Elchanan TELL THE TRUTH AND RUN
And we’ve found our way to the international scrolls.
Well, shit.
Elchanan hardly realized they’d been coming to a stop; now he feels stupid, both for letting time pass so quickly and for not noticing its strange path. They are somehow closer and farther than before. He can feel Septimus’ shoulder almost pressed against his, and yet there is something… strange, something icy in the air. This particular plot of the library is surrounded on all sides by towering bushes. Its shelves are made from whip-thin latticed branches, and as the priest rakes his gaze over the room he sees Aldorria, Costa Luna, Tecala, and swallows hard.
How does someone look for something without a name to call it by?
“it seems we have,” he says mildly, and it’s hard to know if the mildness is a symptom of satisfaction or disappointment. His dark eyes are cool now, no longer unsettled by Septimus’ touch; he blinks without moving his gaze from the other man’s, steady for a long, long moment, then looks away. Knowledge is something that must be sought. Oh, Elchanan thinks, I’m fucking seeking it, believe me, but the smile on his face remains steady and purposefully near-vacant.
There is something growing him, almost like bitterness; he hesitates to give it a name, for fear of enhancing its power, but it sure tastes like bitterness, feels like bitterness, burns like jealousy against the thin skin of his heart. His pulse ratchets higher. Elchanan wants to do something, wants to say something, but—
The distance between them closes, and before he can even react Septimus’ lips are on his, and the world is sweet-rosy and Elchanan feels the breath rushing out of his lungs, feels something tingling in his shoulders and down to his hips, the world narrowing to a pinpoint, and then—
It’s over, and he’s gone. Elchanan hides his scowl and turns away too. |
