that the room no longer felt entirely mine.

I looked at the book under his arm.

"What's yours?"

"Border treaties. Northern ones, mostly."

"Light reading."

"It's for the council."

He said it plainly, without complaining about it.

"You're from Northmarch."

"You know that."

"I read the registration lists."

He looked down at his book.

"How many books did you have at home?"

"Six. Seven, if you count the almanac with half its pages missing."

He looked at the shelves.

There were thousands of books around us.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

Then he stood and walked toward one of the shelves near the window. He pulled a book free without searching for it.

He brought it back and held it out.

A History of the Northern Provinces.

I took it.

"You're giving me a book about my own home."

"I'm giving you a book."

"Why this one?"

"I thought you might like it."

I looked down at the cover.

"Have you read it?"

"Years ago."

I turned it over in my hands.

"Did you enjoy it?"

He looked at me for a moment.

"Eventually."

I stared at him.

Then I laughed.

"You remembered that."

"Remembered what?"

I gave him a look.

"Nothing."

His mouth tilted slightly.

"Good."