thin wall of my resistance. It was feverish and stubborn and full of absolutely stupid hope, so of course I’d tried to ignore it.
Armand was a dragon. I was a dragon. Armand’s genealogy could be traced. My genealogy …
We might be related, even distantly. I didn’t have any familial feelings toward him, really, but for the first time ever in my memory, I had a place to start.
The library itself was just as anyone might picture a library in a castle would be, jammed with tables and overstuffed chairs, long and very tall, with shelves and shelves of books that reached so high—at least two stories—that there were sturdy wooden ladders affixed to hooks on every wall. The ladders were on rollers, and the hooks attached to brass rails, so in theory one could slide from one end of the room to the other without having to descend.
In practice, though, we were forced to climb down again if we had to move over even one shelf. It was tedious and likely yet another reason why there wasn’t a great deal of reading done in this place.
Somewhere up there, shelved away, might be the answers I sought. There might even be some forbidden Poe or Wilde or Stoker hiding amid the many uses for pigs, crouched back in the shadows and hoping for the light.
No one paid me any mind as I made my way to the catalogue bank. I flipped through the handwritten cards of authors and titles; the only way to find something here was to know at least one of those things. The shelf number for the book would be inked in beside it, but each shelf contained about fifty books, so you had to hang there on the ladder and read every spine of every one until you came across yours.
Let it be said that nothing was ever accomplished in haste at Iverson.
I didn’t know either the author or the name of the tome I wanted. I couldn’t even remember the title Armand had mentioned last night. I tried looking under Peerage, but the only book listed there was Peerage of Royal India, circa 1835, which I doubted would help.
Yet there I was ten minutes later, perched high on the ladder of the eastern wall, perusing shelf number 229, which probably no one had gone near in decades, the dust was so deep. I found India’s peerage right away; the spine featured ornate lettering stamped in real gold foil and what looked like a sapphire affixed near the top, but it was only paste.
All the rest of the titles seemed geared toward specific family lines, especially ancient Saxon kings.
Not useful.
Below me, the tables were all rimmed with girls. And there was Mrs. Westcliffe in a chair cozied up to the fireplace, a trio of eighth-years at her feet. She had a book in her lap and was reciting what sounded like a sonnet to them. I was near enough to catch a few lines and realize I’d read it. It was one about love and a noble knight whose sacrifice for his pure maiden grants him a place of honor amid the constellations forever and ever.
Right.
I was getting filthy up here. I’d have to be careful not to touch my shirtwaist before washing my hands or I’d catch hell from Gladys about the marks.
A small commotion began at the door. Almeda hurried in, trailed by two other maids and a man in a khaki riding uniform, who had taken off his black-brimmed hat and was holding it under one arm. The chevron markings of an officer were stitched onto his sleeves.
All the girls at all the tables fell silent. I doubted anyone recognized the man, but we all recognized what he meant.
Mrs. Westcliffe found her feet. She handed the book of sonnets to one of the eighth-years and went to meet the man. They conferred for a moment, his head to her ear, and then she stepped back again and gave a terse nod. Her gaze searched the room.
“Miss Bashier,” she said.
Everyone looked around. Mittie sat, unmoving, at a table beneath a stained-glass window. A lion with a mane flaming outward like the corona of the sun pranced behind her, locked in the glass.
Sophia was sitting next to Mittie, and she finally gave her a small bump with her elbow, so Mittie got up. Sophia stood, as well, but only Mittie walked around the table and crossed the rug to the newcomer and the headmistress.