The Secret of Dreadwillow Carse Read Online Free

didn’t banish them. She knew there was only one thing to cure this sickness of curiosity. Just one sure tonic.
    Answers
.
    So, that morning, she’d thrown herself into the books. She’d climbed countless stairs, visiting each of Sorin Tower’s twenty floors to recover the dustiest, most ancient tomes the mammoth library held. She’d curled up in different corners, resting books on her raised knees, and struggled to translate forgotten languages she barely recognized. She’d pored over ancient scrolls so brittle and faded, she hadn’t dared sneeze and risk scattering them to dust. In everything she’d read thus far, in everything she’d learned, only one fact seemed to hold true.
    The Carse didn’t exist.
    Not officially, anyway. No history revealed its origin. No royal biography mentioned its significance. In all, Jeniah examined nearly eighty texts—some rumored to be as old as the land itself—and only three mentioned the Carse. Those three tomes told her what she already knew:
if any monarch enters Dreadwillow Carse, then the Monarchy will fall.
    Exhausted after hours of reading, Jeniah slumped over a table. She’d just closed her bleary eyes when a thunderous crack announced the opening of the library door. She looked up, startled. She’d asked the servants not to disturb her. So who would possibly . . . ?
    A short, round man with sickly pale skin bounded into the room. The princess blinked at the sight. The man wore ratty old furs tied to him with frayed bits of rope. Jeniah almost couldn’t see his face for the salt-and-pepper hair that engulfed his head. His bare feet were coated in an inch of oily black mud that squished with every step he took. A weathered leather glove covered most of his outstretched left forearm. A sleek falcon with feathers that matched the man’s hair color gripped the glove with shiny white talons.
    Was this . . . ? It couldn’t be.
    In her drive to learn all she could about the Carse, Jeniah had forgotten about the new tutor her mother had promised. And even if she had remembered to expect him, nothing could have prepared her to expect . . .
this
.
    The man, who had a distinct waddle when he walked, stopped next to Jeniah. A strong odor of lavender and sulfur hovered about him. He smiled broadly, revealing crooked teeth, one of which was framed with a thin strip of gold. “You must be Jeniah.”
    The princess’s eyes narrowed. Typically, anyone who approached her did so with a bow. Called her “Your Highness.” At the very least, referred to her as
Princess
Jeniah. She’d never really liked the formality. But its absence was peculiar.
    The man flicked his wrist. The falcon cawed, flew into the air, and perched atop the nearest bookcase. “I believe you’re expecting me.”
    No
, the princess thought.
No, I really wasn’t
. But she nodded hesitantly. “You’re my new tutor.”
    When the man squinted at this, his eyebrows swallowed his eyes. “If you like.”
    Jeniah started to wonder if an intruder had entered the castle. Her past teachers had worn the long, flowing robes of a scholar. They’d carried sacks full of books, assorted quills, and dioramas depicting key events in the history of the Monarchy. This man had nothing. Except his glove. And the bird.
    â€œI don’t believe,” she said, eyeing the falcon above, “that animals are allowed in the library.”
    â€œAnd why not?” the man demanded, scratching his thick beard. “Gerheart up there? He has as much right to learn as anyone.”
    â€œBut he can’t read.”
    â€œReading,” the man said, pulling up a chair, “is just
one
way of learning. For example, my name is Skonas. There, you learned something by hearing. True?”
    Jeniah found herself gripping the sides of her chair tightly. What sort of tutor was this? “My mother said you would teach me how to be