Chapter 8 Book of Awakening
SILVER'S POV
I made it back to my chambers without running into anyone else. Vincent hadn't questioned me much, thanks to Arthur's weird behavior working in my favor for once.
But I'd never had time to figure out the actual relationship between Silver and her brother. Their banter in the garden had been instinct—I'd channeled what felt right without knowing if it was accurate.
He hadn't caught on. This time.
I paced to the window, then back to the bed. Sat. Stood. Paced again.
Three months until the Spring Ball. And so far, my brilliant survival plan consisted of lying to a vampire and avoiding my husband.
Not great.
First things first: I needed information. Soul restoration magic had to exist somewhere in the records. This was a fantasy kingdom with actual magic. Resurrection couldn't be completely impossible.
Right. The palace library. If anywhere had answers about bringing people back from the dead, it would be there.
~ ~ ~
The library was massive. Three floors of shelves stretching toward vaulted ceilings, because of course it was. Nothing in this palace could be reasonably sized.
Silver's memories offered only vague impressions of this place. She'd never been much of a reader, apparently. Too busy obsessing over Arthur.
Great. No idea where to even start.
I moved through the sections methodically. Magic Theory had nothing but transformation spells and elemental manipulation. Ancient History was just legends about god-kings who'd conquered and protected the kingdom. All myths, no practical applications.
Religious texts were worse. Page after page of "pray harder" and "Gaia will provide."
Yeah, super helpful.
I was starting to think this was hopeless when I found the restricted section.
The gate was locked, but the elderly librarian barely glanced up when I mentioned I was researching on behalf of the crown. Perks of being a princess, I guess.
Inside, the books were older. Darker. Some had titles in languages I didn't recognize.
Better. This was more like it.
I ran my fingers along the spines, reading what I could, when something caught my eye.
A book that looked wrong.
The cover seemed to shimmer. Ripple. Like oil on water. Like ink bleeding through paper that shouldn't be wet.
It looked like it was dripping black water, though when I reached out tentatively, my fingers came away dry.
What the hell?
The book was on the top shelf. Of course it was.
I grabbed the ladder tucked in the corner. Old, wooden, questionable structural integrity at best.
"This is fine," I muttered, dragging it over. "Perfectly safe. Not a death trap at all."
I tested the first rung. It creaked but held.
Encouraging.
I climbed slowly, very aware that I had no idea if Silver's body had any upper body strength. For all I knew, she'd spent her whole life being carried around in a palanquin.
Three rungs up, I reached for the book.
It shimmered, pulling just slightly out of reach.
"Oh, come on."
I climbed higher. Stretched. The ladder wobbled beneath me.
Almost there—
My foot slipped.
For one horrible moment I was falling, hands grasping at empty air, my brain screaming you're going to die in a library before you even make it to the execution—
I hit the floor hard.
Pain exploded through my hip and elbow. For a second I just lay there, staring at the vaulted ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
A scholar at a nearby table glanced over. Raised an eyebrow. Turned back to his book.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said to the ceiling. "Thanks for asking."
I glared at the book still sitting innocently on its shelf, then grabbed the ladder again.
This time I took it slower. Tested each rung. When I reached the top, I wrapped one arm around the ladder and stretched with the other.
My fingers closed around the spine.
Cold shot up my arm. Not painful, just... there. Like the book was aware I was touching it.
I pulled it free and climbed down carefully, clutching my prize.
Up close, the dripping effect had stopped. Now it just looked like a normal black leather book.
But it wasn't normal. I could feel it humming under my fingertips.
I found a table in a quiet corner and opened it.
Blank.
Every single page completely blank.
I flipped through the entire book. Nothing. Not faded text waiting to be revealed, not invisible ink, just empty pages mocking me.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered.
I turned to the back cover. There were symbols carved into the leather, faint and deliberate, in no language I recognized. They seemed to shift slightly when I wasn't looking directly at them.
Magic. Definitely magic.
But what kind? And how did it help me?
I closed the book, studying the spine. No title. No author. Just that strange black leather.
Wait. There. Embossed so faintly I'd almost missed it: Book of Awakening.
Book of Awakening. Okay. That sounded promising. Ominous, but promising.
Except it was completely blank.
I needed someone with actual insight into magic.
Raven.
~ ~ ~
The guards at the holding room barely glanced at me as I passed. Just bowed and stepped aside.
Either they'd accepted my authority, or they just didn't care anymore.
If only they knew.
Raven was seated by the window when I entered, looking more like a guest than a prisoner. He didn't look up immediately, but I knew he'd sensed me the moment I crossed the threshold.
"Lady Silver." He inclined his head, almost mocking. "I assume you're here for something important?"
"Can you read this?" I held out the book without preamble.
He took it, flipped it open. His expression didn't change.
"It's a cookbook."
I blinked. "What?"
"Recipes. Culinary instructions." He looked up, lips twitching with amusement. "This entire page is dedicated to boiling potatoes. 'Step one: Obtain potatoes. Step two—'"
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He turned the book toward me, pointing at a page. "See? 'How to Boil Potatoes: A Comprehensive Guide.'"
I saw blank paper.
"That's what you see? Cooking instructions?"
"That's what's written here." His amusement faded, replaced by curiosity. "Why? What do you see?"
"Nothing. It's completely blank."
We stared at each other.
"Interesting," Raven said slowly. He examined the book more carefully, running his fingers along the spine, tracing the faint symbols on the cover. "This is a perception book. Very rare magic. Shows different content to different viewers based on various factors."
"What factors?"
"Magic ability, intent, worthiness, curse status..." He handed it back. "The list is long and largely theoretical. I haven't seen one in over a century. Where did you find it?"
"Palace library. Top shelf of the restricted section."
"And they just let you take it?"
"I didn't ask permission."
His smile was sharp. "Of course you didn't." He leaned back in his chair. "A word of advice, Lady Silver. Perception books don't just show you what you want to see. They show you what you need to see. Or what they want you to see."
"What's the difference?"
"That," Raven said softly, "is the question that gets most people killed."
His red eyes gleamed in the afternoon light. Not threatening. Warning.
"Be careful with that book. Some things are meant to remain unread."
\~~~
Back in my chambers, I set the Book of Awakening on my desk and slumped into the chair.
A cookbook. Raven saw a cookbook.
What did that mean? Was he cursed in some specific way? Was I? Was the book mocking us both?
I opened it again, staring at the blank pages like they'd suddenly reveal their secrets if I just looked hard enough.
They didn't.
I was about to close it when I noticed the envelope on my nightstand.
I froze.
That hadn't been there when I left. I was sure of it.
The paper was cream-colored, expensive. The handwriting on the front—just my name, "Sarah"—was elegant and familiar.
My stomach dropped.
I knew who this was before I even opened it.
The Author.
My hands shook slightly as I unfolded the letter.
\---
Dear Reader,
I'm impressed. You found the Book of Awakening much faster than I expected.
But then, you always were clever, weren't you? That's what got you into this mess in the first place.
Finding it was easy. Understanding it will be harder. Reading its true contents? Nearly impossible for someone like you.
Three months until the Spring Ball. Three months until your execution. I wonder which will kill you first—the book, or the plot?
The clock is ticking, dear reader.
Do try to make this interesting.
—Your Lovely Author
\---
I read it twice. Then a third time, like the words would change if I just looked hard enough.
My hands were shaking.
The Author was watching me. Had been watching me this whole time. Knew exactly what I was doing, where I was going, what I was thinking.
This wasn't a story anymore. This was a game.
And I was the entertainment.
"Nearly impossible for someone like you."
Someone like me. Someone without magic. Someone who didn't belong here. Someone who was pretending to be Silver and fooling exactly nobody who mattered.
I looked at the Book of Awakening sitting on my desk.
The book chooses its reader.
And apparently, it had chosen me. Or I'd chosen it. Hard to say which was worse.
I crumpled the letter in my fist, then smoothed it out again. Evidence. I needed to keep this. Every strange thing that happened, every impossible detail. Maybe if I documented enough, I could find a pattern.
Or maybe I was just avoiding the obvious: I was trapped. The Author had put me here, and the Author clearly had no intention of letting me leave.
Outside my window, the sun was setting over the palace grounds.
Three months until the Spring Ball. Three months to unlock this book, fulfill my promise to Raven, avoid Arthur's suspicion, survive Vincent's scrutiny, and somehow change the plot enough that I didn't end up executed.
Simple.
I picked up the Book of Awakening and opened it to a blank page.
"Show me," I whispered, pressing my hand flat against the paper. "Whatever you're hiding. Whatever I need to see. Show me."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
The page remained blank.
But something had changed. I could feel it in the air, in the weight of the book, in the silence of my chambers.
The Book of Awakening had heard me.