The Gilded Gaze

DEAR MS. ALWINDAY,

THE 9TH CIRCLE OF MAGES REGRETS...

The paper crumpled in her hands. She wadded it up into a tight ball of dead tree and threw it back over her shoulder. It landed in a skyline of old books. Reading the rest would be pointless.

The freckled woman drooped in her seat, arms falling to her thick desk, her head following in a sullen drop. A long, wistful sight pushed past her lips, exaggerated yet sincere.

Floria Alwinday. Clad in earth-toned robes, Floria was a shorter woman with long, raven-black hair, turquoise-blue eyes behind thick glasses. A woman staring out into the vast sea of literature and references beyond. Rows of books beyond counting, lines of tomes rising from gradual slopes that spiraled up to the ceiling in a frozen typhoon of knowledge. A few mages in robes perused the selection, the quiet stillness of the room punctuated by brief whispers and the turning of old parchment.

Floria was a librarian. An assistant deputy librarian. Near bottom of the totem pole, it was still a position where any place in the staff was one of envy. Because it wasn't just

a

library.

It was

the

library. The Library of Circles. The largest, greatest library on the continent. Almost a city in itself, circular buildings beyond counting connected by wide hallways. Some of the domes truly massive, palaces in their own right.

But not here. Compared to them, her wing was downright tiny. Only five stories, where some of the larger wings went so high one could imagine clouds floating inside.

She sighed again. Another rejection.

Floria was a librarian. An assistant deputy librarian.

A

temporary

assistant deputy librarian, her immediate superior always liked to remind her.

She was also a mage.

Born with the Gift. She could've become some baron's court mage and lived out the rest of her life in relative comfort. But that was the path to obscurity. She knew, from the moment she cast her first spell, that she wanted, needed, to go right to the top.

To the legendary 9th Circle of Mages. The oldest, most prestigious, most mysterious magical university...well, anywhere. Most of the mages of legend passed through its halls.

Their admission process was simple. Tell them something about magic they didn't already know. Nine chances.

She'd just blown her eighth.

She thought a job at the library would give her a chance to study. And for what it was worth, it did.

Hours of poring over books. Of noting the most obscure magical theories. Of piecing together the most esoteric spells, and...nothing. The college had heard it all before. Seen it, done it. There was apparently nothing they didn't know, as the rejection letters so smugly implied.

And now she had one more chance. One more shot at proving to the mages that she had something of value to bring to the 9th Circle.

And she was completely out of ideas.

She'd been out of ideas since her fifth attempt, grasping at straws from that point onward. But now failure had a real,

real

consequence. If her next thesis was rejected, the door to opportunity would be slammed in her face, and then...

She shook her head, banishing the thoughts.

"No," she muttered. "Just need more time."

Time. The one thing she didn't have. In her lowly position, she could be unemployed at any moment. And if that happened, she'd be out on the streets at a moment's notice. Where she came from, she was the Girl with the Magic. Here, that meant nothing. There were a thousand thousand more like her, all vying to get noticed by the long-bearded wizards in their high towers.

She could always go back home. But that wasn't an option.

No. At least people here appreciated magic for the gift it was. People cared about magic in ways more than asking her if it could make the crops grow faster.

She stared ahead, her mind working out the possibilities for her last thesis. Her eighth attempt had been a treatise on the application of phased coils around magnetnat mana sources. She thought she was onto something there, but if she moved away from

magnetant

mana, there could-

Plunk!

Floria snapped out of her daydream. She snapped up straight, breaking into a sharp salute.

"No ma'am!" she barked. "Was not sleeping, Deputy Librarian Ma'am!"

Her eyes fluttered upward. Standing over her was a tall, lanky wizard with a bushy mustache, looking down on her with a quirked brow. A small smile on his lips.

Her eyes darted past him. The other patrons in the room had turned to her, most of them with amused grins of their own. A few chuckling.

A curtain of heat rose in her cheeks, flush and hot. Her face went red as she sunk low in her chair, hand dropping from her salute. "I..." she groaned. She wanted to melt into a puddle and slink away under a shelf.

"Can I help you?" she muttered.

The wizard shrugged. "Don't think so. Didn't find what I needed."

Floria blinked. "Oh. Well did-"

He pointed down. Her gaze followed his finger, landing on a thick, black tome covered in gold glyphs. A truly ancient-looking book, it's cover thick and its pages yellowed with age.

"Found this, though."

"Oh!" she blurted. "Did you wish to check it-"

"-Found it behind some other books. It didn't look like it was supposed to be there, so..."

She leaned forward, adjusting her glasses to get a better look. Her first impression had been correct; whatever it was, it was old. Covered in symbols that looked

beyond

ancient, and a golden chain wrapped around its width.

It looked important. Like something from the Restricted Section. The place where books went on waiting lists for decades and centuries.

She glanced up, squinting at the man standing with an easy grin.

"...Where did you get this?" she asked.

"Like I said. Behind some other books. Why? Is this thing important?"

Her eyes went back to the book. To its august-looking cover, and eye staring up at the ceiling in an unblinking gaze. A book she

knew

had to contain long-lost secrets inside. It took only a moment for her mind to conjure a small, white lie.

She shook her head. "Mmmhm. No," she said with a feigned air of authority. She looked up to him, smiling apologetically. "That's an old Abbuyid beginner's spellbook. You know how they are with decorating stuff. See the chain?"

"Oh, yeah. Looks like it. Heavy, though."

"Well, you know. Lots of spells to learn."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving the thick book on her table. She watched him walk away with wide eyes and shallow breaths.

He'd bought it.

As he rounded a corner and disappeared, she placed her hand on the tome, running fingers across the stylized grooves in its surface. In awe of her find; in awe of the knowledge she could

feel

within its pages.

She perked her head up, looking to the other patrons. They were already well within their own business, browsing and studying. Not an eye in her direction.

Good.

With a grunt, she lifted the heavy book and dragged it over to her. It dropped off the end and smacked into her lap, its weight knocking a tiny puff of air out of her. She winced, then guided it to the floor below, under the desk and hidden from sight.

There it would stay. Until her shift was over, and she could only pray to the gods that her boss didn't arrive beforehand.

Floria planned a little light reading.

-------------------------------------------

The rest of the shift went by without further incidents. A few patrons checked out books, a few younger mages asked for directions. The hours crawled by, one after the other in an arduous march to the ninth, when her time was over.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

For the last hour, her eyes had been fixed on the small clock on her desk, counting down the seconds in her head. A minute left to go now, and her replacement nowhere in sight.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

In the meantime, she'd formulated her plan. So much as it was. No fancy enchantments or spells to disguise the book; the great library's wardings would detect those. Her plan was simple: smuggle it out in the embrace of her cloak, now wrapped the book like a mound of tar. She'd done her best to wad up the clothing; to make it seem like she

wasn't

sneaking out a murder weapon in book form underneath.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

She wondered what was inside. Her lie about it being Abbuyid was just that, a lie. In truth, she hadn't a clue of its origins. But that

eye

symbol, on the cover. The golden one, set right in the center. She'd seen it before. Serene and unblinking, a diagonal line ending in a curl peeling off one end of the almond shape. Another line going straight down.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

She knew that symbol. It showed up in some of the oldest magic circles. An eye of the gods. A symbol of primal power.

Click. Click. Cli-

"Florr-y!"

Her thoughts shattered. Floria nearly launched herself into the ceiling in surprise as the shrill voice broke her concentration, forcing her to spin around in her swiveling chair to meet the intruder.

A chubby girl with sharpened ears. A blonde, light-skinned elf in a green mage's cloak, a cheerful and ditzy grin on her face.

Lay'sa. If there were was one person in the library lower-ranking than her, it was the scatterbrained elf of the evening shift.

"Oh," Floria breathed. "It's you."

Lay'sa tilted her head in innocent ignorance. "Well, of course it's me. Who else would it be?"

"Sorry." Her eyes went to the clock on her desk, still ticking. "It's not like you to be on time." She squinted at the second hand. "Actually, you're early. That's...a first."

The elf pouted. "First time for everything?"

"I didn't-"

"Well, if you

must

know," she started, "I was wandering through the Red Section trying to find out what time it was, when I saw this

cute

orc browsing the books. So I say to myself, 'Lay'sa Ti'ranna Si'sos'ra, you'-"

Oh no.

A dark chill ran up her spine. Lay'sa was launching into one of her inescapable stories. The ones that would drag for hours on end, perfectly crafted to provide no opportunity to excuse oneself.

"Uh huh," Floria blurted.

"-So I tap him on the shoulder. Work the old elvish charm, right? Had to stand on up on my tiptoes too. He was tall.

Really

tall! Like, the ceiling of this room tall and-"

"Yeah."

Her mind tuned out. Lay'sa's pointless stories were spells in themselves, almost hypnotizing in their pointlessness as she rattled on from one thing to another while Floria was trapped.

"...says he was in the Third Circle of Mages, which I thought..."

"...reading books is always good for you, right? At lest, that's where..."

"...I think that's the crux of it, really. Dad never really did appreciate my..."

Against the tides of Lay'sa's tale, Floria managed the willpower to look down to the floor. To the book, covering in her cloak. She looked at the clock.

Thirty minutes had passed.

Her eyes bugged out of her skull. It was now or never.

"...And I didn't even

know

that orcs came in other colors than green, so I sarrmmpphhh!"

Lay'sa was silenced by Floria's palm, covering her lips and sealing them shut. The elf snapped to attention, ears perking up at the librarian covering her mouth. Her brows fell flat, a complaining, muffled voice filtering out underneath Floria's hand.

Floria lifted a finger to her lips.

"Lay'sa. Shhhhhh."

She pointed to the patrons of the library, who had long since tuned her out.

A look of understanding came over the elf. Her ears drooped, and Floria pulled her palm away.

"Oh. I get carried away again?"

"Yeah," Floria whispered, tapping on the clock. "A little."

"Guess my shift's started, huh?"

"Yeah. It has."

"I guess I should-"

Floria scooped up her cloak, hefting it up into her arms. Arms sagged from the weight as she pushed herself from the swiveling chair, marching off in worried silence.

"Wait!" Lay'sa called with a halted shout. "What do you have there?"

Floria looked over her shoulder. "Dinner."

"Oh! Mind if I-"

"No!"

She kept going, heading to the heavy double-doors of the south exit. Ignoring everything and everyone,

especially

Lay'sa. When her hand had reached the brass handles of the door, a thrill of relief raced through her. She was home-free. Now, as long as she didn't run into-

The doors opened ahead of her. The thick oak creaked like a wooden ship as a figure appeared in the exit with a bundle of books under one arm.

A drow, tall and thin, with sharp, chiseled features. Skin dark, almost purple, white hair in a bun. A mage's cloak clad in the greens and whites that denoted her rank.

Deputy Librarian Praa'ta. Her boss.

Her red eyes glanced over half-moon spectacles, staring down at Floria with a mix of expectation and contempt.

"Ms. Alwinday," she sighed. "Good evening."

She stood up straight with a false smile, cursing her luck. "Oh! Ms. Praa'ta! Hello!"

Her superior didn't return the smile. Her eyes went down to the cloak in her hands, and then to her body. It swept up and down her once in a cold, clinical scan. "Why are you out of uniform?" she asked in a demanding tone.

Floria gulped. "My...my shift is over, ma'am."

The dark elf glanced up to one of the large clock faces that straddled the beams of the great room. "Ah," she flatly voiced. "So it is. And did you forget the library

policy

of not removing a uniform until back into your quarters?"

"What kind of rule is that?!"

Floria's mind echoed.

"I..." She hung her head low, looking to the ground. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I got caught-"

"Your excuses bore me, Ms. Alwinday. What could possibly justify-"

At that moment, her eyes fixated on the cloak. Floria's heart sank into her legs as the dark elf's frown deepened, and her eyes rose to meet Floria's gaze. "What have you got there?"

"O-oh," Floria gulped. "I-"

A terrible moment went by as the elf's slender fingers edged towards the coat. Time slowed down, stopped as Floria's entire life started to collapse around her. As soon as the coat was removed, she'd seen the book. She was trying to take a book, a

rare

book, out of its section without notice. And then-!

Praa'ta stopped. Her eyes moved up again. Not to Floria, but over her shoulder. She followed the mean stare of her boss, turning around until she saw its target.

Lay'sa. Napping on her desk, snoring away like a lazy dog.

The deputy librarian's features hardened into cold murder. "Again?" she seethed. She strode forward, forgetting all about Floria as her heels clicked hard against the marble underneath. "I swear to the Dark Goddess I will make her re-shelf

every book in this library!"

She kept walking, fury in her eyes as she approached the elf unaware of her own demise.

Floria blinked. The dark elf moved up to Lay'sa, rapping a fist on the desk. Lay'sa rose in a weary bobble, smacking her lips as Ms. Praa'ta began a long, vicious, and most importantly

quiet

scolding. The elf sunk in her seat, the deputy librarian's harsh words already bringing fat, swelling tears to the corners of Lay'sa's eyes.

Floria watched the dressing-down for a moment, then turned with a heavy breath. Lay'sa had just saved her skin.

She'd have to get her something as thanks. Maybe find her a boyfriend.

But for now, she had work.

The weight of the book dragged in her hands, and new priorities settled themselves. She had to get back to her quarters. Back to safety.

She moved forward, hand against the heavy oak of the exit. Praa'ta's quiet rant continued until the doors closed behind her, silencing it for good.

Floria was in the hallway now. A great, long hallway lined with books beyond counting. Hallway B-55. Where it connected to the Radiant Wing, which connected to Hallway A-3, which connected to Subhallway Z-9.

And beyond that, home.

Floria moved ahead, walking as fast as courtesy would allow. Ignoring everyone and everything,

especially

avoiding other librarians. They weren't Praa'ta, but every single one of them was a risk all the same. Had to keep walking. No eye contact, no waving.

She wandered down the winding halls. After all her time in the great library's august walls, she still felt a twinge of awe walking between its endless selection. History wasn't just recorded here, it was made. Made in countless, sleepless hours of study and practice. With magical theory complicated and contradictory, bound in infinite volumes. When confronted with that much knowledge around, Floria learned quickly the correct instinct was to concentrate only on what was ahead. Curiosity killed the cat because the cat spent five days without sleeping reading up on nothing but paramagical pyromancy.

Her footsteps slowed, eyes gazing upwards at the sign drawing near overhead, clad in shining brass.

SUBHALLWAY Z-9.

She was close.

The gentle ambiance of the library faded away, an unnatural quiet taking its place. Here, there were no books. The walls we barren, interrupted only by the voids of empty hallways stuck in their sides. A few other librarians milled about, either returning to their quarters with bedraggled fatigue or rising to their shifts.

Her room was on the left, three sub-subhallways down. On the way there, she passed a dark-skinned man with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, an index dangling from a holster on his hip.

"Oh hey Floria," he grunted. "Did you-"

"Not now Basin," she cut in, pushing past him towards her hallway.

Nobody could know. Nobody could know the book she had, and whatever secrets it contained. Like her, most of the librarians of the Library of Circles were mages, all of them on their own journeys to master the eternal question of magic. Some trying to get their foot into the door of the legendary Ninth Circle like her, others to make their own independent routes. By their nature, mages tended to be selfish creatures, not sharing their discoveries with anyone save those they trusted absolutely. And so, they kept their study to themselves.

This was her salvation. The unspoken understanding that no mage interfere with the study of another. For all its other faults, at least her job provided a room. A study. And a mage's study was her castle. Even the Chief Librarian himself would not enter unless he had very, very good reason to.

She stopped, arriving at the thin door that was her quarters. Room 9909.

There was no lock. Instead, she placed her hand upon the polished birch, hand blue with the sage of magic. She concentrated, mind pulling apart the web of warding that sealed the door. Once they had pulled back, a surge of power thrummed in her arm; another warding, to check if it was truly her. If she were anyone else, it would take the payment of an arm.

The feeling passed. With a final flutter, the last hex pulled away inside the wood, granting her entrance. She wrapped her free hand around the knob, opening her quarters and stepping inside. Soon as she was inside, she slammed the door behind her. The wards crackled to life instantly, locking away the outside world.

And only then did she celebrate. A small, soft 'yes!' as she dropped her cloak to the floor.

Finally safe, she took a moment to relax in the sanctuary of her quarters. A modest room of four naked concrete walls, books piled in corners, and floating candlelight serenely bobbing. A messy bed in the far corner, its sheets forever tussled. Scribbling on the walls; half-finished theories of her own doing and unfinished work of those that had come before.

A downright proper mage's cave. Her study, laboratory, and her home.

She slowly breathed out her nose, relaxing in the quiet of her sacred space. It was good to be home.