She pushed the door aside, peeking her head in. The room was quiet, he wasn’t there. She stepped out from behind the bookcase at the top of the small set of steps. Stepping down one, two, three her footfalls seem cacophonous on the stone floor. Wincing, she looked around to be certain she was alone.
He never let them in here, his sanctum. All around were shelves and shelves of books, arranged neatly. She crossed to his chair which was tall and simply shaped. The wood was ornately carved with intricate runes and sweeping curved panels on the side. As she carefully clambered herself up into it, she ran her fingers along the stone top of his desk. Books and instruments that she did not understand were arranged, allowing for space to work in the center. A candle was set to one side, though in the dim space, it seemed to almost be an afterthought.
A few bottles of inks were present, along with a very simple quill. A tool quite different than her mother’s. This was utilitarian; no beautiful plume on its end. A well made brass tip and wooden handle. She reached out for the scroll on his desk, wondering what it might be.
“Kalimè Silverthorn,” his voice boomed behind her. “What are you doing in here?” The look on his face left her blood cold. He stood between herself and the steps, leaving her no room to simply leave.
“I’m sorry, An’da. I just wanted to see…” Her ear drooped as the child crawled down from her father’s chair.
“Sel’de. You know better,” Kalithil replied, crossing his arms. “You know you are not allowed to enter this room. To bed! Go!” Her small feet hurried past him as she scurried from the room. “You could undo everything,” he whispered, lifting the scroll. Unrolling it, his notes on his most recent chronomancy attempts. “You could undo it all, Sel’de.”