The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,105

in the corner, searching for the small, unobtrusive book she'd spotted a few nights before—a diary. Written in a language she couldn’t understand, by a person she'd been unable to identify, in a time she'd been unable to ascertain, it could've seemed like an odd choice. But to Cassi, it was perfect.

Malek had other spies trained in the ancient languages their people had either lost to time or simply abandoned in order to keep consistent with the world above the mist. She had no doubt dormi'kines far more learned than she had spent hours in these rooms, floating over the shoulders of archivists, freely reading the secrets the owls worked so hard to protect. There was little written in these rooms her king didn't already know, but a diary contained all manner of unwritten things.

She'd been eight the first time she observed the skryr at work. He had been an old man even then, and the only of his kind still living. Malek had mentioned the mage in passing one dream, wondering, as any orphan would, if maybe he should make a visit to his shop near the outskirts of Da'Kin. The former king had left a multitude of items behind—swords and clothes and jewels. He'd believed there might be memories lingering in the worn threads, the scuffed boots, the polished gems, the sorts of messages only a skryr could read.

Cassi had wanted to ask if he had anything of his mother's, something that had maybe survived the fire, but she kept her mouth shut. It was easier, she thought, for Malek to simply erase the woman who’d birthed him beneath a barrage of dragon flames, into a life of prophecy her son had never wanted. Easier, at least, than forever asking questions that had no answers, which was, of course, what Cassi did. Who was her father? Where was he? Why had he gone? Did he know she existed? She'd tried once to ask her mother—but only once, those icy eyes enough to wipe her questions clean. Captain Rokaro was a strong woman, a proud woman, but the mention of that man had left her as defenseless as a child. Her walls had crumbled, leaving her bare and broken and bleeding. A moment later, they'd fortified, but that single vulnerable second had provided one kind of answer—whoever he was, he wasn't the sort of man Cassi should ever want to know. Still, curiosity was the enemy of logic, and she'd wondered if maybe there was a memory buried within her mother's things with all the answers she'd need.

Periodically, she'd visit the skryr's shop, watching people as they came and went. They'd present their trinkets, and he'd take them in both hands. Sometimes, he managed to close his eyes. Other times, the visions came so swiftly, he sat there as his pupils darted back and forth, his white hair like a cloud stuck to his head, voluminous and slightly wild. It always seemed the closer to a person's soul the object was, the more deeply the man could see. A jacket that was just a jacket held little. A jacket that had been hand sewn by the wearer and embroidered with a special decoration or even a message held a whole world inside. The magic was sort of like Rafe's in a way—too rare to be fully understood. Malek was convinced it was a form of chrono'kine magic, or time warping, but Cassi thought maybe there was some spirit at play too. She of all people knew souls could exist outside of bodies—who was she to say a piece of a person couldn't linger behind in objects too?

At least, that was what she was hoping with this diary. Hundreds of years had passed since the creator had perished, but what object held more of a person's soul than the one into which they'd poured their innermost hopes and dreams? None that Cassi could imagine. And if there was even a chance the skryr could see something that might help them defeat the dragons, she had to take it.

Cassi slipped the small book from the shelves and pressed her nose to the pages. To the simple mind, maybe dust was the only particle lingering in old parchment, dust and worn ink. But to the creative mind that dust held secrets, and as Cassi breathed it in, images flashed across her thoughts, of dragons and danger and dazzling magic, of prophecies and fallen worlds, of women with wings and men with power