Dray rested on the dirty cot, an arm draped over his aching head. A lone photrine shone above, casting ghostly shadows on the stone walls`. His leg, dangling off the side, couldn’t stop shaking.

  Four hours. That’s all the time he had left to live. At dawn, he’d be hanged in the square for all of Troqua to see.

  Akunai’s men had made sure he paid dearly for his defiance. Every muscle ached, his ribs throbbed, and his nose burned with every breath. Still, he shot up and started pacing.

  He didn’t know what to believe. The duchess’s face at the announcement… Emery’s casual words in the office… Was it all just a stupid misunderstanding?

  He wanted to believe Emery had lied. If only to have someone to blame besides himself. But deep down, he feared the worst. That he’d thrown away his life over nothing.

  He wanted another round with Akunai. Perhaps one with the duke too. But mostly, he wanted to punch his stupid self.

  What had taken over him? It was as if a demon had possessed his body, taking over his senses. He did give Akunai and his lackeys a proper beating. But coals! At what cost?

  His steps quickened. What could he do? What had he done? He’d thrown away his life for something asinine and meaningless, achieving nothing. Cleora didn’t know him; she didn’t care for him. His love for her would cease existing the moment his heart stopped beating.

  Oh, goodness, Lyonel!

  Guilt twisted in his chest like a knife. His little brother looked up to him like he hung the stars. He couldn’t just leave him. Not like this. Not to the mercy of the duke and the wardens or the lack thereof.

  Lyonel would be devastated upon hearing the news. The boy was too scared to apply to a job on his own, and he trembled whenever he faced their landlord. Despite Dray’s best efforts, he never managed to grow a spine. He’d cry his eyes out.

  Dray paused in place, barely breathing. He had to survive. Had to find a way to escape his verdict whatever it took. Absent-mindedly, he touched his torn earlobe where his astrum had been.

  He focused on his stomach, trying to channel. Psycho fantasia flowed freely out of him, giving him a mild headache. He smiled.

  When Sether was bravely thrashing him with the help of twelve other wardens, Dray threw himself at his astrum, retrieving and swallowing it. The wardens searched him afterwards without success.

  He walked up to the door, fingering the lock. The cells beside his were empty, the room outside vacant of guards. Four faint photrines lit the whole prison, meaning four rounds of nearly useless ammunition.

  Time was running low; it was now or never. He still needed a plan to avoid the guards stationed outside. Then, to escape the barracks, reach Lyonel, and flee to some hidden, sequestered cave somewhere below Troqua.

  It was impossible.

  The prison door clicked, then creaked open. Dray tensed. Emery walked in, flanked by two wardens. The Twilight Chief expression was unreadable, like he burned with suppressed anger. He signaled for his men, and they retreated, shutting the door.

  Rage spiked through Dray’s veins. He nearly flung the door open to attack him. But he held still. Barely.

  “You moronic imbecile of a caveboar!” Emery hissed as he strode up to the bars. “What in the Void were you thinking?”

  “Did you lie to me, Emery?” Dray asked coldly.

  “Why are you still hung up on that when you’re to be hanged within hours?”

  Dray swallowed hard. “Leave me alone.”

  Emery glowered, gritting his teeth. “Leave you alone? I’m terribly sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep, but since I stuck up my neck to save yours, I believed myself privy to some of your precious time.”

  Dray sighed and sat on the cot, burying his face in his hands. “What do you want?”

  “To save your worthless, meaningless, miserable life,” Emery snapped, shaking his hands.

  “Little late for that.” Dray couldn’t but imagine himself dangling in front of everyone in the city, feet spasming, Lyonel crying alone not knowing what to do.

  “Actually,” Emery said with a grin, “I’ve already convinced the duke to recede his sentence.”

  Dray bolted upright. “What?!” He winced in pain at the sudden movement, holding his chest.

  Emery nodded, grinning wide. “The credit is not entirely mine. But anyway, you will not be executed come dawn.”

  Tears welled up in Dray’s eyes. He rushed to clutch the bars. “Are you lying to me again, Emery?”

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  Emery shook his head. “Not this time. You will live. But… at a price.”

  Dray felt the air rush back into his lungs. He felt as if an invisible noose had been removed off his neck. He’d live. Lyonel won’t stay alone.

  He swallowed. “What’s the price?”

  “First of all, congratulations—you’re now a Twilight Warden!” Emery beamed, flinging his arms in celebration.

  Dray banged his head against the bars. It would be a boring life, but the thrill he’d lived today would suffice for ten lifetimes.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  Emery’s smile dimmed. “No. You are now only a Twilight Warden.”

  Dray squinted. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you will be working for the rest of your life inside the hidden library on glorious projects with me,” Emery said with a forced smile.

  “What?!” Dray shouted. “Are you insane?” He turned around, pacing the cell like a caged animal. “Coals, coals, coals! Necro!”

  Emery matched his pace, walking outside. “I figured it’d be a hard life, and due to the creative nature of our work, I’ve convinced the duke to grant you a semblance of freedom. One day a month you’ll be allowed to leave to the city to meet your family and friends, and even see the sun.” He puffed his chest proudly.

  “A whole day?” Dray laughed bitterly. “It takes ninety minutes to get to the library.”

  Emery calculated for a moment then nodded. “Then twenty-one hours a month. But the point is: you are not dying,” he reminded, wiggling a finger.

  Dray collapsed on his cot again. “Well, I might as well kill myself.”

  “Have I mentioned you won’t be receiving a salary?” Emery asked.

  For the next few minutes, Dray stormed in circles, cursing, yelling, and arguing with no one in particular. Eventually, he turned and saw Emery holding out a pen and an official-looking scroll.

  “It’s the library or the graveyard, where do you want to sleep tonight?” Emery asked.

  Grimacing, Dray stared at the document, wondering how in the Void he’d explain this to Lyonel.

  **********

  Dray rose from his desk where a dozen scrolls lay open. He reclined on the hard ground, staring up into the glaring chandeliers. It was only his second day at the library, and he was already bored out of his mind. Yesterday was one long exercise of cracking wax seals and transcribing texts in languages he couldn’t even guess at.

  He got up, stretched, and started jogging laps around the archives. He hated everything here: the stale food, the sterile lights, the moldy smell of old parchment. He even hated his new sword-pen insignia.

  Once he’d built up enough sweat, he dropped and began doing pushups. Twilight or Dusk, he was still a warden, and it was his duty to keep his body in shape. Besides, he hadn’t given up yet.

  He’d find a way out of this prison. He had no clue how, but he would not spend the rest of his life slaving here.

  First, he had to come up with a method to convince the duke to release him. But how?

  Hishtem was known to be a stubborn mule. The only person he’d ever listened to was Duchess Rullana. Worse, he was old, with none other than Akunai waiting to inherit his throne. Dray had no doubts that Duke Akunai’s first edict would be to execute the lowly warden who’d humiliated and beaten him in his office.

  Cleora might be lost to him, but Lyonel was still out there. He wasn’t able to see his little brother, but Mirio had smuggled a message saying he was being cared for.

  He switched to crunches.

  Escape was impossible. Dozens of wardens watched the place around the clock. But he was mostly unsupervised in here. For now, his priority must be to build his strength and knowledge. Then someday, somehow, he’d come up with a plan to leave.

  Emery had been right: the library was overflowing with secrets and mysteries. Once Dray learned how to decipher the hidden text within these volumes, he would scour every line for anything that could enhance his magic.

  Some minutes later, he rested against a bookcase, panting. Emery wasn’t present; the library was his for now. Perhaps, it was time to explore its sealed sections. After all, no one had realized he’d pooped out his own astrum.

  Munching on an apple, he strolled through the long corridors, reaching the closed-off wing, and channeled into its door.

  Click.

  The door swung open, and he stepped inside, munching on the core of his fruit. This hall was wide, full of tomes and scrolls not unlike the ones outside. Why was this place closed then?

  A sound resonated from below like the wail of a dying banshee. He jolted back, the hair on his arm standing on edge. He hoped it was a trick of the wind, but the more he listened the more human it sounded.

  Someone was crying for help. A woman?

  No, a child.

  He sped toward the sound, unlocking another iron door. As he descended the long, spiraling stairwell, the cries grew louder. Chilling. Primal. Filled with agony.

  At the bottom was another door. He channeled to open it.

  The chamber beyond was small and pitch black. The air was thick with rot. Bones littered the floor, some full skeletons, others broken and scattered.

  In the corner, a boy thrashed against chains, howling like a feral animal. His wrists were torn raw. His body was caked in blood and filth. Bug bites covered his skin, some swollen with infection.

  Dray rushed forward and channeled into the cuffs, releasing the bloody arms, and sending insects skittering. He caught the boy as he collapsed, then lifted him and bolted up the stairs.

  The child flailed weakly in his grip, mumbling apologies and pleading to be released. Dray tried to calm him with shushes and soft words, but the boy was too far gone.

  “It’s alright. You’re safe now,” Dray repeated. Quickly, he cleared a desk and laid the shaking boy down. He looked to be about Lyonel’s age.

  “Who did this to you?” Dray shouted, face growing hot with rage.

  “Elexos!” the boy rasped. “They’re coming! They will kill everyone!”

  He’s delirious. Dray found his waterskin and pressed it to the boy’s lips. “Drink.”

  The child gulped it down, then resumed panting, eyes wild with fever. His thumbs were broken. His wrists chaffed to the bone. He needed antidotes, antibodies, and food. He needed delicate care.

  “How long have you been down there?” Dray shouted angrily. “Who put you there?”

  The boy blinked at him, finally focusing. His eyes were jaundiced and bloodshot.

  “It was you,” the boy whispered. “You sent me here.”

  Dray frowned. The boy must have mistaken him for someone else. But the only other person who visits here regularly was Emery.

  “Cursed coalson!” he cursed, making an oath to punish Emery once he returned. For now, he had to save this child.

  “Stay here,” he told the boy. “I’ll get help.”

  The wardens at the gate wouldn’t allow Dray to leave, but they had to bring the boy to a doctor. He rushed away, but skidded to a halt when something thudded behind.

  The boy had fallen from the table and was crawling away in panic.

  “No, you shouldn’t move!” Dray called, running back.

  From behind the table, the boy gave one last manic glance then retreated into hiding.

  Dong.

  Dray stretched, feeling tired after all that exploration. He reckoned it was time he returned to work. Emery was a demanding supervisor, after all.

  END OF PART ONE