Chapter 11
eleven
Language of Storms
Miralyte
Thunder cracked so close it rattled the glass, snapping me awake. My breath caught, the sound still rolling through the stone like a low, living growl. For a moment I didn’t know where I was.
Then it hit me.
The bedroom. The castle. The fae realm. The Thunder Court.
Another flash split the sky, illuminating the room in stark white light. For a moment, I could see everything. The bookshelves, the heavy velvet curtains, the dark corners where shadows lurked. There was no sign of Zydar.
I pushed back the blankets and stood up, my bare feet sinking into the plush rug beneath the bed. I could feel the storm in my bones, a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very air. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I didn't like thunderstorms, not at all.
I walked over to the window, peering outside. The clouds were heavy and dark, lit from within by bursts of lightning. I could see the training grounds below, the empty courtyard, the distant forest. It was strange how familiar it all looked, even though I'd never been here before.
I sighed, leaning against the windowsill.
I had to admit, it was beautiful. Even though it was cold and damp, there was something about it that spoke to me, pulled me in.
I didn't know why. Maybe it was because it reminded me of home.
Maybe it was because I felt safe here, surrounded by magic and power and strength.
Or maybe it was just because I was lonely.
I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath. I needed to find a way out of here, but first I had to learn more about this place, about its secrets, its weaknesses. And there was one way to do that.
I had to read.
I pushed away from the window, my mind drifting to Pelbie. If I left her to the mercy of this court, she wouldn’t last. She was too kind, too unguarded. And when they saw kindness here, they sharpened it into a blade to use against you.
If I wanted her out, I’d need more than defiance.
I’d need a plan. Maps. Routines. Guards’ shifts.
Hidden doors, if there were any. And every scrap of information on Zydar, because the man might pretend to be an immovable stone, but even the stone had cracks.
I’d seen it for myself. Unbidden, the memory of his hand gently cradling my face came to mind.
I shook it off, refusing to entertain such thoughts.
I turned, eyes sweeping over the room. The fire’s glow painted the shelves and desk in molten amber. Everything was… precise. Nothing was out of order. Even the quills and inkwells were lined up in straight little rows.
No personal items. No knickknacks. Nothing that gave away who this man really was. Just the books. All neatly arranged, orderly. Every one of them was bound in leather, wooden covers, or cloth. Some were older than the oldest ruins, their spines so cracked they were falling apart.
I wondered if Riden would like books. If he'd ever gone to a library, ever read a book. If he'd ever had someone read to him. I stared at the books, my hand reaching for the nearest one before I realized what I was doing.
The book was heavy, the leather cover supple under my fingers. I carefully turned the pages, their parchment so thin I could see the writing on the other side.
The ink on the page curled in graceful arcs, the letters foreign, yet beautiful. I didn’t know a single word, but the images stopped me cold.
They gleamed, illuminated in greens and golds, the pigment sparkling like a precious stone. Someone had made the colors shine as if the paper were alive, the iridescent ink seeming to ripple when I tilted the page.
It wasn’t battles or beasts. It was bodies. Naked, writhing bodies. Beautiful fae men and women locked together, lost in tangled threads of carnality.
A hot blush bloomed across my skin.
Thin golden lines crossed the limbs and faces of the figures. The illustrations were like something out of an expensive silk tapestry. Velvety smooth yet lustrous. A story told in images of perfect skin.
Clues! You’re looking for clues to find out more about- Even as my mind tried to bring me back to my senses, I couldn’t help myself. Blushing, I quickly flipped the pages. Mother above, I wasn't a prude, but did they really have to put so much damned detail in the drawings?
Another turn of the page revealed a man’s hand gripping a woman’s throat, her head tipped back in abandon, her lips parted in a gasp I could almost hear. My fingers fumbled at the edges of the parchment, the blush burning hotter.
And that’s when a shadow spilled over the page.
I gasped, dropping the book. It slammed to the floor, spine snapping with a horrible crack. I winced, glancing up.
Zydar stood before me, arms crossed, an amused smile on his face.
My cheeks heated.
"Really, Zydar, you could've warned me! What are you doing here?” I asked, pressing a hand to my racing heart as I turned to face him fully.
“I could ask the same of you."
Zydar stood close enough that I could see droplets of rain still clinging to the black strands of his hair. He was shirtless again. I tried very hard not to look, but my eye slipped anyway.
"I... uh... I couldn't sleep."
His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “So you thought you’d rummage through my shelves for midnight entertainment?”
He picked up the book, its leather spine nearly split. His mouth quirked into a faint smile.
"You picked the perfect book to ease your frustrations."
I flushed as he pressed the book into my hands. My pulse was racing, and I had to focus to keep my breathing steady. "I... no, that's..."
He laughed softly. "Your heart is racing."
"Because you startled me," I said, swallowing hard. "It isn't... I was just..."
He laughed again, the low sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Use your words, Miralyte."
"I didn’t know what it was until I opened it. I didn't think it'd be like... Well, it's not what I was expecting, that's for sure." I stammered, but my explanation sounded weak, even to my ears.
He smiled. "You don't need to be embarrassed. We all have desires."
I blinked at him. "I'm not... I wasn't—"
He laughed. "Calm yourself, Miralyte."
Heat pulsed inside me. Desire wasn't the right word for the sensation that rippled through me. A more accurate term would be frustration, irritation, or yes, pure, unbridled rage.
His face was inches from mine. His scent, like cedar and lightning, filled my senses. He was so close I could see flecks of silver in the depths of his eyes, feel his breath on my skin.
Mother above... Give me strength.
"It's just... I was looking for a book to read to Riden. That's all," I managed to get out.
His eyebrows rose. "Who is Riden?"
"A friend."
"A lover?"
I blinked. "Gods, you're so curious!"
His expression turned amused. "It's a simple question."
I crossed my arms. "Yes. He’s my lover. I love him dearly. Now go away."
He laughed, taking a step forward. "You're lying."
How does he always know?
I shrugged. "Believe what you wish."
I put the book on the shelf and pushed past him. I was eager to go to bed and forget any of this had happened.
He spoke behind me. "Miralyte."
I stopped, looking over my shoulder. "What?"
"I can give you access to the main library."
I blinked. "The main library?"
He nodded. "Where all the books are. Every subject. Language. Culture. History. Maps. The old tongue."
This couldn't be real. Twelve year old Miralyte would be jumping up and down and screaming in joy. I couldn’t wait to share the news with Pelbie. Was I trapped in some bizarre fever dream? No, this couldn't be right. Zydar had to have some ulterior motive, some catch.
A small, uncertain laugh escaped me. "I get access to the entire main library, or you'll make me do something else for you?"
The corner of his mouth curled upward. "So suspicious."
He was toying with me. Somehow this was a trick. I didn't believe him for one second.
He leaned one shoulder against the shelf, the book still cradled casually in his hand as if the images inside weren’t searing holes in my memory. “Not true. Sometimes I give because I can.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I muttered.
“It wasn’t meant to be.” His gaze slid over me, slow and deliberate, as if he were cataloguing every shift in my breathing. “If I wanted something from you, little dove, you would know.”
The words coiled around me, heavy and intimate. My stomach fluttered in a way I despised. “So you’re telling me I can walk into the main library tomorrow and no one will stop me?”
“You’ll have my seal.” He tapped the leather cover of the book in his hand, then his chest. “That is enough to open any door in this court.”
I searched his face for the catch. There had to be one. “Why?”
For the first time, his smile faded. The answer came quietly, but not without weight. “Because I am your High Warlord. And it is my duty to serve you, as much as it is yours to serve me."
A shiver ran down my spine. So many words, but nothing really revealed. Only the sound of it, the low, rough cadence. That and the sight of him watching me.
"It's settled then." He stood straight, towering over me. Gods, he was huge. My traitorous mind skipped back to the lush illustrations from the book.
There were ways he could make me obey without a bribe or bargain. I knew that. But he didn't seem interested in forcing me.
He wanted to win me.
And it was working.
He smirked, no doubt seeing the facial expressions I couldn’t hide, then turned back to the shelves, scanning them with the ease of someone who knew every spine, every title by heart.
His fingers brushed along the leather bindings, pausing here and there, pulling one volume halfway free before sliding it back in place.
Finally, he stopped. He drew out a thick, slate-blue tome bound with strips of black hide. The cover was plain, except for a single sigil stamped in silver at its center.
He weighed it in his hand, then crossed the space between us. “If you’re going to read the old tongue, you’ll need this first.”
I took it, surprised at its heaviness. “What is it?”
“A Lexicon of the High Courts,” he said. “Every word, symbol, and root from the old tongue, matched with its modern translation. There are thousands of words and phrases, and they change with the seasons, the moons, the courts. You won't learn them all. Not quickly. But you'll learn the basics."
I turned it over in my hands, running my thumb over the embossed sigil. “This is… an actual dictionary.”
“Not quite,” he said, his eyes glinting. “Some words don’t have a clean translation. Some don’t have one at all. You’ll have to… interpret.”
“Interpret,” I repeated. “Which is code for guess and hope you’re not accidentally insulting someone’s mother.”
That earned me the smallest of smirks. “Exactly. And if you get stuck, ask me.”
He was volunteering to spend time with me. To help me. Without me doing something for him in return. Now I was definitely dreaming.
The sun was rising, peeking through the windows. The room grew brighter, the gold inlaid with gilt on the shelves like the first rays of sunrise. My thoughts felt light and hazy with early morning sunlight.
"Miralyte."
His voice shifted into something lower, something that sent a thrill shooting up my spine.
"It's time to start the trials."
Trials. Damn it. I'd forgotten that part.
I set the book aside and looked up. "I'm ready."