Alberto’s Pov
I leaned heavily against the mahogany desk, my fingers trembling as I traced the faded ink of the History Of The Veil. I couldn't help but notice how the skin on the back of my hand matched the parchment color, a sickly off-white.
Perhaps I was actually that pale, or perhaps it only appeared so because of the dim light of the study's candles. I chose to assume it was the latter, that the stress of the past few weeks hadn't got to me so much that I was physically deteriorating.
"There has to be a bypass," I muttered, skimming through the lines I had read about ten times already. I slammed the book shut and shoved the stack of border reports aside. The History Of The Veil had nothing that would debunk what Lyra had said—that the child was a necessary part of this ritual.
I
