Chapter 29: Of Words Borrowed from Better Tongues
Lyria's POV
I opened the little book carefully, as though its thin spine might protest if I were too eager with it.
The pages were soft now from handling, their edges dulled and slightly curled. Some of the corners bore faint smudges where my fingers had lingered too long, where I had traced letters again and again until they stopped looking like strangers.
Patricia leaned closer at once.
The candle caught in her eyes, pale and patient.
This book was mine.
Not truly mine, of course. Nothing in this palace ever truly was. But the words inside it were.
I rested it on my knees and smoothed the first page.
Rows of neat, uncertain writing greeted me.
I had written them myself. I had learnt how to write from Patricia.
I lifted my hands.
"Sh–shall I begin?" I asked softly, signing with the same breath.
Patricia nodded.
I pointed to the first word.
