Page 7 of The Searching Songbird

“Oh! Yes, yes, yes, that's it!”

The target jumped to her feet, still staring down at the book in front of her, and clapped her hands in excitement. The librarian looked over from his desk with a disapproving glower. He cleared his throat loudly, and she looked over at him, her cheeks turning a dusty pink. Sitting back down in her chair, she ran a hand through her hair, pushing the fallen locks behind her ear. A slight bounce in her feet beneath the table was the only remaining sign of her excitement.

Draven felt his book slip into his lap. Startled, he hastily picked it up and held it in front of his face, his own ears burning now. He'd gotten so caught up watching the girl – the target – that he'd completely forgotten to maintain his pretense of reading. He'd been practically gawking at her!

Get it together, Draven. The boss will be furious if you bungle this up. Focus.

The boss had been very generous with him and his family, but that didn't mean he would take kindly to failure. Draven knew first-hand what the man was capable of. He'd heard the power in his honeyed tones, seen the hard glint in his icy blue eyes. He wasn't one to be defied.

Not to mention, you owe the man your life. A debt not easily repaid.

He chanced another glance over at the target, who was copying something from the book down onto a piece of parchment. Her lips moved as she worked, mouthing the words as she wrote them down. His heart squeezed with guilt at the picture of innocence she made.

Looks can be deceiving. Maybe she isn't as innocent as she seems. The boss may have a very good reason for wanting her. And anyway, it's not like he said anything about harming the girl. She'll be fine.

The target was moving now, rolling up the parchment and sliding it into her skirt pocket. She stood, closing the book she'd been studying and placing it on top of some others. A young scribe hurried over to her table, gesturing toward the heavy books with an eager expression.

“If you're finished, miss, I'd be happy to take care of those for you.”

She smiled at the boy, and Draven could see the tips of his ears turn pink. “That would be most kind, thank you.”

“It's n-nothing, really,” the boy stammered, reaching for a stack of books and buckling a bit under their weight. “Just doing my job.”

The target watched him struggle with the heavy stack with a look of concern. She must have sensed the boy's pride was on the line, however, because she simply thanked him again and left, glancing over her shoulder as she did. Draven waited until she was out of sight, then stood and walked over to the boy.

“Here, let me help you with those.” He took the top half of the stack, and the boy looked up at him with grateful relief.

“I can do it, sir, really,” he protested, although he made no move to take the books back. Instead he began carrying the ones he was still holding over to a small desk in the corner, where he'd been working. “I'm just going to put these over here for now.”

“Alright,” Draven replied, his eyes scanning the top book on the pile. The one she'd been reading last. Kingdoms of Lehi, Volume 3: Roshka. Glancing at the spines of the other books, he saw volumes 1 and 4 were included among the stack, as well, with a focus on Antos and Myr, respectively.

“I'll take those, sir, thank you.”

Draven looked up to find the scribe waiting with outstretched hands.

“Oh, yes, of course. This book just caught my eye. I've never been to Roshka before.”

He handed the books over, and the boy added them to the rest of the pile, all of which seemed to be books on geography and architecture. Interesting.

“Neither have I,” the boy admitted. “But I plan to someday. It's supposed to be quite the place, different from anything we have here.”

“Is that so? Perhaps I'll have to visit it someday, myself.”

Heading out of the library, he gave the street a cursory scan before stepping out. The target was nowhere in sight, but he wasn't worried. She was most likely on her way back to the Banris' for supper. He strolled down the road, his cap pulled down just enough to obscure his eyes without making him look shady. A thick beard covered the rest of his face, making him look older than his twenty-five years. His clothes were clean and well mended, neither fancy nor shabby. There was nothing about him that would draw someone's attention, and he passed by men and women alike without turning a head.

He passed by the Banris' impressive, red-brick house without stopping. Instead, he continued to the corner, where a little girl with a smudged face and worn dress was selling flowers.

“A pretty flower for yer lady, mister?”

He pressed a coin into the girl's eager hand. “Just the thing, I think. What would you recommend?”

“Well, the lilies are in season. So are all the other flowers, except this older one. It's out now.”

“A lily, then.” He pulled out a few more coins, tossing them into her basket with a wink. She grinned up at him with a conspiratorial smile as she handed the flower over.

Tucking the flower into his pocket, he headed around the block to meet up with his other informants, mostly young street urchins who seemed to always know where everyone was at any given time.

Now, what was so interesting about Roshka?