Chapter Four #2
He would make a point of studying all of this further. For now, he leaned more solidly against Robin’s chest. The pressure of the human’s hands, unfamiliar though it was, soothed more than Zyr might have expected.
Pleasant?
No. That wasn’t the quite the right word. These circumstances didn’t leave room for pleasant. But … remarkable. Yes.
Remarkable that he would rather bow his head in darkness and listen to this human speak of wheels than return to the other room and settle matters.
Also, doing so would offend the hosts. And in this very specific case, he did not wish to. Upset the Solstice Kings, and Faerie might ruin his own allotment in a fit of pique.
He should explain to Robin exactly what sort of sacrifice would best weaken the Monarchs. What the books the cat sought would suggest. He doubted the man would like his brother’s lifeblood poured out on stone.
But they were not speaking of the cat.
He’d grown distracted. They were … trying something. Ah. Back to the wheel.
“I’m angry,” he answered, after he’d settled back into the moment. “Not with you.”
“I know it’s not with me. This isn’t about me.
We’re talking about you. You, who are angry.
” Robin shifted, and Zyr curled his tail further around the man’s leg, closer to a hold.
“Angry’s a good start. In angry, there’s eight more.
Let down, humiliated, bitter, mad, aggressive, frustrated, distant, and critical.
You tell me which of those fit your anger best or if you need me to repeat them. ”
Strange questions. Strange man.
“Am I being shelved? Pinned to a board under a label?” he asked, somewhere between amused and grumbling. This question wasn’t so simple as the last.
“I’d have to know your class number.” For a second, there was quiet between them. Just the dark and the weight of Robin’s hands. Then a tug at his horn. “I’m waiting for that answer.”
“Aggressive. The cat–” But they weren’t speaking of the cat, so Zyr growled and dragged his claws over the marble. “My collection is my life. That is not a metaphor. I’m also bitter. But I’m always bitter. And…” he breathed out, slow, reluctant. “Humiliated. I’m no Council lickspittle.”
“Aggressive because your library was being seen as a commodity instead of what it is.” At least Robin, too, sounded angry.
Or at least irritated. “Alright. Aggressive, bitter, and humiliated. I can see that. Below those we have… hm. Provoked and hostile. Indignant and violated. Disrespected and ridiculed. Time for those final three labels.”
“Yes, those,” Zyr answered, with a short, ugly laugh.
Which wasn’t a real answer, and if it meant Raven-Robin squeezing his neck and speaking in deliberate, measured tones, then he was willing to give one.
“Provoked. Violated. Disrespected. There are reasons I don’t permit people near my collection.
Chiefly, it is mine. But it’s also dangerous. ”
“Those are the three I would’ve picked too. It being yours is reason enough. People at work are scared to mess with my spreadsheets, and I have backups of everything. With printouts.”
Zyr didn’t know what a spreadsheet was. He made a note to learn, preferably from Robin. If they were Robin’s, and Robin was possessive of them, then they were important. Because Robin was important.
Wait. That wasn’t right. Couldn’t be.
But it was. Robin was important.
It wasn’t the soul match. Zyr had felt attachment once bonded, but never merely to a potential bond.
The taste of salt and strong coffee was pleasant.
But the same could be said of his last soul match, an undine who’d smelled of pine sap and tasted like wine.
Zyr had made a point of avoiding her even more than he did most people.
This was about the pushy, snippy human who made jokes about Jung and Dewey Decimal classification. Who expressed approval with firm touch and did not expect Zyr to give up his lifeblood, even if the cause was just.
Zyr’s tail tightened further around Robin’s leg, actually holding on now, because Robin wasn’t–but should be–his.
What did he have to do to make him his?
“Faerie books do not always allow themselves to be duplicated. Especially the older, more powerful items. Have you any idea how many volumes I possess on death magic? They aren’t safe to look at, let alone peruse in search of some simple answer to a question that may well have none.”
“You don’t think there’s an answer?”
“I think it’s a question that has never been studied. Because the existence of the monarchs, the length of their reign, is unprecedented. There may be a method, and it may be my books would have the shape of it. But I don’t own a copy of Killing the Architects of the Convergence.”
Robin’s laughter was quiet, and just as sharp as the rest of him. “It sounds like we might have to write it. How many volumes of death magic do you have?”
“Solely on death magic? Three hundred and twenty-seven. But many pre-convergence texts touch on the topic. One of the volumes stolen from me this morning had a chapter on the veil’s construction which theorized on its destruction.
And that, of course, required an overview of the subject.
Any book on the Solstice Kings or the Wild Hunt must definitionally explore death magic.
” Perhaps he was going a bit overboard with the whole ‘answering’ idea.
But knowledge was the only treasure he knew.
“If you are interested in the topic, I could suggest a few primers. You are welcome, Raven-Robin. To those volumes or anything else in my library you wish to study.”
Overeager? Perhaps. But he didn’t care. He needed to keep this man close. To learn him.
“Three hundred and twenty-seven? Color me impressed. I don’t know much about the Wild Hunt. Except that the sidhe asshole wearing a crown of antlers during the trials rubbed Bo and Everil the wrong way.”
A sidhe had worn antlers? Zyr had not asked the Solstice Kings about their trials, except as they pertained to the solstice rites. Perhaps he should have.
This was why such a meeting was necessary. Why he had agreed to join Aisling. The unseelie were fading. All of Faerie was fading. And now, it seemed, the seelie were playing pretend.
Antlers. Was the sluagh aware?
Zyr’s jaw went tight, but Robin was speaking, his voice taking on that odd note of insistence. And Robin was important.
“I know you fae deal in debt. This wasn’t to obligate my way into your library. You listened, you got darkness. You breathed, and I told you about the wheels. I trust we’re clear on that. If the invite’s still there knowing that, tell me and we talk terms. If it’s not, don’t, and we don’t.”
Saying, I need you for my collection, was unlikely to go over well. Robin was not a beithir, or even a fae. He wouldn’t understand.
But Zyr would try.
“This isn’t a matter of debt or trade. I’m a beithir.
It might be simpler if you thought of me as a dragon.
It’s imprecise, but not incorrect. Dragons do not invite people into their ‘hoard’ merely because they are exceptionally pushy.
It’s like inviting someone into my skin.
To peruse my soul.” He exhaled, a short, sharp sound of frustration.
He disliked being so unclear. “I have a few books on the matter that might explain it better than I am. You’re invited because you’re interesting, and I wish you to be there. Only that.”
That Robin would pull away, after such a declaration, was a given. Most fae found Zyr’s fixations intolerable. A human would only be more unsettled. But Robin stayed where he was, the strong-coffee sense of him growing more heated, a cup that burnt the fingers, but in a welcome, necessary way.
“I’m a new book,” Robin said, and the fingers resting heavily on Zyr’s neck curled a little to catch at his hair. “One about pushy ravens.”
“Not a single book. Perhaps a series. Pushy ravens with sharp tongues. Spreadsheets. Emotional wheels. But that’s merely a novice’s summary.
I’ve barely scanned the introduction.” The intensity in his voice wasn’t something he knew how to veil.
That keen, unflinching interest. “Will you come to my library, Raven-Robin? I’ll make it a trade if you wish.
What do you require? I need to learn you. ”
Robin went tense, something Zyr sensed as much as felt. A sharp, salt wind and a scalded tongue.
“I need you to remember something.” Robin set the words in a way that gave them extra weight.
“And know it’s not me bragging or being proud over anything.
I am a very bad person to write a blank check for.
I’m good at destroying things and getting away with it, and my sense of proportional response doesn’t naturally swing toward ‘moderate.’ No offering me open season on whatever I might want. Boundaries. Choices. Not an open hand.”
Was allow me to keep you a boundary?
Likely not.
“Lessons already? Very generous.” And his tone was dry, but the words were true.
Robin need not have warned him about his capacity for damage.
But he had. “What entices a bird? Not open-ended favors and my collection is not for trade. Do you wish me to aid the Solstice Kings’ uprising? That, I would do.”
It was an odd position for bargaining. Zyr shifted back without lifting his head. Testing as much as anything.
“Head down. Eyes closed,” Robin said, his grip tightening. “We’re going to count again and breathe between the numbers. Counting down this time, from nine. Then you’ll open your eyes, and I’ll let go, and we’ll bargain.”
It was for the best, that the man didn’t ask him if he wished to be released. He didn’t. “Very well.”
“We won’t leave here until you’re ready,” Robin said, answering the objection Zyr hadn’t made. ”Nine.”
And Zyr breathed.