Dust, it seemed, was the only thing the North produced in greater abundance than power and brooding men.
Verona swiped a finger across the spine of a massive, iron-bound tome, leaving a streak of pale grey against the cracked black leather. The Great Library of the Citadel was an intimidating beast in its own right. It smelled of things that hadn't seen the light in centuries: vanilla, old parchment, and that persistent, damp chill that seeped from the very stones of the mountain.
She was hunting. Not for gold or magic, but for the truth of the blood that ran through Elric's veins. In her previous life, she'd been too terrified to even look him in the eye, let alone research his family tree. But now? Now, the curiosity was a gnawing thing in her gut.
She hauled the Aldenar Lineage: Volume IV onto a heavy reading desk, the thud echoing like a gunshot in the silent room. As she flipped through the vellum pages, her eyes widened.
"Gods," she whispered to the empty air.
