From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,109

alone the Maiden as I hurried down the alley toward the back entrance of the library. Moving along the grid of narrow halls and staircases without being seen was easy, too.

I knew how to be like a ghost when needed, quiet and still.

The problem started when I found the leather-bound journal of Miss Colyns. Instead of leaving and going back to the castle like I knew I should, I’d ducked inside an empty room.

I just…I had been going stir-crazy in that room and had dreaded going back. And the thickly cushioned settees called to me. The stocked liquor cabinet, something I found odd to discover in a library, confused me, however. But I’d sat by the large windows overlooking the city below and cracked open the worn book. My cheeks had been scalded by the end of the first page, having discovered what occurs when someone kisses one not on the mouth or on the breast like…like Hawke had done before he knew who I was, but some place far more intimate.

I couldn’t stop reading, practically devouring the cream-hued pages.

Miss Willa Colyns lived a very…interesting life with many, many other…fascinating people. I had gotten to the part where she spoke of her brief fling with the King, which I could not even begin to picture, nor did I want to, when I heard voices outside the room—one in particular I’d never thought to hear in the Atheneum.

The Duke’s.

Hearing his voice meant that I’d been so caught up in the diary, I hadn’t even realized the sun had set.

I hadn’t been summoned to meet with him the night before or today. With the preparations for the Rite, I’d been given a temporary reprieve, and I assumed Hawke had as well since he was still my guard. But that reprieve would come to a swift end if the Duke discovered me.

Which was why I was now perched on a ledge outside what turned out to be the Duke’s personal room in the Atheneum. The only grace I’d been given was that the window I’d climbed out of wasn’t the one facing the street but rather the one blocked by Wisher’s Grove.

Only the hawks could see me…or witness my fall.

The sound of ice clinking against glass caused me to swallow a groan. He’d already been in the room for at least thirty minutes, and I was betting that he was on his second glass of whiskey. I had no idea what he was doing. With the Rite kicking off in just hours, I imagined he was busy meeting with the new Ladies and Lords in Wait, and the parents who would be giving their third sons and daughters to the Temples. But no, he was here, drinking whiskey by himse—

A knock on the door sounded. I closed my eyes, lightly banging the back of my head against the wall. Company? He was going to have visitors?

Maybe the gods had been watching me this whole time, and this was yet another punishment.

“Come in,” he called out, and I heard the door clicking shut a few moments later. “You’re late.”

Oh, dear. I recognized that cold, flat tone. The Duke was not pleased.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I came as soon as I could,” came the response. It was a male voice, one I didn’t immediately recognize, which meant it could be any number of people. Ascended Lords. Stewards. Merchants. Guards.

“Not soon enough,” the Duke replied, and I cringed for whoever was surely on the receiving end of a very disapproving stare. “I hope you have something for me. If so, that would go a long way to restoring my faith in you.”

“I do, Your Grace. It took a while, as you know the man was not talkative.”

“No, they never are once you get them out of the public eye where they can’t cause a spectacle with their words,” the Duke commented. “I’m guessing you had to be extremely convincing to get him to talk.”

“Yes.” There was a rough laugh and then, “He’s not an Atlantian. That has been confirmed.”

“Shame,” the Duke said, and I frowned. Why would that be bad news?

“I’ve learned his name. Lev Barron, the first son of Alexander and Maggie Barron. He had two brothers, the second died of an…illness before his Rite, and the third was given to the Temples three years ago. He was not a known person of interest, and his behavior at the assembly wasn’t expected.”

They were talking about the Descenter—the one who’d thrown the Craven hand while the