The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,83
possible the crown prince had also become a member of this very elite group, but Myth didn’t particularly wish to find out if her inkling was true or not.
No need, it’s true. Or I wouldn’t be here, doing what I’m about to do.
Myth shut out the thought as she stared down the Translators’ Circle, which had somehow gone through a miraculous transformation from a beautiful and welcoming building, to intimidatingly austere.
She clutched the leather satchel so tightly her fingers were starting to hurt, then darted across the bridge before she could second-guess herself.
There was a set of stone stairs dotted with moss that led up to the Circle’s entrance. Myth took the steps two at a time and didn’t risk glancing back to ascertain that her escort was following her until she reached the doors.
Grygg trailed closest behind her, and he flashed her a wink and meandered up so he could stand side by side. “I’m guessing we’re not here so you can introduce me and the boys to all your single friends?”
A nervous laugh escaped from Myth. “That would be a much more enjoyable task. But no. I am here to ask for a favor.” The phrase tasted sour, and she grimaced.
“Anything we can do to help?”
“I’m afraid not, but thank you, Grygg.”
He bowed with a lot more care than necessary given her position as a mere translator. “’Tis my honor.”
Myth considered asking him about the bow, but she knew herself well enough to know she was stalling. So instead she made herself open the front door and march in.
In keeping with its name, most of the architecture and decorating of the Translators’ famed building was circular in shape.
The floor was tiled with large circles and loops spiraling through the room. The central staircase snaked its way upwards in long, circular floors, every door was circular, and every candle was spherical.
How much money do we waste ordering those custom-made candles? Myth wondered as she mechanically strode through the central chamber.
Her gait was stiff, and the closer she got to the massive, round door she needed to step through, the slower she went.
By the time she reached it her pulse was galloping once again, and she’d left a sweat smear on the leather satchel.
It was official. This task was a thousand times worse than retrieving the ledgers from the Fulton town house.
But I’m going to do it anyway. Because Arvel and I worked too hard for this…and because they set the library on FIRE!
Her anger propelled her forward, and she yanked on the iron ring and pulled the door open with a creak.
Inside was the trade translators’ workshop.
Unlike the social and governmental translators who did much of their work outside the Translators’ Circle, trade translators worked together in one massive room that stretched at least three stories high.
The room was filled with padded wooden benches and wooden tables angled for ease of use. Most translators sat at their personalized desks, scratching away at their papers as they copied, created, and edited sheets of numbers, columns of records, and a seemingly endless number of charts.
Students rushed up and down the three floors, carrying messages to different desks and running to the Log Masters, who stood in front of rows of locked bookshelves filled with logs, ledgers, filed paperwork, and more.
In the center of the room, her arm tossed casually over a podium as she adjusted her spectacles with her free hand, was the leader of the trade translators, Chairwoman Errim.
The chairwoman was a Calnorian woman of short stature, no nonsense attitude, and tidy dress. Like Myth, she wore the trade translators’ signature jacket, pants, and boots, although hers were colored white and gray due to her position.
Myth had met her on three occasions—when she first became a student in the trade program, when she graduated and made the rank of apprentice, and once when she explained to Myth that they didn’t have a master translator to assign her to yet.
With so many translators under her, there was no possible way the older woman knew Myth. But Myth, driven by both her anger and the painful need that was her whole reason for coming, slowly approached the chairwoman.
Halfway across the massive workshop she glanced back, and was relieved to see only Grygg and one other Honor Guard were behind her. The rest waited at the open door.
Good. That’s fewer people to observe the sting of failure this might become. But I have to ask!
Myth rolled her shoulders back, and once she was