The Coven Archives smelled different when you held the keys.
Before, the air had smelled of dust and oppression. The scent of a thousand lives catalogued, categorized, and dismissed by men like Sibal. Today, as I walked through the heavy iron doors, the air smelled of fear.
It was my second day back in Oakhaven since the coup. I wasn't wearing the servant’s gray wool. I was wearing clothes Guilermo had bought for me in the village. Black jeans, heavy boots, and a thick, charcoal sweater that hid the bruising on my neck.
I looked like a rogue. I felt like a fraud.
"Lady Lilura," a voice squeaked.
I looked down. Julian was standing behind the reception desk. He looked like he hadn't slept in three days. His usually immaculate robes were rumpled, and there were ink stains on his fingers.
