Lothor was in his web again, nestled in the corner of the window just the other side of Fat John’s bunk. Lance listened to his curses as his abdomen scrunched in on itself and his legs performed a dance against the strings. If he could, he would alleviate the spirit of its pain, but he could do nothing for him.

  “Hey.” He whispered.

  He had been thinking of Peter, of the struggle he must be dealing with in trying to marry the image of his life with the truth he now comprehended. I should have told him about the dungeons. That pce behind the gate.

  He couldn’t see how telling him of that pce would have helped. Peter might have gone there himself, seeking the same confirmation as had given validity to the newfound memories rolling around in his head. Nothing good could have come from that. It was in control of the Wraiths, not the Thorns. And even if the Thorns had been the commanding presence there, how could he trust them? There were those loyal to Lord Aren, yes; those who knew the truth, but they could not all be of one mind. There would be those loyal to the crown, who answered to Lord Aren because he was their master, because they believed he, too, was loyal to the queen.

  There were other things on his mind, as well. He put a pin in Peter’s predicament. Decided instead to focus on what was in front of him. What he could control.

  Lothor’s legs stopped moving. His abdomen clenched and released rhythmically, but he was otherwise still.

  “What is it now, boy?” the spider demanded.

  “Lord Aren and Master Gregor. They speak a nguage I don’t understand. Your nguage, I think.”

  “The nguage is ilfeiya. It is the first nguage, which the spirits taught the stone people.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Those created by god to alleviate his loneliness.” Lothor answered. “You know them as Croni, if you know them at all. Born of earth, who dwell in earth. Most hail from the north, in this day.”

  “They know this nguage?”

  “Some do.”

  “How would I learn it?”

  “Your people write the important things in their books and on their scrolls.”

  He nodded. “All of those are in the Royal Library. I can’t go there.”

  “Can’t and won’t are different things.”

  He contempted Lothor in his web, the silhouette cast in moonlight from outside the window. Light from a moon he now associated with a peacock and an elder woman, who were one and the same.

  “If I go there, the Wraiths might kill me. Or the Thorns. They might jail me first. Torture me. Make me give them answers for everything I’ve learned. Lord Aren might—“

  “Lord Aren is of no concern to you. And if you were captured, what might happen? You would come before him. A sham interrogation. Then you would disappear.”

  “Like Sami did.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Where do the ones who don’t go along with him end up?”

  “Away.” Lothor said. “Abroad.”

  “But alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are books on this nguage in the library?”

  “There are books on many subjects there. Finding them might prove difficult. Without help.”

  “Where would I find that help?”

  “You know the name of the spirit.”

  “And if I didn't want to be caught?”

  “You know the name of that spirit, as well. Though I have no great love of him. He is annoying to me.”

  Aughere. And Shana. He thought.

  Peter came to the fore of his mind again. If there were books on the nguage the spirits spoke, perhaps there were those that might direct him to how to help his friend as well. And if they were there, he might be able to mend a great wrong Peter had encountered with a testing intended for him. He had never meant for him to be hurt.

  “There are grimoires there, too.”

  “Old tomes. From before your people forgot us.” Lothor agreed. Strangely, he sounded happy.

  “Then maybe…maybe I should. Go there, I mean.”

  “Alone, you will certainly be caught. How much time have you to locate all you need. Go in two directions and you will have traversed a great distance. And I cannot save you should the weasel’s good graces dry up. He is erratic.”

  I’ll take him with me. If he doesn’t find anything that helps, maybe just looking for something will get him out of his funk.

  “Thank you.” He said, and twisted around in his bunk. “Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

  Lothor chuckled. “I know her well.”