The library was danker and colder than ever, like winter had decided to come six months early. Stars peeked at us from the midnight sky, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library. A crackling fire cast flickering shadows on the maroon walls, yet it didn't warm me; Tem had taken my ability to feel warmth with him. As Keenan pored over books about Realm history, I watched Marylea's eyes flutter open.

"She's awake," I said.

Marylea blinked and stared into the ceiling. Then she looked at me, her eyes full of confusion. "Ash? Where am I?"

"Sorry, we had to move your bed into the castle," I explained. "There were rumors of planned assassination attacks on the Shaper's Wing."

Marylea jolted upright. "Assassination attacks?" She touched her hands to her heart. "People want to kill me?"

"They're just rumors," I lied. The Shaper Wing was now a pile of glass debris and empty metal frames; Cassandra hadn't thought to fortify the windows. She hadn't thought the Shaper would be under attack.

"That's not true," Fabe cut in. "Have you seen the Shaper Wing lately? It's like someone swung a demolition ball into it over and over. It's bad."

I shot a glare at Fabe. "What?" he said.

Marylea scanned the room, her head darting left and right. When she noticed Keenan sitting by the fire, an open book cradled in his hands, raw pain shot through her eyes. Her eyes lowered, and she plucked at her quilt. Then she looked up again, her lips curled in amusement.

"So you carted my bed into the library?" she asked.

"Well, we had help," I said.

"That help is stationed outside those doors -" Fabe pointed at the shut mahogany double doors, "- to make sure no one storms us."

Marylea winced. "Have things been that bad?"

"People have been rioting all over Aragonia," Fabe said. "They say they will resort to violence if you're not arrested and banished. Along with the flood of assassination threats."

Marylea massaged her temples. "I don't blame them."

"Lea, none of this is your fault." A pained shiver ran through me as I recalled Tem flaking away into gold dust. It was a memory I'd been struggling to live with. I wanted to lock it away, but my heart couldn't bear it; it was my last memory of Tem. "So what did your mother say?" I asked.

Marylea relayed to us what her mother had said. We listened as if our lives depended on it, which it sort of did. I sat so still I found it hard to breathe. Marylea's entire body sagged with guilt. I wanted to reach out and tell her it was fine, except it wasn't. Nothing was fine as long as Tem was gone and Aragonia crumbling to pieces.

When Marylea was done, Keenan, who'd tried to remain as invisible as possible, shot up from his armchair and strode to the bookshelf on the south wall. He proceeded to scale the ladder to the top shelf with the agility of a spider monkey, up to where the rarest and least-touched books resided, and pulled out a wizen book. He tucked the leather-bound book under his arm and climbed back down. He sat on the couch opposing us and opened the tome.

"The Keeper resides in the core of the Realm," he read. "There she lives in solitude and peace. She is seldom disturbed, but when visitors arrive, they are sure to experience the wealth of her hospitality. Her abode is said to be a sanctuary for lost souls of the Realm."

Keenan's lean body sagged, silhouetted by the blazing fire. He hadn't slept for days, instead staying up poring over books to stop Aragonia's catastrophe. As a scholar, his failure to find what he sought exhausted him, sucked his lifeblood.

A torrent of goosebumps swept over my skin.

"Where exactly is the core of the Realm?" asked Fabe from the armchair by the fire.

"There's a map," said Keenan. He stood the book up on his lap so we could see. A colored map was spread across two pages. The ink was slightly faded, but still legible. "It seems to be south of the Kingdom of Killi."

"So we fly to the Keeper Core and ask her to reverse the refresh?" I asked. "How does that work?"

"My mother mentioned a poem," said Marylea, her arms wrapped around her legs. "Perhaps we could look for said poem?"

"I have never heard of a poem about a refreshing," said Keenan. "In fact, I've never heard of a refreshing." Things between Marylea and Keenan were icy to say the least, but at least they were still talking. I couldn't imagine what Marylea must be feeling at the moment. Did she ever share her bed with him? Keenan ought to be beaten if they did.

"The Keeper will tell us what to do, won't she?" asked Fabe.

"I suppose so," muttered Marylea.

The part of me that scrambled for some hope of Tem's return had now found something to cling to. A fire surged through me and I stood. "It's settled, then. Marylea and I are visiting the Keeper."

"I'm coming," said Fabe. "Tem's my friend too."

I smiled. I had a feeling he would say that.

"And me," said Keenan, snapping the Keeper tome shut. "You'll need someone who possesses knowledge of this Realm, outside of Aragonia."

That one I did not expect. On my right, Marylea wore a look of conflict inspired by Keenan's sudden involvement. She met my gaze, inhaled, and nodded lightly. "The more people the better, I guess."

I felt sympathy for her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bright, glorious hope that Tem might come back.

"We must hurry," said Keenan. "We cannot be certain there is no time limit."

I shivered. What would life be if Tem was gone forever? Cold. I would be forever cold.

Then I pictured him sitting next to me, a cheeky grin on his face. He spoke. "I'll come back. You know I will."

My daydream, however hopeful, brought warmth to my chilled bones. The effect of the crackling fire seemed to finally reach me. For the first time in days, I smiled.

"Let's go then," I said. "For Aragonia."

For Tem.