Chapter 16 #2
"The accounts of golden flowers are frustratingly vague," he said, settling across from her with his own cup. He set it on the table beside the chair and picked up the first book from the stack he’d created. "Most texts refer to them as theoretical. Legend rather than fact."
He opened it and flipped through the first few pages before finding what he was looking for.
He angled it so she could see the text, but the more she tried to focus, the more words seemed to swim in and out of focus.
She couldn’t tell if it was some sort of fae trick or her own exhaustion, but Arion seemed to pick up on her struggle and began to read aloud.
His voice had the same timbre as Eliam's but gentler.
The difference between river stones and cut glass.
"'The golden bloom appears in times of great need, when royal blood calls to royal blood…’ but you're not fae royalty." He frowned, turned a page. "Unless..."
Fae royalty? She might have laughed if she hadn’t felt so tired. Her eyes were so heavy and the chair was so comfortable. When had she last felt safe enough to be properly tired?
"'In cases of mixed essence, where mortal and fae intertwine beyond the normal bounds of marking...'" His voice was becoming distant. "Briar?"
She jerked awake. "I'm listening. Mixed essence."
A smile ghosted across his face. "Rest. The books will still be here."
"But the flowers—"
"Can wait an hour or two."
"I don't have time to waste." But even as she said it, her eyes were closing again. The sunlight was so warm and the chair so soft. And he was still reading, his voice a gentle constant that asked nothing of her except to exist.
She woke to dying fire in a hearth she hadn't noticed before, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, and Arion still reading.
"How long have I been sleeping?"
He looked up. "Two hours. You needed it."
"You let me sleep for two hours?" She sat up too fast, head spinning. "I can't—we need to—"
"You needed it," he repeated calmly. "Exhaustion wouldn't help us understand anything."
She stared at him. In Eliam's court, falling asleep during lessons would have meant... she didn't want to think what it would have meant. But here, Arion had simply covered her with a blanket and kept reading.
"Did you find anything?"
"Perhaps." He showed her a page covered in old script. "There are references to something called heart-flowers. Blooms that manifest from deep magic, usually royal or divine. But they require..." He hesitated.
"What?"
"A connection. A resonance between the grower and something greater. The texts are unclear, but they suggest the flowers appear when someone carries a fragment of power that seeks reunion."
Fragment. Power. Reunion.
Her chest warmed, just slightly. That strange heat that wasn't the mark.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I. Yet." He closed the book gently. "But we'll figure it out. You have my word."
"Why?" The question escaped before she could stop it. "Why are you helping me? Ferria's right—I'm dangerous to your entire court. When Eliam comes—"
"You saved yourself." His voice was quiet but firm. "The flowers bloomed for you, not him. That means something. And I think..." He paused, something uncertain flickering across his features. "I think I'm supposed to help you. Don't ask me why. I just... know."
She wanted to ask more, but exhaustion was pulling at her again. The mark on her arm pulsed once, still strangely quiet. Still waiting.
Two nights left.
But for now, in this sunlit library with its kind lord and impossible safety, she let herself believe they might find answers.
Let herself believe she might be more than just marked property.
Let herself rest in the fiction that somewhere, somehow, there was a place where bread was just bread and tea was just tea and falling asleep meant blankets, not punishment.
The afternoon wore on in quiet research. Arion had moved to the floor at some point, surrounded by open books. Briar curled deeper into her chair, fighting sleep and losing as she tried to parse ancient texts that seemed determined to speak in circles.
"'The golden bloom of hearth and home,'" she read aloud, squinting at faded text. "'Shall rise when stone remembers foam.' What does that even mean?"
"Poetry," Arion muttered from his pile. "The older fae loved their riddles. As if clarity would somehow diminish the magic."
She turned another page, finding only more cryptic verses. The sunlight had shifted from gold to amber, afternoon becoming evening without fanfare. Her second day was bleeding away moment by moment.
They'd been in the library all day. Book after book, reference after reference, and nothing.
Every text that mentioned golden flowers spoke in riddles or dismissed them as myth.
The few that treated them as real demanded royal blood, divine blessing, or ancient pacts that didn't match her situation.
Briar rubbed her eyes, frustration building in her chest. "This is useless. We're not going to find anything."
"Perhaps not today." Arion closed the tome he'd been reading, dust motes dancing in the dying light. "Come on."
"Where? Another archive? Some secret collection?"
"You need air."
She blinked. "Air?"
"Fresh air. Sky. Something besides old paper and older words." He stood, extending a hand. "Trust me?"
Strange question from a fae. Stranger still that she found herself answering, "Yes."
He led her up stairs she hadn't seen before. These spiraled tighter, climbed higher, until her legs burned and her breath came short. When she stumbled on a particularly steep step, he offered his arm without comment.
She took it. First voluntary touch since he'd pulled her from the water. His arm was solid, warm through the fabric. Real in a way that made her chest tight.
"Eliam prefers the dark and the depths," he said as they climbed. "I've always preferred heights."
"Why?"
"Closer to the sky. Harder to trap." He glanced at her. "Sometimes the only freedom is up."
The stairs ended at a door that opened onto wonder.
The room was circular, exposed to the night sky through windowless archways. Magic hummed in the air, keeping warmth in and weather out. Telescopes pointed skyward, star charts covered the walls. But Briar couldn't look at any of it because—
Stars.
Thousands. Millions. A river of light across the darkness so bright it hurt. When had she last seen stars? When had she last seen the sky without branches or walls or fear in the way?
Overwhelming grief crashed through her as she stared at the vast expanse. Her voice cracked. "I thought I'd never..."
And then she was crying. Not the careful, quiet tears she'd learned to master in Eliam's court. Ugly sobs that shook her shoulders and made her ribs ache. Days of terror and confusion and loss pouring out under the vast, uncaring, beautiful sky.
"I'm sorry, I…"
"Don't apologize for feeling." Arion's voice was quiet. He didn't move closer, didn't try to comfort her. Just existed nearby, solid and patient as stone.
She sank to the floor, face in her hands, and let it all out. The thorns. The darkness. The water. The fear that lived in her bones now, constant as a heartbeat.
When the sobs finally quieted to hiccups, he spoke again, his voice soft and careful.
"That's the Hunter's Heart. See the red star?"
She looked up and wiped her face, then found where he pointed.
"They say he was mortal once. Loved someone above his station. The gods set him in the sky as a warning or reward, depending on who tells it." He traced the constellation with one finger. "But he kept his heart, still red, still beating, still his."
"Do you believe that?"
"I believe in choosing what stories we tell ourselves." He pointed to another cluster. "That's the Swan's Flight. And there, the Sword of Sorrows."
She drew her knees up, watching him paint stories across the sky. Her breathing steadied as the tears dried. Still he talked, his voice gentle and expecting nothing.
"How did you end up here?" she asked when he paused. "Leading a court?"
"Ah." He leaned against one of the archways. "Not by choice, initially. I woke here with no memory of before. Just forest and confused fae asking for guidance I didn't know how to give."
"Woke?"
"Ferria and Halian found me in a grove, unconscious and surrounded by the same golden flowers that we’ve been trying to find answers to, the kind that only bloom at royal command.
" A rueful smile crossed his face. "I had no memory, no name, nothing but the flowers insisting I was someone important. I've been improvising ever since."
"You just appeared? From nowhere?"
"Sprouted from soil, you might say. Fitting for a fae lord, I suppose." He shrugged. "The court formed around me. Those fleeing the deeper forest started arriving within days, drawn by... something. They said I felt safe. Like sanctuary."
She thought of Eliam's cruel games and cold beauty. His absolute control. "Must have been terrifying. Waking to all that responsibility."
"Terrifying. Bewildering. But also..." He searched for words. "It felt right. Like I was meant to be here, even if I couldn't remember why. Sometimes I wonder if I was someone else before. If someone or something took those memories as punishment. Or protection."
The warmth in her chest pulsed gently, almost sympathetically.
"Do you want to remember?" she asked.
He was quiet for a long moment. "I'm not sure. What if I was someone terrible? What if forgetting was a kindness?"
"I can't imagine you being terrible."
"Can't you?" His smile was sad. "I have power I don't fully understand. Sometimes I dream of forests darker than mine, of thorns and frozen halls."
The description sent an odd chill through her, it sounded too much like the world she'd just escaped. But many fae lords probably ruled over dark forests. It didn't mean anything.
"Maybe some things are better left forgotten," she said quietly.