Chapter Thirteen
Robin
Robin had forgotten how fun research could be.
He liked problem solving and deep dives into rabbit holes.
He’d literally made it his job. But, usually, he did it solo.
He used employees as sounding boards, when things got too convoluted and he knew there had to be a simpler way.
But no one was ever on the journey with him in real time.
Robin had never had someone to work through things with.
“You move too fast,” his boss had said, more than once. It had the shape of a compliment, with the distinct aftertaste of so get used to doing it alone. It didn’t help that he had a reputation for being persnickety and possessive of his projects.
Zyr kept up. Even counting their awkward morning chat and the murdertwin’s visit afterward, working with him was one of the most relaxing, interesting, and productive experiences Robin had ever had.
Too many hours reading, yeah. His eyes ached with it, and his hand had cramped more than once from the sheer number of notes and citations. But he felt good.
Zyr never hovered. He collected books that Robin might find useful and explained passages as needed.
He showed Robin how some books would translate themselves for him, if he spoke to them, and read from a few that refused to.
The beithir never talked down to him, no impatience, no issue rephrasing ideas so they made sense to a man who’d never had to think about magic before.
“Two days ago, I thought I was a fast reader,” Robin complained as evening fell. (Zyr’s allotment had day and night cycles, apparently, even if it mostly consisted of pale gray and storming and pitch black and storming.) “I’m feeling very humbled right now, Zyr. I hate being humbled.”
He threw himself onto one of the many couches that dotted the lower level of the library and pulled off his glasses, hooking them in the collar of his t-shirt.
Faerie conjured up a plate of sandwiches on the low coffee table in front of him, ever so helpfully sliding the table a little closer to Robin.
Though Robin couldn’t see past his shoulders with his glasses off, he was fairly certain the decorations on the plates were little snakes. Cute.
(Definitely some kind of snake. He checked as he snagged himself a sandwich, squinting down at the plate he put it on. Double cute.)
“You’re learning the forgotten magics that govern a world, and a people, completely foreign to you.
I believe rereading a passage or two is justified.
” Zyr sat on the couch, within arms reach, studying the plate of food.
“You’ve developed a satisfactory understanding of how death functions in Faerie. It’s no little feat.”
It was ridiculous to get warm and fuzzy over someone sitting on the same couch as him. The damn thing belonged to Zyr. Logic followed that he did, in fact, sit on it. Just, this couch also had Robin in it, and earlier that day, Zyr might’ve decided to sit in the chair instead, wary and careful.
“You called it rudimentary,” Robin said, smiling. With any luck, it was one that didn’t have a sarcastic edge to it. He did his best.
Did Robin see a smile? Something almost like it, ghosting over Zyr’s lips?
Yes. Score one for the bird. Robin took a bite of his sandwich to keep himself from grinning more. He chewed instead, turning so he could once again knock his foot against Zyr’s. A benefit to having long legs.
Zyr pressed back in turn, no hesitation. Good.
“And still a better grasp than most fae could boast of having.” Definitely a smile, even if it was only in his voice.
“True,” he agreed. “I couldn’t figure out before why Declan got laid up for days, drained after that shinigami attack. Sudden death via claws through the heart, easy to clock. Not the rest.”
“And now?”
“And now, with how much emphasis is put on intention, no fucking wonder things got skewed before and after the convergence. That, plus an allotment on the line, and Declan’s really lucky Calloway was a sentimental little shit.”
Toxic claws stuck deep into a torso, when the other person had no time to brace themselves for an attack. An unseelie with an opportunity to have an irrevocable allotment to a House powerful enough to offer one for a single assassination.
Sneak attacks like that had been used to take out their fair share of fae before the convergence. Non-magical means, like claws or knives coated in unseelie blood, but always with intent. Purpose. Will.
So, yeah. Points to Antonio. Seriously.
“Sluagh are notoriously hard to kill,” Zyr said absently, second sandwich in hand, his eyes on where their knees touched. “Though not so difficult as they once were.”
“Yeah, well, less of them to kill, and no Wild Hunt. It makes sense.”
The beithir paused, and Robin got the sense he was being looked at. Zyr’s stares had a weight to them. “How do you mean?”
“You called sluagh the embodiment of the Wild Hunt,” Robin said, studying the way Zyr’s horns and scales were still defined and bright, even when blurred from the lack of glasses.
“I know Declan said their aspect is inevitable and impending death, but the Wild Hunt, that’s more like ‘Solstice King,’ right?
It’s not an aspect, just old magic. And it used to be done a lot, according to …
one of those books, I can’t remember which, it’s in my notes.
To determine guilt. Worthiness. But the intent of the hunt mattered.
I think that’s … okay, I might have lost the reason I thought about it.
Spell it out for me again, how magic and intent and aspects tie together so I can explain how I got there. ”
Zyr shifted, the couch dipping with the move. Robin waited, for once not hating how he could hear something, get to a conclusion, and forget the middle why of it when he tried to explain his thoughts out loud.
And fuck, he really liked how Zyr wasn’t upset by needing to reiterate. Robin had learned far too many things for a single day.
“Of course. Imagine Faerie as a forest, with paths worn through where the denizens have walked. Those paths are an agreement of sorts. The denizens shape the paths, but they cannot walk through trees or stones, and they have needs. Shelter, food, water. The forest has needs as well. Seeds to spread, deaths to nurture the soil, and sunlight.”
“With the intent being getting to the other side.”
“Yes. The paths themselves are rituals. Actions taken and taken again, until they’ve worn away the obstacles.
And a fae’s affinity is, perhaps, how they navigate.
Whether they dig or run or climb. When an action meets Faerie’s needs, such as sacrifice, follows an established ritual, meaning the path is known, and aligns with a fae’s affinity, so that they can easily traverse said path, that is where you’ll find the most power.
In other words, it allows the easiest transit through the forest to ones destination. ”
Right. Right, fuck, okay. Robin made himself swallow the last of his sandwich before the knots twisting in his stomach could take over with the picture Zyr painted again. That connecting information that had put Wild Hunt equals the sluagh in his mind.
“Yes, okay, that was it,” Robin said. “Actions that carried the actors and their intent. So, the Wild Hunt stopped completely, and Declan said a lot of sluagh were wiped out during the convergence. In your metaphor, it’s like they’re salmon, but there’s been a big die off, and the river’s been dammed.
The Wild Hunt was part of their life cycle, and they’re weaker without it. ”
Robin felt the weight of Zyr’s measured stare. Then he shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich. “That’s a line of research worth further investigation. But, as you said, we’ve been at this all day. Perhaps an endeavor best pursued tomorrow?”
“Rest is recommended before tackling that,” Robin agreed. Didn’t stop questions from swirling through his mind about the topic.
What happened when the actions that carried the actors’ intent stopped? No more soil being stirred up by digging fae; no runner’s feet to carry seeds to other parts of the forest.
Forests choked themselves, sometimes. Stagnancy. And you never wanted to drink stagnant water.
“Is Faerie actually dying?” Robin asked. He shouldn’t have. There were answers to questions he didn’t want to know, as much as he did. “Things are out of alignment, and only one old ritual is being done anymore. And that’s only for the last few years, after a couple thousand.”
“Very likely.” Simply said, the way Robin might explain a basic knot. A learned truth, long accepted. “But not in your lifetime. Not unless they close the veil.”
“I vote we don’t do that.” Robin rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t want to think about how that could happen, especially if it turns out to be stupidly easy. I’ll have an existential crisis. Let’s talk about books.”
“Ah. A new topic for us.”
Robin laughed, short and sharp. He put his glasses on again, Zyr coming into a very welcome focus. “Is it alright if I borrow one of your fiction novels? A pulp or romance. Been ages since I read McNaught.”
“You’re sure you wish more reading?” Zyr asked, the hint of a smile at the edges of his lips. The tease. He followed the smile with a gesture, and a book floated from where they’d spent the morning shelving to their table.
“I like reading,” Robin protested, plate and remaining sandwich carefully discarded to the table. “But there’s a difference between concentrating so redcaps don’t suggest bleeding out your brother during an orgy and reading popcorn before bed.”
“As you say, Raven-Robin.” Zyr picked the book up, holding it out until Robin took it. “A gift, freely given. It seems apt. The rest, you may peruse and borrow as you wish.”