Ether-Touched (The Breaking Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by L. M. Coulson

  “I’m not trespassing, am I?” the prince asked, cocking his head slightly to the side, examining her with clear, sapphire eyes. “You haven’t come to throw me out?”

  The statement was so ridiculous—her, throw the prince out of his own library?—that for a moment she could only gape at him. “What . . . no, of course not,” she said finally. “Not even the head lorist has that authority.”

  “Good to know,” the prince noted with an impish grin. He swiveled in his seat so he could more comfortably address her, hanging one elbow over the back of the chair. “You wouldn’t happen to know of a good economics book, would you?”

  The question was so normal, so close to Flinx’s day-to-day work at the Office of Inquiry, that she automatically blurted out, “Several. But it depends on what exactly you’re hoping to learn.”

  The prince’s smile widened. He rose to his feet, snatching from the table a red-bound tome, and turned, holding it out to her. “I could barely make it through the introduction. Something less . . . Estryn, maybe?”

  Flinx eyed the proffered book, feeling awkward. They were not standing close, but because no one was around, and the light from their combined lamps was barely enough to illuminate the alcove, the moment felt oddly intimate. Flinx wasn’t shy but she felt out of place near this man, who carried a name known throughout the world. And who was she? A no-one librarian raised in the slums of Saensre, who couldn’t even earn for herself a proper place in the only real home she’d ever had.

  Flinx stepped forward, stretching out to accept the tome. She flipped it over, scanning the title. Surprised, she lifted her gaze back to the prince. “You can read Estryn?”

  “Not well enough, evidently,” he replied, leaning back against the table, hands curled over the edge—the epitome of relaxed confidence.

  A tentative smile curled up Flinx’s cheek. “Well. Are you looking for a basic overview? Microeconomics? Macro? Theory? Real-world examples?”

  The prince’s grin faded into something more somber and focused. “All of that. And more, besides. I need . . . I’m looking for . . .” His eyes found hers again.

  There was a disarming weight to his gaze, as if he searched for an answer not in one of the many books littered around the room, but in her. And yet there was hesitation, too, in the deliberate way he spoke, as if pained to say anything at all.

  “Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head. He gave her a wry grin. “It is hard to explain aloud. To someone I don’t know.”

  Flinx felt her face grow hot. “I understand. I will leave you to your—”

  “No, wait,” the prince said, straightening and holding out a hand, palm toward her. “I didn’t mean your presence was unwelcome. Quite the opposite. I just . . .” He swallowed. “I need assistance. But I’m not in the habit of asking for it.”

  Flinx eyed him, unsure what to say. He still carried that haunted look, but it was more muted now, tempered by a private resignation she couldn’t quite decipher.

  It seemed the prince was just as uneasy as she was, though perhaps for a different reason. Flinx took a steadying breath. Managed a small smile. “Well, you’re in the right place,” she replied. “We librarians are always ready to assist.”

  Deciding to be bold for once in her life, she shifted the economics book under one arm and strode forward, holding out her free hand to the prince. “I’m Librarian Atremidora Flinx. Though I prefer people just call me Flinx.”

  The tension in the prince’s face eased. “Right. Alaric Thorne.” His hand closed around hers, his fingers warm and surprisingly calloused. “Well met, Flinx.”

  This close, Flinx noted that the prince was a head taller than her, with broad shoulders and the lean look of someone who cared enough about physical sport to participate—but no more than that. He was certainly more narrow than his brother, but held himself with an elegance she hadn’t remembered Prince Eyren possessing.

  Flinx cleared her throat, taking a step back. “What kind of assistance do you require, Your Highness?”

  “Alaric,” the prince corrected. “Just Alaric.”

  Flinx’s face went hot. “Alaric,” she repeated slowly. It was absolutely surreal, this moment. Like some sort of strange dream.

  The prince gave her a charming smile. “I suppose the aid I require is navigational. Seeing as the cataloging system you have in place here makes utterly no sense. Why in the blackened Ether are your economics books mixed between tomes of Estryn folklore?”

  “Because they’re often one and the same,” Flinx said, quickly recovering. “We Estryns are a merchant people. All our great heroes were in some way economists.”

  Flinx had assisted all kinds of people: beggars, elderly socialites, even a goddess-damned Shadowheart. But she’d never expected to help a prince. That was the reserved privilege of a lorist.

  The thought sent a bolt of defiance up her spine. She squared her shoulders. So what if she wasn’t an official lorist? She’d written a thesis. She knew the library better than anyone. They might not have given her the title, but by the Three she deserved the chance to do the work.

  She licked her lips to moisten them. “What are you looking for, in particular?”

  The prince shifted his weight. “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted, his voice low and thoughtful. “I am . . . not permitted much transparency in the palace. Knowledge is carefully curated. And I am only beginning to realize the damage this has had on my intellectual growth.”

  Flinx was silent, absorbing Alaric’s words. She’d never given much thought to the education of Enserion’s crown prince. But thinking about it now, she—wrongly, she supposed—had assumed he’d been afforded every advantage his royal upbringing offered.

  “I find it . . . difficult . . . to assert myself while so disadvantaged,” he continued, weariness beginning to show at the corners of his eyes. “I know what I would like to do, but lack the hard knowledge required to support my decisions.”

  “Well,” Flinx said, striding past the prince to place her lamp on the table, “what is your ultimate goal? What would you like to do?”

  The prince turned so he could face her across the desk. He was quiet again, either thinking or searching for the right words, his eyes dim and far away.

  “I want the ability to successfully fight for the kingdom Enserion deserves to be,” he answered finally. “I want to stop the slow decay started by my great-grandfather, and be the leader my kingdom deserves.”

  The prince ran a hand through the wave of his shoulder-length hair, clearly agitated. “There’s so much that I need to know. Not just the day-to-day practicalities of leadership, but strange, obscure things. Like why one nobleman speaks to another in a particular manner. How servants get from one side of the castle grounds to the other in the middle of a storm without getting wet. What impact an influx of foreign imports might have on the Enserionite economy.”

  Flinx’s brow wrinkled. “I’m no expert on court intrigue,” she warned. “But I do know that many historic squabbles between members of the nobility can be traced to specific, factual reasons. The amount of rainfall in a year, for example, being a surprising clue due to its impact on things like food production. And disparities in food supply can lead to cross-province tensions.”

  “See?” the prince said, grinning at her. “This is what I need. I need to learn things like that. All of it.”

  Flinx raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t expect to learn everything.”

  She was half-teasing, but the prince still shook his head. “How I wish that were possible. But no; it will suffice to start with imperatives.” The prince’s gaze sharpened again, turning inquisitive. “You librarians take commissions for research, but what about commissions for tutoring?”

  Flinx’s lips parted slightly as her heartbeat accelerated. “You want me to tutor you? On how to be an effective king?” Surely he was jesting. “You don’t even know me. I could be complete rubbish. I might’ve come to the library just to keep a meal in my
belly and not care one whit about books.”

  “But you do,” the prince replied, his clever eyes glittering in the flickering lamplight. His tone was confident—cocky, even. But also warm. Benevolent. She didn’t know what to make of it.

  His gaze skipped up to Flinx’s brow. “And I don’t only say that because of the golden crown you bear. I have my own talent, you know—as abysmally useless as it can be. This, for once, is not one of those times.”

  Flinx felt her mouth go dry. She knew as well as anyone the Knack bestowed upon Enserion’s prince—he had the ability to sense if an action would result in a desired outcome. A Knack for betting, people called it, usually followed by a few derogatory words about the prince’s character.

  But he’s not a fool, or careless, or blind, is he? No; for as brief a time as she’d spoken to him, he’d never come across as any of those things. Naive, maybe. Perhaps a little lost. But not a fool.

  And if his Mark had led him here, to this alcove . . .

  No. It was too ridiculous. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought.

  “Whatever you want, it’s yours,” the prince said, tapping a knuckle on the polished tabletop. “Name your price.”

  What I want, no amount of lynd can buy.

  Flinx glanced away. Despite the overwhelming temptation, she knew she couldn’t do this. She was supposed to be finishing Vylaena’s research. And then, perhaps, leaving for the safety of Saensre. Even if she wanted to tutor the prince—and by the Three, she desperately wanted to be important enough to deserve such a position—she had neither the capacity nor the privilege. None of the lorists would stand to have a mere librarian assisting the Crown Prince of Enserion.

  “I cannot. Teach you, I mean. I’m sorry.”

  The prince blinked. “You seem perfectly capable to me.”

  Flinx looked up, giving the man a strained smile. “Thank you. But I am only a librarian. I have other duties that I cannot push aside, not to mention centuries of protocol. You’re asking for assistance I have no real power to give, as much as I’d like to help.”

  The prince merely continued to stare at her, his eyes shadowed. Perhaps he wasn’t used to being turned down.

  “But I . . . I can get you started with a few books,” Flinx offered. “And I can refer you to a real lorist for the rest.”

  The prince’s expression was muddled by the shifting light. Flinx grew hot beneath his gaze. She didn’t know what to say. You just defied a prince’s request, she scolded herself. Good luck ever becoming a lorist in Enserion now.

  “But it has to be you,” the prince murmured, so quiet that Flinx wondered if he’d meant to say it at all.

  The heat in Flinx’s cheeks intensified. She shifted her weight. “Will you take the books or not?” she asked, a little rougher than she meant.

  The prince visibly withdrew, taking a half step away from the table. Away from her. And though he still held her gaze, his expression had hardened into something so generic and detached—so unlike the man who’d stood before her and seared her cheeks with raw interest—that she actually regretted the loss.

  “I will accept any help you can offer,” the prince answered, and Flinx was relieved that his voice still retained the same charming mix of warmhearted surety as before. He was disappointed, but he was trying to be a gentleman about it. And she was grateful for that.

  Flinx retrieved her lamp and motioned for the prince to follow.

  She led him across the library in silence, gathering books as she went. It took longer than it should have. Though she’d memorized the main reference sections of the library years ago and could have probably navigated the shelves without the aid of the oil lamp, Flinx was distracted by the man following at her heels. His footsteps made an uneven rhythm against her own, constantly reminding her of his presence.

  She wasn’t certain if it was his own innate charisma or whether his fame and position made it impossible for her to see him as an ordinary man. Every time she stopped to scan a shelf and pull a tome from its place, she couldn’t help but glance at the prince, trying to figure it out. Something about him compelled her, like the smell of fresh parchment or the thrill of finding a new citation for her latest paper. It wasn’t that he was extraordinarily handsome—though to be fair, he did have a rather striking face—or that he seemed to be the opposite of everything people said about him. It wasn’t even that he’d sought her out at the prodding of his Knack, as flattering and strange and unsettling as that was.

  No; it was something else. Something deeper than that. Something unidentified in the primal layers of her soul, now torn raw. And it was bleeding, bleeding, becoming impossible to ignore, as it soaked into her bones and crept through her mind and shook her whenever her thoughts threatened to dart aside.

  And then, she understood.

  It was recognition.

  The prince had not seen her as some no-one librarian raised in the slums of Saensre. He’d not appeared to care that she wasn’t a lorist. And he’d asked for her opinion—her expertise—and had thought of her as the most capable of providing it.

  Who else had given her that kind of respect? She couldn’t think of one, besides perhaps Kashvi, who was so much like a father to Flinx that he couldn’t possibly be counted. And wasn’t that what she’d always wanted? To be seen as a leader in her field—to be seen as intelligent and capable and valuable, not just by her immediate peers, but by complete strangers, too? Or in this case, a friendly, goddess-Marked prince.

  Flinx had found the three tomes she wanted. She stopped, turned to her royal shadow, and offered him each in turn.

  “Scurron’s Comprehensive Guide to Basic Economics,” she said. “It’s old, but there’s a reason it’s on the cathedral’s top reading list.

  “How to Identify a Liar. Some psychology. With a touch of politics. It’s fascinating. It’ll really force you to think, and to see connections between seemingly unrelated events.

  “And lastly, A Homemaker’s Companion. Lorist Rynley would likely slap me if he found out I gave it to you—it’s meant as a home-running guide for wealthy housewives. But there are many parallels between running a homestead and a kingdom. To different scales, yes, but the practicalities can be applied in both situations. If you found it completely useless, I’d be quite surprised.”

  Prince Alaric took the tomes with quiet reverence, tucking them beneath his arm. “I suppose if the kingdom-running goes sour, I could always fall back on my dreams of becoming a housewife,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching. “The Council would probably love that idea, actually.”

  Flinx gave him a tentative smile. “I can make sure that one of the lorists—”

  “No need,” the prince cut in. “This will be satisfactory. Thank you.”

  “But if you—”

  “None of the lorists, no matter how highly you may recommend them, can possibly aid me,” the prince said quietly. “There is no need to bother them.”

  It has to be you.

  Flinx felt a thread of indignant anger twist in her stomach. “I am sorry to let you down,” she said. “But I cannot abandon the others who I’ve agreed to help, even if—”

  “And I do not expect you to,” the prince replied, shaking his head. His eyes were weary again, shadowed in the hollows beneath his brows. “I would never ask for you to shirk your duties just to accommodate me.”

  Flinx wasn’t sure how to reply. A courtier—no, more than that, a prince—who didn’t demand compliance? The man was an enigma.

  She wasn’t sorry for standing her ground, but she certainly knew how hard it was to expect something with all certainty, only to have her hopes dashed. “If you change your mind about the lorists, all you have to do is ask,” she offered. “I could have one sent to you at your convenience.”

  The prince inclined his head. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  And suddenly, there was nothing left to say. Flinx turned, leading the prince back to the library doors, through t
he empty corridors, and back to the palace-facing library entrance. The two of them stood at the threshold for a long moment, letting the warm night air caress their faces, neither of them in a great hurry to leave. But eventually the prince nodded to Flinx, breathed a quiet goodnight, and retreated down the front steps.

  Flinx watched him go, until he was lost to the darkness of the grounds, and then watched the space where he’d disappeared for a few minutes longer.

  He was an odd one, that prince. Or no, that wasn’t quite fair. He’d simply not been what she’d expected. Princes were supposed to be haughty and cold and demanding. This one had been warm and gentle and empathetic. And he’d shared such lofty goals with her that she couldn’t help but smile at the memory. With time, and with some work on his part, he might actually become a decent king one day.

  Hmm. That might even be worth sticking around Enserion to see.

  Flinx turned, allowed the bronze door to fall closed behind her, and headed back to the library.

  19 | The Hunt

  There was darkness, and then . . . a sea of faces. Each blank-eyed, dull, broken—all sentience removed. And the glint of silver, over and over, like a sea of stars, blinking a warning in the darkness. Not the silver at their brows, which was faded and long-cold, but the silver at their hearts: alive, eager, cruel. Forged of hate and desperation and a sliver of abandoned soul.

  ✽✽✽

  Vylaena woke an hour before dawn. She lay in bed for a long time, calming her agitated breath, trying to ignore the remnants of the dream that still clung to her. If she’d still been Marked, she might’ve thought the dream a vision, and those people . . .

  No.

  She pushed herself out of bed and reached to the side table to light the oil lamp. She couldn’t possibly be dreaming of the lost ether-touched. It was just Ikna being pushy again. Reminding her of the boon she wished of her mortal pawn.