Chapter 15 #2
Thanin continued, turning the topic to naughtbirins, and the history of the term. He compared Old Tongue vocabulary with gathered facts, both written and tacit, then posited that “naughtbirin” was a term coined in recent history.
Fascinating. She turned onto her side, propping herself up and using her free hand to flip the pages.
To support his assertion, Thanin pointed out that naught, meaning nothing, was not from the Old Tongue.
The suffix -birin, however, was Old Tongue and meant “make.” Further, this use of “make” was incorrect and more correctly translated to “do.” A better suffix would be based on the verb kiafirinin for “create.” The combination of details led Thanin to posit that there was most likely an old name for the uncommon magic, a term lost to the annals of time.
Then, he proposed a new name for magic wielders like Nesrina, one based fully on the Old Tongue: Tishtafiran, object-shapers.
There were a few fundamental inaccuracies in the article, but overall, she appreciated it.
Finished, she turned to sneak a glance at the duke, who eyed her with anticipation.
Of course, he’s already read it. The sun had sunk below the horizon, the only light came from the flickering candelabra beside Lord Kahoth, and from the fireplace across the room.
“What did you think?” Nes asked, tipping her chin at the journal in her hand.
“Beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” She cocked her head.
“Captivating.”
“Captivating?”
“Enchanting.”
“Enchanting?” These were not helpful explanations of his thoughts on the article.
His confession rang out in her mind, yet again. “You know I’m attracted to you, right?” Nes fought the urge to outwardly react. Instead, she raised her brows and shook her head, as if to say, “And . . .?”
“Yes, I was enthralled. The whole time. I think the author posited several well-researched ideas. What did you think?” He finally offered more than a one-word response before leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs.
The action pulled his already form-fitting trousers even tighter against his legs.
He’s a duke, Nesrina. A duke! Don’t even think of it. Papa would have told her off for deigning to daydream about a peer of the realm, and she feared he’d have disowned her if he was around to learn she’d kissed the man.
Akkas eyed her expectantly.
Say something! Think! A fizzling memory of the lord’s lips against hers fluttered through her mind. No, not that! Her typically sharp brain was having a difficult time recalling the article she’d just finished reading.
Finally, she came up with some semblance of a response, “I certainly enjoyed the deep dive into the Old Tongue, the etymology of many of our place names and such. I . . . I think I agree with the theory that naughtbirin’s a recently coined term.
” The tip of Nes’s pointer finger slid over the text impressed upon the book’s spine.
“I’d like to learn more of the Old Tongue, perhaps see if I can’t figure out what the original name for my magic was.
Ask me my real thoughts again in a few days, once I’ve had time to digest the new ideas and re-read the piece a few times. ” That should get her out of it.
He pursed his perfectly tiny mouth as he looked at her.
“If that’s all right with you?” she tacked on, suddenly self-conscious. She shouldn’t have assumed she’d have more than this one sitting with the journal. It was his, after all, not her copy.
His lips widened—slightly, as it were—into a smile. “It is.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she was struck by the way his entire frame had filled out in the weeks since she’d first met him at Kirce.
She’d noticed it in his face, but not the rest of him, not before now.
His arms and legs, no longer lanky noodles, strained against the fabric of his tunic and trousers. He’d undergone quite a transformation.
“I—” Oh, ask him. He’s attracted to you. With a steadying breath, Nes convinced herself the time was right. Now or never. She sat and faced him, legs crossed at the ankles and fingers interlaced upon her lap. “The other week, you received the program for the Symposium of Prodigious Minds.”
Raising a brow, he inclined his head in an invitation to continue.
“I saw your packet, and I don’t know if you received it automatically, as a member of the peerage, or if you’re actually interested.
But, you should know, I go each and every year.
Or, I did, or, I used to.” She faltered, realizing she was saying a whole lot of nothing, defending her question before she’d even asked the bloody thing.
He made a little humming sound, but didn’t speak.
So, she continued, “It means so much to me. And . . . I don’t know . . . I saw the program in your mail.” Good gods. Had his kiss broken her brain?
Still leaning in, his forearms rested on his thighs, and candlelight danced in the duke’s dark pupils as his brows pulled together.
Why was he making her do this? She should have rehearsed.
Embarrassment teetered on the brink of frustration as she continued, trying to summarize her tangents, “I saw the invitation in the foyer, and I’m not sure what your thoughts are on it, but then I saw the journal arrive, too, and I’m wondering if you’re planning to go to Rohilavol? ”
There, the words are out, mostly . . . hopefully. Nesrina twisted her fingers, refusing to look up at the silent man.
“Do you make it a habit to go through my mail, tilal?”
“Absolutely not, Your Grace!” Shocked, her voice came out a near squeak as she scrambled to defend herself. “I recognized the deliveries—from some distance! I wasn’t poking through. I’ve known about the symposium and the journal longer than you have! Probably!”
“I’m older than you by four years.”
“And? My father was a renowned scholar.”
“I know.”
She huffed. “You’re making this very difficult. I’ve attended the symposium seven times. I’ve been reading Transcendent Ideals for . . . ever since I could read.”
He laughed.
A puff of air escaped her nose as she jumped to her feet. “Those dispatches were on top of your other deliveries. I was not snooping! I have morals!” Fists balled at her sides, she desperately wanted to flee the room, but she really needed his answer about the symposium.
Akkas leaned back in his chair, extending his long legs so the tips of his shoes nearly touched her toes. He clasped his palms behind his head and stared up at her, an obnoxiously unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t speak, so she continued her rambling defense:
“Lord Kahoth,” she said incredulously, “they were sitting on a tray, in the open, in the front hall, and they happened to have caught my attention. You must believe me.” Heat climbed from her chest to her cheeks as she stood there, panting slightly from agitation and the stress of being falsely accused. She would never!
“Hmm.” The duke pursed his lips. “That’s quite a yarn you’ve sp—”
She stomped her foot, cutting off the end of his sentence. “I am not a liar!”
The duke’s eyes shifted, sparkling with something dangerous. “Well then, I suppose there’s one course of action . . .” he trailed off as he stood to tower over her.
Nes froze, her breathing ragged as her ire pulsed beneath her skin. Oh gods, I’m going to get fired. Never mind his attraction to me, I’m done.
“I’ll have to bring you as my guest.” He smirked.
“Truly?” She blinked, her world upended, again, by the lord.
“Yes?”
“You— Were you teasing me about snooping?”
That smirk split into a smile, and her mouth flopped like a fish.
She hadn’t expected a yes, about the teasing or the symposium. She’d hoped for yeses, but expectations and hope were drastically different things. “What about the children?”
“They’ll be on holiday, as will you.”
“All together?”
“No. They’ll stay here.”
She breathed in and forgot to breathe out for a second. She was going alone, with the Duke of Stormhill, to Rohilavol for the Symposium of Prodigious Minds. “What about their magic? What if they lose control?”
Are you trying to ruin this for yourself?!
Chuckling, his fingers brushed the side of her arm as he urged her to retake her seat. “I think they’ll be fine, but shall we come up with a plan, maybe a backup, and a backup for that?”
She nodded, struck dumb, and plopped back onto the couch.