The libraries of Fangreach had ever smelled of candle wax and dusted leather, but today they tasted like ash. I came upon Dorian bent over in an oak, ink-stained table of the Grand Archives, his fingers riffling through parchments as if feeling for a pulse among bones. The torches set into the walls flickered and filled his surroundings with darting shadows, I could almost make out silhouettes of those ancient scribes beyond us whispering their secrets directly from grave.
"Dorian," I murmured, weaving between high runed shelves. "What have you found?"
He raised his gaze, eyes burning with both triumph and terror. It is time you knew the truth of' the First Wolf King."
My stomach clenched. We'd thought him the offspring of darkness for weeks—a creature with no birthright but shadow. For now, however, there was something altogether more personal about Dorian's tone.
I pulled a stool beside him. "Tell me."
