Quill of Thieves

Chapter 45

Pavel Kyiva.

The name clanged a forgotten bell in Astrid's memory. One meager thought that felt just frustratingly out of reach. On the tip of her thoughts. She stretched for it, but her gaze switched from the Monverta over to Sebastian, who watched her reaction.

"Abel told me something," he began, "about an Author's Monverta." His brows pinched as he stared at his bleeding hand. "Only someone of that Author's blood could use his or her book."

"But you used my mother's—" Your father's, whispered a voice. She forced it away. Like it truly mattered, anyways, in the grander scheme of things. "That night we blew it up and released the elements. You used it."

His voice came out choked. "I know."

Oh, gods. Astrid could do nothing but stare, the implications running wildly between them. "You are not my brother. We are not related. I have checked."

"And I think you're right about that, as well."

Gently, Sebastian reached out to take the book from her grasp.

It was only then she realized she had grabbed it at some point. She let it go without much of a struggle. After all, going to a book for answers was his forte. He laid it across his lap, eyes moving rapidly over the two words inked into it with his blood.

"I've been doing some research."

Astrid half-snorted in a crazed, untamed way. "That's hardly surprising."

Sebastian traced a finger over the letters. "Kyiva was a family name," he explained, "I found it in there." He inclined his mop of messy curls in the direction of the floor where those books and scrolls lay, scattered. "Pavel was an Author, the Kyiva line a direct offshoot from Guinivere Verilibros's genetic tree."

When Astrid looked, she saw the ruby leather-bound book with the familiar gold stitching: Royal Genealogies: the Power of Names.

That was when the name clicked. "The illicit love affair with a Soleitian priestess!"

Sebastian startled. "What?"

Astrid nodded. "Yes, don't you remember? Abel told us about it at the pub before she started hurling snowballs everywhere." She caught sight of Sebastian's complexion, certain the color of his skin was not a healthy one. "No need to fret, Bash. I'm sure the Author was noble enough for it to be all consensual—"

It looked like Sebastian choked on her words, pupils dark and wide. "The face of a priestess, he said."

"He?" Astrid asked, bewildered. "He who?"

"That Soleitian man." His wild gaze speared through hers. "The one in that portal."

Curse the Skies! Of course. How could she have forgotten? Not to mention he had just told her moments earlier that only someone of an Author's blood could use their Monverta. Gods, her softening heart must be absorbing her brain cells.

"This book—You think it's your father's, don't you?"

Sebastian's shoulders hunched into a pitiful shrug. "Maybe?" His exhale was heavy and slow. "What if this Pavel Kyiva is trapped in there?"

Her heart leapt. Not possible, her brain reminded her, but her adrenaline thrummed regardless. Impossible. "Pavel is dead, Sebastian. Not trapped inside his own Monverta."

His expression sharpened. "Dead? How do you know?"

It was her turn to flush. "I enjoy stories." She crossed her arms. "When Abel mentioned that watered-down snippet, it reminded me of one of my favorites: Faith of Desire."