He reached for me again, and this time he made contact; his hand was a soft weight on my shoulder. “Okay,” he said, a sigh carrying his words along. I jerked my head up, shocked both by his touch and his answer. He glanced around. “Not here, though.”
“The library,” I said. I grabbed his hand without thinking and stood, tugging him along in my wake. His eyes narrowed in surprise and his mouth hung open, as if he was about to say something, but apparently he thought better of it, because he followed me in stunned silence as I guided him by instinct to the one room in the Castle I’d always wanted to visit.
TWENTY-ONE
The library was empty. The door creaked as it slid open, and the air in the room had a musty smell, as if the windows hadn’t been cracked in weeks. The surfaces were dust-free—the domestics at the Castle were nothing if not fastidious—but the library had all the hallmarks of a space that was mostly forgotten. I got the impression that the room missed Juliana. It was one of her favorite places in the Castle, after the gardens; it had featured in many of my dreams. There was an enormous vaulted ceiling covered in sky-hued frescoes and floor-to-ceiling shelves packed tight with multicolored leather spines in various states of wear. The floor was parquet with an elaborate inlaid herringbone pattern, and the whole place was illuminated with warm light emanating from hidden sources atop the bookshelves. On the opposite side of the room there was a globe tall enough to reach my waist. I went to it, eager to give it a spin. I let my fingers wander over its miniature topography as Thomas stared at me, waiting for an explanation, but the words stuck in my throat.
After a long silence, Thomas ventured a question. “How did you know where the library was?” He had that look in his eye again, the one that meant he was trying to decipher me like a code. He must have spent a lot of time doing that, trying to figure out what people were thinking and planning, searching for hidden undercurrents in their words and in their body language. It must’ve been part of his training; I wondered if he knew he was doing it with me, or if it was just instinct.
I took a deep breath, pressing harder on the tiny ridge of the Alps to steady myself. “I saw it,” I told him. “In a dream.”
“What?” He looked baffled, for which I couldn’t blame him. And yet, he’d seen plenty of unlikely things, and done some pretty unlikely things as well. I didn’t even consider the possibility that he might not believe me. “I don’t understand.”
I laughed, a sharp sound that ricocheted off the ceiling. “Me neither.”
“No, seriously,” Thomas said.
“Maybe you should sit down for this,” I said, gesturing to a nearby armchair. Thomas’s face was easy to read. All his emotions—interest, concern, and slight anxiety—showed in his eyes, in the crease of his brow, in the grim set of his mouth. He could mask his feelings, of course; I’d seen him do it. But that was a choice. This was pure Thomas, shining out from within like the beam of a lighthouse.
“All right,” he said. “I’m sitting. You’re sitting. Now talk.”
“I think I know where Juliana is.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I could tell that it wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. His entire body pulled away and he raised his eyebrows in what could only be shock.
“What do you mean, you know where she is? How do you know? Where is she?” The last question came out strangled, and I had to fight against a wave of jealousy. Of course he wanted to know where she was. She was his assignment—she was his friend—she was his … Of course he’d want to know.
“I think she’s in Farnham,” I said.
“What makes you think that?” His tone was accusatory, and I found myself insulted by it.
“Because, I … I saw Callum’s ring just now, and it was the black phoenix on a red background, and I realized I’d seen it before, at the house where they’re keeping her, on a flag … The flag of Farnham, it must be … !” My voice broke under the strain of trying to say so much at once and not being able to say enough. I hadn’t realized until now how much this bizarre power—this extraordinary gift—frightened me, how deeply I feared I was going insane, and how desperately I wanted him not to mirror those same fears.
“Hey, hey,” Thomas said, covering my hand with his own. I looked up and our eyes caught. He smiled tentatively, as if wanting to reassure me but not knowing how, under the circumstances. “Slow down. What do you mean you saw it?”
I swallowed hard. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I … see her. See through her, really. Mostly when I’m asleep. Okay, always when I’m asleep, and I don’t usually remember very much, but sometimes details come back to me—”
“Sasha,” Thomas said firmly. “I think you’re going to have to start from the beginning.”
I took a deep breath. I told him how I’d always had these dreams of Juliana’s life, from a very early age, as long as I could remember. That I’d always assumed they were just my imagination running wild while I was asleep, that I never knew any of it was true before I came to Aurora and realized what I was seeing. And that I knew now where Libertas was keeping Juliana: in a large farmhouse somewhere in a foreign country, behind enemy lines. As I spoke, I watched Thomas’s thoughts pass over his face like the aurora sweeping across the sky, one emotion after another, none lingering long enough for me to catch hold and orient myself.
When I was finished, I sat back and waited for him to say something. He rubbed his face vigorously, as if trying to bring himself back to some kind of reality he could get a firm grasp on.
“That was …” He paused, searching for the right thing to say. “… not what I expected you to tell me.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” He gave me a weak smile. “Not that.”
“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” I said. “But you believe me, don’t you?” I tried to ask as if I didn’t care about the answer, as if I was so convicted about my story that not a doubt lingered in my mind, but the tone faltered, because I really, really needed to be believed.
“Yes,” he said, with a finality that I found comforting. “I believe you. But I’ve got to be honest—I don’t know where that leaves us. Juliana’s in Farnham, but where? It’s a big country. And you don’t know what they’re planning to do with her?” He wanted more from me, and I wanted to give him more, but I couldn’t. I understood his desperation; I wanted more from me, too. This wasn’t a parlor trick; it was a real thing, it came from somewhere, and if it didn’t exist to help me—to help us, Juliana and me—then why did I have it at all?
“At least we know she’s alive,” I pointed out. “That’s something.”
“It’s a relief, for sure.” He kneaded the back of his neck with his fingers and I had to smile; in his unguarded moments, he was so predictable, you could set your watch by him. “Why did you tell me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know I’ve asked you to trust me,” he said. “But I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to. Good reasons. Reasons that you keep reminding me of. So why now? You’ve known this since when?”
“Since the Tower,” I admitted. “When the General told me her name.”
“And you didn’t tell me then.”
“How could I? I knew that something was up, but I didn’t understand it. And even if I had … I couldn’t tell you until I was sure.”