Chapter Two
The Scholar and the Sword
The library still smelled of smoke.
Sunlight filtered through fractured stained-glass windows, casting bleeding rainbows across the marble floor. Soot clung to every surface—shelves, scrolls, Caelin's gloves. She adjusted the silk ribbon binding her sleeve and stared at the smudged rows of books. What hadn't burned was sealed off.
After spending a week searching the sealed wing of the archives for any research material she hoped to find, and coming up empty, Caelin decided it was time to check on the restoration of the archives' main building. But this was also disheartening since everything she found was mostly, if not completely, falling apart in ash.
Aren Talren stood just out of reach, arms folded, eyes fixed not on her but on the surrounding shadows. Always scanning. Always silent. Like a statue pretending to breathe.
"You're hovering," she muttered.
"I'm protecting," he corrected.
"From whom? The ghosts of old scribes?"
His lips curved. Barely. "You'd be surprised. Scholars are dangerous. All that thinking."
She turned back to the tome with a soft smile lifting her face, in front of her, fingers brushing faded ink. The History of Recorded Oaths—miraculously untouched by flame, or perhaps shielded—was her most precious find. She had tried to save it during the fire, pulling it from the restricted shelves just before the blaze overtook the wing. Somehow, it had slipped between fallen stones that scorched but didn't consume it. The pages were brittle now, darkened at the edges, but still legible with care. She kept the cover wrapped in cloth to avoid drawing attention—if anyone knew what she had, they'd confiscate it without hesitation.
Her eyes scanned the section titled Veilmark Binding—an early form of the Shatterbound Oath. In the margins, a name had been hastily scrawled, the ink uneven, almost desperate handwriting:
Talren.
Her heart jolted. She blinked once. Then again.
"You said your name was Talren," she said casually, eyes still on the page.
"I did."
"No relation to the royal archivist Talren? The one who vanished after the last Oath reforms?"
His stance shifted—barely. But Caelin knew soldiers. She noticed.
"He was my uncle."
"You never mention that in polite conversation?"
"I never have polite conversations."
She hummed. "Pity. This one was just becoming tolerable."
A beat passed before he said, quieter now, "He died."
"I thought he vanished."
Aren looked at her. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—not suspicion, not amusement. Grief.
"Sometimes," he said, "those are the same thing."
They moved through the upper gallery together—though "together" was generous. Caelin walked with purpose, the salvaged book clutched to her side along with some other book fragments. Aren flanked her like a shadow, boots silent even on the cracked mosaic tiles.
"Why assign you to me?" she asked. "Surely the Crown has better uses for a war hero."
"I disobeyed an order."
She blinked. "What kind?"
"The kind that saves lives."
Caelin glanced at him. "You're not exactly a textbook bodyguard, are you?"
"I'm not exactly trying to be."
They paused at the balcony rail. Below, the scorched atrium yawned wide, its floor still bearing the sigil of the crown—a star entwined with a circle.
Or, maybe not a crown.
Maybe a cage.
"Aren," Caelin said softly, "what do you know of the Oath?"
He didn't answer at first. Just rested his gloved hands on the stone, gaze sweeping over the broken grandeur below.
"I know it was forged in blood. I know it holds this kingdom together." He paused. "But all I know is what I've been told…"
Her heartbeat slowed. She turned fully to face him.
"Have you ever wondered, though? What kind of oath needs that kind of power—and secrecy? Why would there even be such a thing as…"
She glanced around, lowering her voice.
"Shatterbounds?"
Aren's eyes met hers. Light fractured across his armor. Ash drifted through the air between them, weightless and old—like a memory disturbed.
And something ancient stirred.
"Maybe," he said. Then, as if a candle had been snuffed out, his expression shuttered. His voice leveled.
"The Oath was made to protect us—from the realm that once held us captive. Why would you want to dig into something that could threaten that?"
Caelin flinched. His words didn't come with malice, but they stung all the same. A quiet reprimand. A familiar one.
"That's fine," she muttered. "I didn't ask for your opinion anyway."
She turned away, jaw clenched.
"Like I said—knowledge is power. I won't stay ignorant just because it's convenient. If the Oath is truly what they say it is, then it shouldn't fear scrutiny. And I'm not questioning the Queen or the Oath itself, I'm just—"
Her voice faltered. "I just want to know what it's protecting us from."
She didn't wait for a reply. On a sigh, she moved toward the restoration room to try and fix what she could, and clean up the rest. Looking forward to immersing herself in the history of recorded oaths the rest of the evening.
Aren stayed at the rail, unmoving.
Maybe she was onto something.
It would be nice to get some answers. He absently touched the ring on his right index finger. Silver, old and worn, marked with protections runes. His thumb was spinning the ring around out of habit, touching each rune like a prayer.