Chapter Five #2
Robin laughed as he reached over the table for the pen and notebook still at Bo’s elbow—untouched, just like he’d known it would be, because of course there’d been not even a cursory attempt at notes made once he left—when Faerie slid them over to him.
(He mouthed a thank you, because he was polite, as he settled back in his chair.)
“So how about that deal?” Bo asked, grinning at Zyr with all his teeth. “The one you made with my baby brother. Blood of our House and all.”
“Indeed,” added Everil. Quiet and measured, with his teeth like razors and eyes glowing in the way that spelled trouble. Moon on snow glint meant something different than when they were just… moon-ish.
“The only deal we made was to get us to here.” Robin tapped his pen to the notebook, forced himself not to frown. “We talked possible terms for a second deal, with a tentative agreement on my end dependent on the outcome of the talk.”
No one looked reassured by that.
“I will permit Robin, and Robin alone, in my library. He will have my assistance in navigating my collection, as well as my protection from those tomes that would otherwise endanger him.” Zyr had been the one to insist on that second half.
More concession on Robin’s part than anything.
“You four may visit my allotment, should you need. And, if Robin deems it necessary, you may view those texts that are safe to be brought out to you.”
It was like he’d said something scandalous. Everil drew in a tight breath, gone statue still in that way he had, and Declan hissed between his teeth, his head cocked like a wary raptor.
“And what’s the cost?” Antonio asked, rough challenge in his voice. He was frowning. Bo was, too, and Everil still didn’t move. “There’s always a fucking cost.”
The chair leg made a noise. A sort of squeaking sound. Robin glanced down to see Zyr’s tail, wrapped tight, barb out. His eyebrows arched, but the vice grip on the wood eased before he could say anything.
“Robin—” Zyr began, interrupted by a low growl, an actual growl, from Everil. “As my guest.”
“Zyr thinks I’m interesting,” Robin offered, as he wrote E. pissed; growled? in the notebook, and sketched a little lightning bolt striking the semi-colon. “So I’ll be interesting while not being blown up by death magic books or having the manticore whispering in my ear about throat slitting.”
“I daresay they wouldn’t be able to reach your ear.” Despite the joke, Declan frowned at Zyr. “Interesting, is it? Enough for four semi-open invitations to your allotment, and a guest offer for the library itself.”
“I contain multitudes,” Robin said.
“Thoughts, pretty kelpie?” Bo asked. Robin knew, knew, he was holding Everil’s clawed hand under the table. Ugh. Disgusting. “You know this shit better than I do.”
Declan continued to frown. Prettily and creepily, all at once.
“I think,” Everil said, clearly selecting his words with care. “That with all due respect to our guests, this is a House matter, and we should speak with Robin in private.”
Huh.
Everil usually let Robin be. He put the kelpie on edge as much as Bo put him at ease. Bo, with his loose, wide movements, all open fire and well-worn warmth, who laid his thoughts and words out there for the world to see. He was genuine in a way Robin didn’t know how to be.
Robin, meanwhile, was sharp-edged, contained, and actually knew how to take fucking notes. The worlds could only handle so much of either of them.
And Everil could hardly handle Robin at all. Usually.
Robin studied the kelpie, ignoring both Bo’s scowl and the crackle of electricity from Zyr. Everil didn’t go on power trips, and he’d never treated Robin with anything but careful respect.
Still, it wasn’t like Robin couldn’t handle a single mouthy dragon, for gods sake.
Fine.
Robin twisted to face Zyr, pressing his ankle against the beithir’s tail. “I’ll get you the information we talked about. Tomorrow. And let you know what’s decided. Bo, Everil, and I need to talk.”
If they thought Declan and Antonio would be a part of this House matter, they had another thing coming.
“As you say,” Zyr said, standing with poorly hidden irritation.
Everil rose, too, his fingers trailing over Bo’s back as he passed him on his way to Zyr. Robin kept his eyes on his notebook. If he looked at the pair of fae, he’d get his back up.
“You were treated poorly in our home,” Everil said, quietly, like Robin couldn’t hear him. “I would not further any wrong done to you. And I think a meeting of the death aligned would be ill run if we passed judgement on each other’s natures.”
“Your point?” Zyr asked, the words coming with a growl of thunder.
“Am I correct that this, now, is a matter of a dragon recognizing value when he sees it?” The usual unspoken apology in Everil’s voice was completely absent.
“Yes.”
“I would have your word that, should Robin be your guest, you will seek neither to compel nor to bind him. No coercion, in any form. This House will go to war for such. And you know that, small though we are, Faerie rides with us.” Everil sighed, almost soundless.
“Give me that, and your … offer … will have our fair consideration.”
“Given,” Zyr answered flatly. “My oath that I will not seek to coerce Robin, Winter King. Faerie bind me to it. I do not keep pets.”
“Very well.”
“Until tomorrow, Robin,” Zyr said, finally unwinding his tail and stepping away.
Robin did his best not to bristle. It fucking grated to be talked around. Talked about. An oath about him, Everil to one side, Zyr on the other, and Robin sitting between them, his pen in a normal grip, no white knuckles to be seen, and his eyes gone hard as he continued to stare at his notebook.
“See you,” Robin said, casual. Like he wasn’t grinding his back teeth together, his shoulders relaxed only from sheer force of will. He took a breath, slow, when the door closed behind Zyr.
“Only two?” Declan asked, disentangling himself from Antonio to stand. “For the list of those you’d not let die.”
“That what I said? Silly me. I meant, everyone but the cat.” A tap tap tap of Robin’s pen before he made himself put it down. Flexed his fingers. “Maybe the yuki-onna.”
“What a relief.”
“Hit me up, yeah?” Antonio asked. “Door’s open if you need it.”
“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “I know. Same goes.”
This time, he turned, watching as Antonio and Declan left. Half wishing he was leaving with them. The table stayed as it was, but two chairs disappeared for the normal four seating count. Everil and Bo sat at one side, watching him.
“How bad did I fuck up?” is what Robin came out with, sharp in a way he didn’t mean to be. So much for not bristling. “With the beithir. Did I mess everything up?”
“You did not ‘fuck up,’” Everil said firmly, another one for the books. Swearing. “You saw someone being ill-done by within your House and you acted. That was noble.”
Robin let out a breath and leaned back in his chair. This time, he let his fingers tap, the pen abandoned on a page more doodles than words.
“But?” he asked.
“There is no ‘but.’ My concern is not a reflection on the merit or intention of your act. It is— Robin, I don’t wish to intrude upon a private moment, but I must, in this. Did you offer any oaths or accept any gifts from him? Thank him or apologize?”
That brought Robin up short, tapping paused in favor of blinking. (It wasn’t one or the other, usually, but talk about left field.)
“Oh, God, no. Bo drilled it in my head any of that’s a surefire way to get hauled straight into fae politics.
More than this,” Robin waved his hand to the room, where they held a meeting about murdering leaders and destroying the status quo.
“No. Nothing like ‘my name on it.’ I mostly just bossed him around.”
“You… what? Robin, what the fuck.”
Robin lovingly offered Bo a front and center view of his middle finger. “I know what a panic attack looks like, so I told him to sit on the counter, and that we were going to do a breathing exercise. Then we talked about the feelings wheel.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
Robin scowled, and turned his attention back to the kelpie. Let Bo flail. It was good for him.
“Zyr said I was welcome in his library. I told him that he didn’t owe me anything, that I talked about the stuff because he did what I told him to.
According to him, it wasn’t a debt, just him being a beithir.
Wanting to ‘learn me.’” Robin shrugged. “So it boiled down to me visiting. Him letting me do what I needed to with the death magic stuff or anything that might help. And me not ignoring him. Essentially.”
If Everil’s threats and stillness hadn’t told Robin this was a big deal, the fact the kelpie visibly relaxed and let out a relieved breath would have.
“You handled the matter exceptionally well,” Everil said, all careful and quiet. His thumb traced along Bo’s hand. “But there is, as Antonio might say, ‘fae bullshit’ at work here. Will you allow me to explain before you decide whether you wish to accept Zyr’s bargain?”
Robin’s turn to relax a little, with Everil using words like ‘exceptionally.’ He’d never struck Robin as the type for hyperbole. And he’d just said it was up to Robin whether or not they would say yes to the library scheme, instead of protectively bristling and making his choices for him.
Right. Okay. So. Robin hadn’t fucked up.
It’d not felt like a fuck up, back in the kitchen, working Zyr down from the fit he’d been tied into by people trying to force their way under his skin, but what the fuck did Robin know? Wasn’t his world.
(That didn’t mean he wouldn’t think ugh, watching Bo lift Everil’s hand to press a kiss against his knuckles. No eye rolling this time, because he was behaving.)
“I would love an explanation,” Robin said, and meant it. “This is where you tell me about things like I’m a dumb human toddler who ate too much glue.”
“Hand puppets,” Bo murmured, smirking.