by Ron C. Nieto
“This is Middle English,” she said, after wrestling the meaning from a couple of sentences. “Not just outdated English, but a whole different thing.”
“Is it? I believe the evolution toward the Great Vowel Shift is clear enough for you to understand it with but a little effort,” he said, amused at his own prank.
Lily tried to read again.
It was like deciphering written Yorkshire dialect, but worse.
The headache she would have if she kept it up was a monstrous, almost living thing . . . but the Librarian was right. She did understand the gist of it, if only barely.
“I could figure it out,” she said, half amazed she could. “It would take a lot of time, but I could.”
“Oh, I would not worry about that, Herald. Time does not run past the fay Courts, and I believe you shall remain with us for the foreseeable future.”
The book fell from Lily’s limp grasp, and she fumbled to catch it, earning a disapproving glance from the Librarian. “I can’t stay here,” she blurted.
“Things to do?”
“Yes.”
“More important than counseling a Queen?”
“I—What?”
“The Horn, Herald,” he said, staring at her as if she were daft. “You did bring it to us, did you not?”
“Yes. Yes, I did, but that’s all. My role is over.” She clutched the book so tight, the binding groaned.
“Your role, Herald, has just begun.” The Librarian drifted around the bookcase and picked a case of parchments. “Here. When you are finished with the omens, you might want to attempt to read this. It might offer some insight into your current role.”
Leaving the blue book on the table, Lily took the proffered case and peered inside. The parchment had been perfectly conserved, the ink still vibrant on the creamy surface, but there was an almost tangible quality of age surrounding each sheet.
She frowned at the words behind the elaborate calligraphy, trying to decipher them.
She couldn’t.
“Is it Old English?” If it was, she was done for. It was an entirely different language, and the word “English” was the only point in common between the Old and Modern versions.
“No,” said the Librarian. However, her breath of relief was short-lived. “It is Late Saxon.”
“There’s no way I can understand that,” she said, deflated.
The Librarian put the case back in its place. “A pity. It was an enlightening approach to King Herla’s appointment of heralds.”
“King Herla. That’s the King who leads the Wild Hunt, isn’t it?” Lily went for the case, despite knowing she wouldn’t be able to understand a word.
“Yes.” The Librarian stopped her by placing yet another tome in her hands. “The Wild King, as he has been called since. Among other names, of course.” He tapped the plain cover of the book she held. “That manuscript might explain a few basic concepts about such matters.”
Lily opened the book to the title page. On the subject of names, it said. No author listed.
“I can’t believe there’s a book about this.”
“An inaccurate one,” the Librarian pointed out. “It should be enough to establish a foundation at least, even when the advanced theories it presents are very much out there.”
“Why would you give it to me?”
“I do no such thing. The books—all of them—belong to the library. You may not claim ownership nor retire them from this hall.”
Is that the trick? She considered his words, and her own, before speaking. “But I can come and read them whenever I want,” she said.
“Yes, you may.”
“Why?” When the sidhe just stared at her, again making clear how retarded he believed her, she elaborated. “Why would you give me access to this much knowledge? Why would you go as far as to pick the most useful titles for me?”
“Because such is the purpose of a library,” he replied, speaking slowly as if to a child while putting yet another book in her hands. “And such is the purpose of a librarian.”
Lily glanced at the new book. This one was printed, and while old, didn’t seem to be as fragile as the other ones. Legends of Scotland, the cover said. A guide to myth and folklore.
“That one is absolute superstition,” the Librarian warned when she opened it to peek at the index. “But you will find mortal superstition drinks from a well of truth.” He glanced over her shoulder and she followed his eyes. Troy stood there, in a pool of shadows, shoulder against a marble column, no books in his hands to disguise his interest in them. He waited unapologetically to see what would happen next, his features alight with curiosity and mischief. Lily darted a quick look back at the book in her hands, and of course there it was. The entry she had been unconsciously searching for.
Kelpie.
C H A P T E R XIV
Troy came to her when the lights dwindled throughout the library. He had never left the hall, but he had given her space, just as the Librarian had. Undisturbed, Lily had read for what felt like hours—it was easy to lose track of time where it didn’t matter—and had managed to discover a few interesting tidbits about kelpies. She had also made a little headway into the book on omens, but she had paid the price for that. It was hard to shift through the old-fashioned sentences, mangling the Middle English until it sounded like the Modern version, and then making sense of the truth below the author’s imagination.
However, it also felt right, as if poring over books was what she was meant to be doing. Her head pounded and her eyes were bleary, but still she resented Troy when he put his hands on her shoulders.
“The library has been here since Her Majesty founded the Winter Court,” he said, his thumbs rubbing circles on the base of her neck. “It will stand until after the council meets. You and I, on the other hand, may not be so lucky if our lack of preparation leads to a displeased Queen.”
Lily marked her reading spot with a finger. “Can we stay a few more minutes? These books are unique and I might not get another chance to read them, after all.”
“You shall have access to them for as long as you stay here,” he said, prying the book free and closing it before pulling her chair back. “The ball finished at the same time as your conversation with Her Majesty. The courtiers have had time to rest and refresh themselves. They shall meet soon, and you should be better served facing the Council with awoken eyes and a fresh mind,” he continued, guiding her back to the corridors.
“You know we can’t stay here for long. We’ll have to leave for Grandma as soon as possible, and perhaps we’ll be able to get away right after the meeting.”
Troy hesitated a fraction of a moment, his relaxed front wavering.
“If the Doctor did not succumb to the omens of death when she was taken from her home, she must be in fay lands, well beyond the touch of the river of time. The maneuver was orchestrated by the courts, that much we know, and they never play far from home. We should not dawdle, but time should not be a dire issue either. Not anymore.”
Of course it was the truth. Troy couldn’t lie. If he hadn’t hesitated, weighting his words, Lily would have been appeased. However, she was only too aware of the fact he had reassured her without addressing her comment.
“Troy?” she asked, stopping her reluctant march back to her quarters and twisting around to face him. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Many a thing.” The infuriating smirk that meant he was in a playful mood and about to be difficult pulled at his lips and reached his eyes.
“Troy.” Lily settled her hand on his chest to avoid pulling out her hair. I can be difficult, too. “You know what I meant.”
“I do.” This time, the rigidness of his body lasted only a heartbeat before he reacted, covering both her hands with one of his own. The fingers of his free hand cupped the back of her neck, keeping her close. “As I have told you before, it is the wording that matters, not the meaning.” His fingers tunneled into her hair and a rivulet of cool water slid
down Lily’s spine, causing her to shiver. When he felt it, his smirk stretched to a predatory grin and he added, “Also, you can hardly begrudge me my teasing while you indulge in your own game.”
“I’m not playing,” Liar, liar, pants on fire . . . “It’s just that I’ve figured out you don’t mind to be touched after all.”
Troy’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side, causing Lily to flounder for focus because all of a sudden, his face was too open, too close, and not safe at all.
“Is that so,” he said after watching her squirming for long, painful seconds. “A moment ago you seemed convinced of my distaste for such a thing.”
“I was. You always froze up when I came too close without clear reason, what else was I supposed to think?” As if to prove her point, she took a half step closer, all the while knowing she was biting off more than she could chew but unable to back off. “But then you didn’t tell me I was right, and you brought me here instead. I’ve been reading up on lore about you, and I think I understand now. I believe you don’t mind this at all.”
“Tell me then. What do you understand, Lily?”
Her pulse stuttered with fear he would use her True Name, but he didn’t. He only called her “Lily,” the syllables falling off his lips like honey, sweet and equally sinful.
“The folklore is all wrong,” she began. “There are legends of the trickster faerie all over Scotland, and not one of them is correct. Some tales would have us believe your horse form means you’re a shape-shifter who can appear as any sort of creature, others talk about dogs instead, and there’s even the notorious case of the kelpie who looks like a water serpent and has his hideout in Loch Ness. However, there is one thing every story agrees on. When a kelpie hunts, humans don’t even know it. He doesn’t stalk and hound his prey because he doesn’t have to. Instead, he entices and offers, and mortals are always too curious and too foolish to pass up the bait.” She swallowed and tried to read his expression.
Nothing at all.
“They always fall for his tricks, and they always touch him,” she continued, flexing her fingers over the fine wet fabric of his shirt to highlight her point. “And when they do, they always die because no rider can ever fall from a kelpie. That’s what I discovered.” She halted again. This theory had appeared a great idea while ensconced in the library, but now that she couldn’t gauge his reaction, now that his expressions were shuttered from her except for that slight tilt of curiosity and that smirk that had softened just enough to not be devilish, it was hard to push on. Perhaps there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes. Not breathless expectation, but . . . it will do. It must. At least, it tells me this isn’t just chattering for him. He wants to know what I’ve understood.
She pushed on.
“What I understand,” she said, “is that you’re not disgusted by touch. You’re surprised because you’re used to having to trick mortals into physical contact. The fact they might initiate it of their own free will? It puzzles you.” Troy finally reacted, his eyes widening, his features going soft with surprise, and that was enough to embolden Lily. “Also, mortals who touch you don’t survive the experience. However, I keep surviving, and that’s disconcerting. If there’s anything you dislike about this,” she glanced down at her hands trapped against his chest, at the tiny distance between them, “it’s being surprised and disconcerted, not being touched.”
Troy stood motionless and Lily waited for him to end the tableau, to react to her speech. In her mind, she expected him to grin and play down her theory, and while the pieces had fallen neatly into place when she thought about kelpies in the abstract, now that the words had been spoken and applied to him she felt foolish.
How’s he going to be intrigued or feel curious about me? He’s immortal; he has met more interesting people. And why would he be interested in any human, however interesting? He’s not human.
He’s not even human.
Looking away, she tried to step back, but he held her in place.
“I dislike being surprised and despise being disconcerted,” he admitted in a low murmur, sliding his hand from her nape to cup her cheek and tilting her head so she met his eyes again. “I am also quite fascinated by puzzles.”
And the way he said it, the way he looked at her right then, it made her feel like she was the best mystery on Earth.
“There’s not much to me.” She forced the words out, heedless of how much she craved that rapt attention. “What you see is what you get, I suppose.”
Troy blinked, laughed, and stepped back from her, breaking the moment.
“But that is the puzzle, Lily,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “I see you, and I do not understand how someone like you could exist.”
“What do you see?” She needed to know.
Troy smirked and resumed his walk, forcing Lily to scramble to catch up.
“Wait!” she called, remembering the starting point of their conversation through the haze in her mind. “You still haven’t told me anything about the council.”
“You have not asked.” Troy shrugged and Lily could hear the amusement in his tone. Whatever that intense moment had been about, he was done with it for the time being.
Back to being playful and to playing his twenty-question game.
“I learned something about you,” she said, approaching the subject from a different angle. “I understood it without being told. Since I know you understood me as well, you could give me a break, right?”
“No rule says a moment of enlightenment is enough to override a previous mistake.”
“Troy, come on!”
He turned back and stared at her. “How precisely shall you cajole the Unseelie Queen when your words entrap you and bind you to her?”
“You aren’t her.”
“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back into place. “I do not play like she does, and I do not have the many-threaded plans her courtiers do. This truth does not change the fact I am the only one you can trust not to use a misstep to enslave you, and you need practice if you are to survive. Practice and luck.”
And now what seemed a normal demand on my part feels like I threw a temper tantrum. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I see your point. You’re right, as usual.”
“Come.” With a sigh, Troy grasped her fingers and gave them a light squeeze before settling her hand on the crook of his elbow. They walked a few paces in silence before he spoke again. “As for the question you meant,” he said, “you already know the answer. We shall spend a while here, I believe, because no Court makes decisions lightly.”
“What is there to decide? How do you know there’s even a decision to make?”
“The Queen has called for her council,” Troy said. “You know this, for she has invited you to participate.”
“But that’s a formality. Isn’t it?”
“A council is not a ceremonial meeting.” Troy gave her an amused smile. “A council is meant to counsel. And why would you seek counsel, if not to ensure you make the wisest decision?”
Lily’s lips formed a small “oh” of surprise, and then she stifled a groan. “I really need to read that book about names.”
Nodding, Troy stopped and opened a door. It led to her guest quarters.
“Of course you do,” he agreed. “After the council.”
C H A P T E R XV
Troy didn’t attempt to stay and Lily didn’t ask him to. He just wished her a good night from the door and left, leaving Lily tired but too excited to rest.
Once, when they had met, he had been unaffected by loaded comments or actions carrying any sort of innuendo, and it had made Lily wonder whether he felt more in tune with his horse shape. That doubt had dissipated.
He still doesn’t react, not in a way a man would, but I’ve got his interest.
Interest was much more than she had ever dared to hope for back when she had awakened in the clearing, after Marast’s chase. It was good news.
Why do
esn’t it feel like such good news then? This isn’t giddiness. Giddiness doesn’t tie your insides in knots.
If there were any butterflies fluttering in her stomach, they were the Unseelie Queen’s—metallic, with razor-sharp wings.
No matter. Better that he doesn’t react like a human. Besides, I don’t think he feels that kind of interest anyway.
But she needed it to be exactly that kind of interest, and that was a problem.
Sighing, she discarded her slippers and padded to the bed. Of course, if she thought like a faerie, Troy was right. She did know the answers to her question, since she had been invited by the Queen and she was, after all, the Herald. Whatever the decision about to be taken was, she would be required to speak. And she would have to do so in front of Troy, of Marast, of the Queen, and of whomever else the Queen had chosen to invite. As the first mortal to step into the Unseelie Court in God knew how long, they would all be salivating about acquiring a new game piece.
The Council sounded more and more like a deadly trap.
They won’t harm me until they figure me out, so everything should be fine as long as I keep them on their toes. Lily sat heavily and buried her face in her hands. Yeah, right. Immortal, inhuman royalty . . . and I want to outplay them?
At best, all she could hope for was not to make a fool of herself, and she hadn’t read enough while in the library to pull it off.
And I was too busy reading about Troy to bother with a book on protocol. I must ask the Librarian about it the next time, though. But for that, first the Council must be over. She leaned back and something caught her attention at the foot of the bed.
Her battered knapsack.
She grabbed it. The Horn that had landed her in a heap of trouble was there, and so was the symbol of what she fought for. Her grandmother’s notebook.
Her grandmother, who had dated a Seelie courtier.
Her grandmother, the Faerie Doctor.
Scrambling to her knees, she reached for it. The traveling and the mud had added some wear to it, but the pages were still readable. And she had a few hours of privacy ahead.
