27. The Archives
T hat bone-deep chill lingered on into the next morning; even the sunlight streaming in through the windows did little to chase it away. Aisling was still on edge, even more uncomfortable now after a night of dreams plagued by living statues reaching out to her from behind darkened corners.
Voices and laughter carried in from the front of the palace, loud enough that she could hear it through the closed windows of her chamber. Music, too. A plucky tune that felt light and effervescent. Aisling wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and crossed to peer out through the gauzy curtains. A crowd of Fae had taken to the lawn. They lounged splayed out in the grass, many of them nude, sunning themselves .
There were no human statues now, but several more children of varying ages danced in a circle. They clutched each other’s hands, barely able to keep their feet beneath them. The woman she’d seen the day before sang for a small audience, wearing that same dazed look. She was joined by a man who looked equally entranced. His baritone timbre contrasted with her voice stunningly, but Aisling wondered whether either was aware of the other’s presence at all.
The Seelie Court was circus-like in its extravagance, a noisy bacchanal of giddy, cruel delights. Under that shining springtime sun, there was no place to hide. And so instead, these sorts of proclivities were embraced. Welcomed. Encouraged. If the Unseelie Court had seemed like a nightmare, this felt to Aisling more akin to a fever dream: beautiful, if unsettling. At once both enticing and horrifying. She didn’t want to look, yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
The bad taste the scene left in her mouth was even worse than the remnants of the wine that coated her tongue and stained her lips purple.
“Ash,” Rodney called her name, pulling her out of her head. He held up her clothes, which had been washed, folded, and returned while they’d been away at dinner. “Get changed and let’s go.”
Aisling left Briar locked in the large bathroom with a bowl of water and another plate of boiled meat that was delivered with their breakfast tray. She left the rest of the food untouched but wrapped a piece of bread and an apple in a napkin to take along in case her appetite returned later in the day. She’d eaten very little since their arrival .
The stable hob was waiting with two horses just beyond the Fae gathering. Aisling made her way through the revelry following close behind Rodney. So focused on keeping her eyes trained on his heels, she nearly tripped over one of the children. The little girl, with black hair and blacker eyes, looked dully up at Aisling.
“Hi,” Aisling said. The girl offered no response, instead opening her mouth wide. A large butterfly crawled out of it and fell wetly to the earth before taking flight. Aisling reeled back, revolted. The girl let out a high-pitched giggle and skipped back to the circle. Rodney had turned just in time to see the insect emerge from her mouth; he too wore an expression of pure disgust.
Aisling was eager now to put as much distance between herself and the group as she could. She grasped the reins of her dappled horse and lined herself up at the stirrup to climb on. Rodney sprang into the saddle of a brown mare with surprising grace.
“My life didn’t begin on Brook Isle, you know,” he teased when he caught Aisling’s incredulous look. “I’ve ridden once or twice.”
Having seen the hob whisper to each of the horses before setting them loose, Aisling was confident in their ability to navigate to Solanthis with little direction from their riders. Rodney seemed to enjoy the trip. Again, she was focused mainly on keeping her balance in the saddle.
As they drew further away from the gathering on the lawn and the sounds of singing and laughter became faint, Aisling’s discomfort eased. Rodney, however, only became more despondent as the temple steps shimmered into view on the horizon. His face was contorted into a grimace from the first step to the last, and it was only with Aisling’s constant urging that he made it to the top at all. Aisling didn’t fare much better; her legs were still burning from making that same climb with Laure.
They collapsed at the top, neither able nor willing to appreciate the view. It was hotter today, and the breeze had died down before they’d even reached the halfway mark. But just as it seemed they’d finally caught their breath, they were summoned by a soft voice from inside the mouth of the temple.
The keeper—the sidhe Aisling had noticed during her previous visit—turned once she’d caught their attention and drifted inside. Every inch of her glimmered in the light that streamed into the nave; when she passed through the pool of it beneath the dome she appeared as little more than a thick cloud of glitter.
“The archives are kept in the tower,” she said over her shoulder as they followed her up the wide staircase. Her voice was barely stronger than a whisper. “You have access to everything inside. You need not replace the things you’ve read; I’ll take care of that when you’re through. But I must ask that your bags remain outside. Nothing but your bodies and minds go in or out of that room.” She gestured to a gilded door, tall and narrow. Aisling shrugged off her pack and set it against the wall.
“How long may we stay?” she asked.
“I will retrieve you when your time is up. Hands?” The pair held out their hands. The sidhe examined them closely, checking their palms and under their nails for any trace of dirt. Once she was satisfied they were clean, she stepped forward. She placed both of her palms flat against the door and lowered her head as though she was murmuring to it. The filigree shone for a moment so brightly that Rodney looked away and Aisling closed her eyes tightly against the glare.
As silent as Solanthis felt in the nave, there in the archives the absence of sound was even more stark. It felt different somehow. Comforting. The sidhe, who had remained behind them in the doorway, drew in a reverent breath. Aisling did the same. It smelled of incense and leather and brittle pages. Of knowledge, of history. A sharp pang cracked across her ribs when she thought of Kael’s head bent over his own ancient tomes, silver hair hanging down like a curtain.
“Ash?” Rodney was already standing before one of the oak shelves, so laden with books it sagged in the center. He pulled out the first one within reach and thumbed through it. “What are we looking for, exactly?”
She wandered over to stand with her back against his to examine the opposite row of tomes. She peered closely at the titles, pleased to find more written in English than she’d expected. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
He snorted. “That doesn’t help me.”
Aisling glanced back toward the doorway to ensure that the sidhe no longer lingered there before she said, ”A way out.”
“What?” Rodney looked at her, eyes wide.
“A way out, a different interpretation— something. ” Aisling raked her hair back into a rough bun and crouched down to read the titles on a lower shelf .
“Aisling, what are you talking about?” When she didn’t answer right away, Rodney grabbed her elbow and pulled her up to face him, then said her name again sternly.
“It isn’t right, Rodney. I understand not wanting the Unseelie Court to take full control, but this? Laure? ” She hadn’t realized the strength of her conviction until she spoke the words out loud, but she’d felt the truth of them. They’d been a noisy refrain in her mind from the moment Laure had dismissed the magicked singer as harmless fun. When the banquet she’d planned in their honor was lit by candles anchored to human bodies, she knew for sure.
Laure, as Queen, was aware and tolerant of everything that went on in her court. She would know about the changeling children. She would have known about Maeve Morrow—maybe not by name, but Aisling wasn’t entirely sure if that was better or worse. She shook her head and repeated, “It isn’t right.”
Rodney’s frown softened just slightly. “It’s the prophecy.”
“Is it?” she challenged. “Because I don’t recall it explicitly calling out either court by name. Even Laure said herself that Fae prophecies aren’t rigid.”
“Maybe, but Ash…” Rodney trailed off to rub the back of his neck, looking around once more to ensure their privacy.
“You saw the scene on the lawn this morning; do you really want the whole realm to look like that? What do you think happens to humans if that becomes normal? What if they stop waiting for them to cross the Veil on their own?” There were worse beings in the Wild than Laure’s courtiers, and she didn’t doubt that the only thing holding them back from indulging their impulses was an outmoded sense of consequence. If the sort of treatment that was acceptable in the Seelie Court became normalized across the realm, including in those darkest corners, that small bit of protection would be eradicated.
“But an Unseelie rule—” Rodney began in protest, but Aisling cut him off.
“Isn’t the answer either; I’m not saying that it is. I’m saying that there’s got to be another option.”
He thought for a moment, studying Aisling’s face. The corner of his lips quirked up as he began to appreciate the challenge. “Door number three.”
“Exactly.” Aisling grinned, then sighed and looked around the space once more. “We just need to find it.”
By the time the sidhe returned to retrieve them, Rodney and Aisling had combed through only half of the shelves in the space. Rodney’s understanding of the Fae language was useful, but rudimentary and slow as he puzzled over words he couldn’t recall. Aisling paged through most of the books in English, and some of those written in obscure languages that neither of them recognized. In those, she focused on the illustrations.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” Aisling said to the sidhe when she pulled open the door, interrupting Rodney as he was sounding out yet another complex sentence. Heavy books and scrolls were piled high on the table in the center of the room.
“That’s quite alright,” she intoned. “Have you found what you were looking for?”
Aisling picked her bag up off the floor and slung a strap over her shoulder. “Would it be possible for us to come back tomorrow?” She ignored Rodney’s dramatic huff.
“Certainly; I’d be happy to have you back.” The sidhe locked the door the same way she’d opened it: palms pressed flat, and a low whisper against the wood. Aisling knew to face away from the ensuing glow this time.
“Welcome back.” Tadhg was waiting near the palace steps, casually leaning a shoulder against one of the manticore statues guarding the door. The stable hob was hovering nearby and scuttled forward to take the reins and guide the horses away once Aisling and Rodney dismounted. Both of them winced at the soreness that flared in their legs when their feet hit the ground. “Did you enjoy your visit to the archives?”
“We did, thanks. I believe we’ll be returning tomorrow.” Aisling put a hand on Rodney’s shoulder for balance and rolled her stiff ankles.
“Books exist to be read,” Tadhg said with a smile. He pushed himself off of the statue and met the pair on the lawn. His hair shone the color of autumn leaves in the low afternoon sun; he’d tied it back with a green ribbon at the nape of his neck.
“Do you know where I might find Laure? She asked to speak when I got back.” Aisling glanced around, thankful that the morning’s party had moved on in their absence .
“Laure unfortunately has other matters to attend to; she sent me in her stead to entertain you for the evening.” Tadhg bowed deeply at the waist and his eyes sparkled good-naturedly. Despite how desperate she’d been for Laure’s acceptance when they’d arrived, Tadhg had since become the only member of the Seelie Court Aisling felt remotely comfortable around.
“I’m not sure we need entertaining,” Rodney hedged.
When Tadhg smirked, he looked like a sheepish child. “Really, it’s purely selfish on my part. I’d quite like to paint your portrait, Aisling. You with the White Bear.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not good at sitting still.” Aisling felt her cheeks heat as the artist studied her like he was already composing the piece in his mind.
Tadhg laughed off her protests. “Nonsense; you’ll do perfectly. We’ll drink tea and eat cakes and have a fine time.”
Her hand rose self-consciously to the messy bun high on the back of her head, then to the sweater she’d tied around her waist. There was dust on her jeans from the ride. “I should at least bathe. I could change into the gown I wore to dinner if that would be better.”
“Absolutely not,” Tadhg said firmly. “I can do your hair down if you’d like, but I’ve no interest in painting the Red Woman dressed as Seelie gentry. I want you just as you are.”
Tadhg waited in the palace foyer while Aisling, resigned, hurried to her chamber to retrieve Briar. He’d tugged her towel from where it was draped over the side of the tub to sleep on. His tail thudded heavily against the tile when she cracked open the door and called his name.
“Beautiful.” Tadhg beamed and held out his hand for Briar to smell once they’d returned. He did so, apprehensive, at first, then relaxed. “Come, my studio is upstairs. I’ve already called for tea.”
Tadhg’s studio was set up in a corner room, with windows spanning across two walls to capture both the morning and afternoon sunlight. He poured three cups of tea, preparing his own with cream. Aisling took hers plain.
Rodney circled the space as Tadhg got Aisling settled on a simple wooden chair beneath one of the windows. She directed Briar to sit at her side. He sat tall with his ears perked, as though he knew he should be posing, too.
“Why have you covered your art?” Rodney was peeking under the corner of a drop cloth at the canvas beneath. Indeed, all of the work around the studio was shrouded in white sheets.
Tadhg smiled mischievously at Aisling. “You are the first clothed subject I’ve painted in a while. I didn’t want you to see my other work and think that was expected of you.”
“I appreciate that,” she said with a breathy laugh.
“I could use the practice with fabrics anyway. It is tricky, getting the movement and shading just right.” He adjusted his easel and began mixing colors on a palette. “Please, drink and eat as much as you like. You needn’t be a statue.”
The tea—the same she’d had on the lawn the day before—soothed Aisling’s aching muscles and troubled thoughts. She sipped it gratefully as Tadhg began to paint with quick, rough strokes. Rodney continued his exploration of the covered art, pulling back each sheet for just long enough to examine the hidden subject before moving on to the next.
“They’re all of Laure,” he observed.
“She is my muse, after all.” Tadhg’s smile was wistful. Secretive.
“Are you and Laure…” Though Rodney trailed off, the implication of his unfinished question was as loud as if he’d said the words. Aisling made to scold him, but Tadhg intervened without missing a beat.
“Laure had a great love once, a very long time ago. Since he passed on, she’s rather enjoyed…sampling her wares.” Tadhg winked and Aisling flushed crimson. “She likes to collect beautiful things. We all do. I, through my art.” He flourished his brush, sending droplets of paint to splatter on the covered canvas near his feet.
“Have you known her long?” Rodney asked.
There was that secretive smile again. “Long is relative, I suppose. Niamh has known her for longer than I; she brought me here after she was made captain. Laure saw a painting of mine in her room.”
“What was that painting of?” Aisling finished her cup of tea and poured another before settling back into position.
“Our home. Chin down, please.” He gestured with his brush. “Taliesin, to the south. Where we make our berry wine.”
“I passed through there once, I believe. It was hot if I remember correctly.” Rodney finished his examination of each covered canvas and perched on a windowsill nearby.
Tadhg chuckled. “More than likely. Have you lived in the human realm for a very long time?”
“Long is relative.” He parroted back Tadhg’s words, and Tadhg snorted.
“Where did you live before?”
“Here and there.” Rodney hopped off the sill to circle the room again.
Tadhg paused mid-stroke to look over his shoulder at Rodney, eyebrows raised. “A Veilwalker? There are less and less of those.”
Rodney hummed. “There’s less and less space in the human world for the Fae.”
“I’ve never quite understood the Solitary, to be honest.” He returned to his work, gaining more precision with each stroke. “To live untethered like that. No allegiances, no protection.”
“No rules,” Rodney added.
“I think even that lawlessness has begun to lose its allure. Laure has extended her aid to a handful of Solitary factions for a number of years now, and even more still of late. They’ve all seemed eager to accept.” As Tadhg turned his attention down to his palette, focused intently on mixing several bright colors into a more muted shade, Rodney’s eyes flickered to Aisling’s. She nodded subtly for him to continue.
“What sort of aid?” He kept his voice cool and disinterested.
“Why?” Tadhg smirked, though he still concentrated on his colors. “Do you want to make a deal?”
Rodney sniffed. “I could be convinced. It depends on what’s on offer. ”
“There’s a great deal to be offered.” Tadhg held up the palette, looking back and forth between the color he’d created and Aisling’s clothes before attacking it again with his brush.
“And what is it that the Seelie Court gains in return?” Rodney was standing at Tadhg’s shoulder now, suddenly far more interested in his process than he’d been when the activity was first suggested.
Without hesitation, Tadhg said, “I am the queen’s artist, not her advisor. I stay as far away from politics as I am able.”
“Does their contribution have anything to do with the war efforts?” Aisling asked. She set her teacup aside and patted Briar’s head, though she was not so skilled at seeming impassive as Rodney.
“Of course not,” Tadhg scoffed. “They would no sooner fight to protect our court than we would their land.”
Aisling thought of those ill-equipped Solitary soldiers at Nyctara, fighting on foot while the Seelie warriors remained above the fray on horseback, dying for a cause that wasn’t their own at the ends of swords and wrapped in tendrils of Kael’s shadows. Rodney caught her eye again as though reading her mind. His reaction had been one of shock when she’d returned and told him what she’d seen.
“I would think adding their numbers to the Seelie ranks would be rather beneficial in this war,” Rodney suggested casually.
Whether or not Tadhg knew the truth, he didn’t let on. He never faltered; his expression and the constant movement of his paintbrush across the canvas gave nothing away as he responded, “The Seelie Court fights its own battles.”