Chapter Five #3
Everil looked away from Robin to kiss Bo’s knuckles in retaliation, smiling at him. Bo beamed back, and Everil’s eyes were soft and sweet.
Disgusting. Seriously, utterly, horribly disgusting.
Robin was happy for them. Even if he wanted to roll his eyes so hard they’d strain. He’d listen, instead. He was good at listening.
“Sadly, I left the puppets in our other home,” Everil said, attention once again on Robin. “But I will endeavor to be clear.”
“Appreciated. No worries if you’re not, though. I don’t mind nudging for clarification.”
That earned him a ghost of what could be a smile from Everil, while Bo finally stopped looking murderous.
“Zyr is beithir, a relentless storm. I believe he exhibited that part of his aspect quite clearly. But fae sometimes fall into larger groups. Kelpie are one of many water horses. Some, like nuggles, are life aligned. Others, like myself, are death aligned. All water horses like to play. Kelpie like to play with their food.”
“Nuggle? That’s one fae that got picked on in the schoolyard,” Robin scoffed, fingers still tap-tap-tapping, tracing the edges of the cuffs he had sketched.
Everil smiled again, brief and dry. Before continuing “Beithir are death aligned dragons. And dragons, all dragons, are driven by obsession. In a beithir, therefore, you have relentless obsession. Do you follow so far?”
Everil’s moonlit eyes fixed on Robin with nervous attention. Par the course, honestly. He usually watched Robin with nervous attention. Just another reminder that Robin wasn’t warm. He just did his best not to be cold.
“I think I’m following. He said the library was his life, and that it wasn’t a metaphor. That letting someone in was like letting them into his skin.”
“And you still fucking said yes?” Bo broke in.
Robin scowled, dropping his eyes to the notebook all over again. Followed the line of the lightning bolt with his fingernail. “You were saying, Everil? About relentless obsession.”
“I, too, am shocked, that your brother would fail to heed the warnings of a fae regarding their nature,” Everil murmured. “I cannot imagine where he gets it.”
“Funny, kelpie,” but Bo grinned as he said it, serious conversation or not.
Robin let them flirt. Everil left it at that, so, points to him, turning back to Robin. “Relentless obsession, yes. Zyr is old, Robin. I have centuries. He lays claim to millennia. Not quite pre-convergence, but nearly. Very few fae live that long.”
“Politics here do seem kind of hostile, yeah.”
“Even without enemies, fae lifespans require … will. A continued interest in the world. All the more for those who have survived for so long. That’s what Zyr meant.
He lives for his collection. Adding to it, protecting it, learning from it, those are the acts that define him.
Very rarely, and at high cost, he allows knowledge seekers a glimpse.
But he doesn’t invite others. He doesn’t offer deals to entice them to spend time there. ”
“He called me a series of books. Pushy birds with wheels and spreadsheets.” Robin stared at his notes again. He didn’t trace any pictures, only looked, trying to imagine surviving only for something, a place, and what it would mean to share that.
The kelpie, still so damned carefully, said, “You interest him. He collects things that interest him. Zyr doesn’t wish you to see his collection. He wishes you to join it. Which, I confess, is the highest compliment he is capable of paying.”
And that … was a lot. Beauty and the Beast, except the Beast was old as fuck and well read, and Beauty was more Birdie, and had a way out pre-programmed in.
“We need the information he has to pull this off, though,” Robin said. “Don’t we?”
“Not that fucking bad.” Of all the times for Bo to play the protective big brother. “Not for you to be some centerpiece.”
“I’m not going to be a centerpiece,” Robin retorted. “That wasn’t my question. We need the stuff he knows if we want this whole plan with the Monarchs to work. Yes or no.”
Everil hesitated. Which was good. That meant he was going to answer, even with fucking no all but said from the lips of his ‘sweet Bo.’
“The Monarchs predate the convergence. They orchestrated it. Toppling them will require old magic, and Zyr is the best, perhaps only, source for such knowledge, as Aisling implied. Certainly the only source sympathetic to our goal.”
“So, yes. We do.”
“We require access in order to move forward,” Everil amended gently. “But it is not impossible that he would be open to other bargains. Eventually.”
Eventually. Robin knew all about eventually. He would put good money on that not being until Robin’d been dead a couple decades. Relentless obsession, with a trinket nearly in reach. But it was better to not say that kind of shit in front of Bo.
“Guess I need to be a temporary collector’s piece, then.
” Robin scrubbed his hands over his face, tipping back in his chair now.
He let his head fall back to examine the ceiling.
“Not permanent. I’m not giving up my life.
I’ve got to work in a few days, and then have another long weekend, and we have that follow up meeting we need to work on.
If he doesn’t agree to the temporary thing, we figure something else out. ”
“You do not need to do anything. I will not– I would prefer you not put yourself through discomfort, however temporary, on behalf of an endeavor that is, as of yet, more dream than possibility.”
Robin peered down his nose and across the table at Everil (and a pissed off Bo), frowning.
“I’m not sure why you think I’d be uncomfortable. I’ve had sleepovers before.”
“It will be…” Another hesitation. Longer, and one that ended with Bo edging closer to him. “It will be discomfiting, spending time there. Zyr is … not known to be personable. You might find him demanding or temperamental. Odd. Relentless in his need to ‘learn’ you.”
Learn you. Said describing the beithir, Zyr, as someone… yeah, okay, probably exactly like how Robin saw him that morning. Which had been the opposite of a deterrent, truth be told.
Robin could do full cards on the table. Everil certainly looked like he was.
“I didn’t dislike him. Except for getting pissy at you for looking out for me.” Robin frowned at the ceiling, fingers tapping. “Because no matter what, I’m of this House, right? You and Bo are heads of it. Other than that, we were good.”
“Even with the feet on the table thing?” Bo asked
Robin blinked at his brother, eyebrows furrowed. He was going to get a damn crick in his neck, looking up and down, rapid-fire.
“That?” Robin asked, and maybe he smirked a bit. “That was fine. Except the cat-sith interrupting.”
Bo opened his mouth. Shut it again. Glanced at Everil, then back to Robin. “You were … glaring at each other. And sniping?”
“Yeah?” Robin asked, purposefully missing the point. “He wouldn’t have gone with me to the kitchen if we were being hostile.”
“Well, let’s hope you and Zyr can reach an acceptable agreement on where he is permitted to put his feet,” Everil offered, glancing at Bo, then back to Robin. “I would not envy him facing you hostile.”
Bo grinned at Everil, pressed another firm kiss to his knuckles. And Robin, he laughed, quick and sharp, genuinely amused. Secretly hilarious, Bo called Everil. It’d taken three years, but Robin could see it every so often when the kelpie let himself actually joke.
“My big thing is making sure I don’t eat a handful of pomegranate seeds or whatever. If I barter specific dates, do you think that’ll keep him from trying to put me behind glass?”
“You’re in no danger of compulsion. I have his named promise. Even if you were to accept a gift or offer an apology, he couldn’t compel you to remain.” Also, Everil had kind of threatened to kill him, sort of. In that veiled, fae way. “That said, set dates would smooth matters considerably.”
“And you’re leaving the choice to me.”
The statement helped him settle. Pushed the nerves down, the what the fuck am I doing. They were trying to overthrow the Monarchs, and Robin wanted to fuck in the library, so this, apparently, was what he was doing.
“You are blood of this House, Robin, but your choices are your own. If you wish to keep this bargain, with full knowledge of Zyr’s nature, then you act with our protection. He is, to my knowledge, trustworthy, and from your description, made no effort to trick nor entrap you.”
“I made it really clear that there was no deal making or exchanging happening,” Robin reaffirmed. “Said it flat out.”
“And Zyr was likewise honest. He is not— It isn’t my intention to give you a poor impression of him. What he is, and how he wants, is not … wrong. Only different from what you might be accustomed to.”
“It didn’t sound like you were talking trash. If the guy was a human, it’d be creepy as hell.” Robin twirled the pen between his fingers. “Like, a human says ‘I drown people and eat them’, that’s a walking red flag. But kelpies aren’t human. Neither are beithir. Context is important.”
(Another adoring glance from Bo. Robin lifted his gaze back to the ceiling.)
Expect different things from different people. Backgrounds. Morals. And Robin preferred honesty to anything else, creepy or not.
“You’ve made your choice, then?”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him tomorrow about the specific dates, set the ground rules in place.
” Robin offered Everil a thin, crooked half smile, pen still twisting in his fingers.
“We’ll see what he says. And if I’m uncomfortable, I won’t go back after those few days.
You made sure he won’t trap me. We’re good.
It’s still better than an audit. Way more fun. ”