Department of Investigation,” King Petyrr said abruptly. He jiggled the happily panting pug that he carried in one arm, then softly stroked the dog’s head.
The pug seemed almost overcome with joy at the attention and snorted happily in the king’s arms.
“I’m glad—though I wasn’t alone. Myth helped my two trade translators copy all the orders that were recorded in Elvish, and she made duplicates of my finds in Elvish for King Celrin.” Arvel’s smile was as warm as the sun as he reached out and briefly cupped Myth’s elbow.
King Petyrr tilted his head like a curious bird, and he studied Arvel as Myth translated the crown prince’s words for King Celrin.
“Yes, we must thank you for the pivotal role you have played in all of this, Translator Mythlan,” King Celrin said in response. “You have helped in many portions of the investigation.”
“Indeed,” King Petyrr added once Myth had translated for him. “We are highly gratified for all you have done—particularly since none of it is in your job description.” His curious look was back, and Myth was happily able to ignore it since she was busy translating for King Celrin.
“It was my honor to aid Arvel,” Myth said in Calnoric. When King Petyrr blinked, she realized her error. “That is, His Royal Highness Prince Arvel.” She rushed to translate her words into Elvish faster than necessary. She didn’t like how intrigued King Petyrr looked—as if he was seeing a new palace cat he hadn’t noticed before.
King Petyrr looked like he wanted to ask her a question, but Arvel—thankfully—took pity on her and spoke first. “We’ll both be grateful when this is over and the Fultons are sentenced.” He smiled at Myth. “And things will slow down a bit then.”
“Aherm, yes. Perhaps.” King Petyrr busied himself with looking at the sky, until the shouts were audible.
“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness!”
A pair of Honor Guards jumped a stone bench and sprinted around the hedges. They skidded to a stop and folded over in bows so fast Myth almost missed them.
“Your Majesty, there’s been an attack at the Department of Investigation,” one of the Honor Guards relayed through gasps of air.
“What?” King Petyrr barked.
“What happened?” Arvel asked as Myth murmured a translation for King Celrin.
“A fire,” the Honor Guard said. “A fire was lit inside the department. It was mostly contained, and there were only a few minor injuries, but the director of the department wanted to send word because the fire started in his office.”
Myth turned white. “Wasn’t he handling all the records for the Fultons’ trial?”
“Yes,” Arvel said grimly. “What are the chances they’ve all been destroyed?”
Myth’s tongue felt thick and clumsy as she tried to tell King Celrin what had happened.
The elven king’s expression darkened just as King Petyrr shook his head and roared.
“No,” King Petyrr growled. “I’ll not tolerate this.” He gently passed off the pug to the Honor Guard and started to stride in the direction of the Department of Investigation, King Celrin, Myth, and Arvel right behind him.
“Your Majesty! Your Royal Highness!”
Dread filled Myth’s belly—what else could be wrong?
Two more Honor Guards sprinted through the hedges, coming from the opposite direction.
“Yes, what is it?” King Petyrr called.
“Fire,” one of the guards managed to wheeze out as he almost toppled over while bowing.
“I’ve already been informed about the fire in the Department of Investigation.”
The second Honor Guard shook his head. “No—fire…in the library!”
17
Myth didn’t think, she didn’t stop to consider if it was the right thing to do.
As soon as the guard finished, she ran, sprinting for the library.
“Myth—wait!”
She ignored Arvel’s call and tore off, her heart pounding in her throat.
No, it can’t be. The library is safe—it must be safe!
Since she had arrived in Haven as a lonely, frightened child, the library had been her one refuge.
It was always safe, always quiet, always welcoming. The librarians often had a kind smile for her, and while no one seemed to notice her much, the endless volumes of books were all too glad to share their knowledge and distract her from many a lonely night.
The Library of Haven was special. It couldn’t be destroyed.
Myth cleared the gardens, jumped a low railing that separated one of the palace open-air corridors from the park, and ran, hurtling down the empty passageway.
Her breath came in heavy pants, and her side ached. But she didn’t slow down. She pumped her arms and kept running, navigating the twisting halls of the palace.
The scent of smoke grew overwhelming as she followed the twisted passageways to