Chapter 15
Rowan
My happy mood returned when I entered the library and got a whiff of old books and parchment.
It littered the air along with the metallic stain of ink.
Realising I had the remainder of the day to do nothing but explore, something I had been longing to do since I’d first seen the bookshelves lining the walls, my smile grew.
Trailing my fingers over the spines, I searched for something to pique my interest. But it wasn’t long before I realised I was not even reading the titles. My thoughts had turned to Caelan. To how I felt about him. To how a warmth spread through my chest whenever he was near.
Was this what love felt like? Surely not this soon. I’d only met him four days ago. I’d heard stories of love at first sight, but had dismissed them as fanciful romances spun as fairy tales. But were they? Maybe there was some truth to them. I was in the Realm of the Fae, after all.
The books my aunt had read to me were full of accounts of princesses falling in love with their knights in shining armour and living happily ever after.
So, it was little wonder that I’d been driven to find a love just like in those tales.
A knight or a prince who would sweep me off my feet.
A man who treasured me and me alone, putting my needs before his own.
Unfortunately, every man I had ever met never quite lived up to that expectation.
Until now?
I’d never felt so at ease, so comfortable with someone before, especially in such a short span of time.
Since meeting Caelan and coming to Assyntian, it felt as if time itself had warped, compressing weeks or months of getting to know someone into mere days.
There was an effortless connection between us – or so I thought. But… I did not think he felt the same.
In fact, I was almost certain he didn’t.
Almost certain I was fabricating emotions on the heels of my dreams. Was it all just in my imagination?
He did look at me sometimes as if he wanted to kiss me.
But then he pulled away or changed the subject.
Was this how men normally acted? Was he waiting for me to be more forthright?
My experiences with men, I’d come to realise, were brief encounters that never quite reached the depth of intensity I desired. With Caelan, it felt different. But at the same time, not. Ugh. I was so confused. If only I had a way to tell whether he was interested or not.
My mind tumbled, thinking of the man upstairs.
I picked up book after book, searching for something that would capture my interest. I found nothing even remotely resembling the fiction I craved.
Glancing at the title of the latest book I held – The Native Flowers and Animals of Assyntian – I realised my attention wasn’t on the task, and was just about to abandon my search when footsteps pulled my gaze towards the door.
“I thought you might like some company?” Aenan said, sweeping into the room.
He had changed clothing since I saw him last. His red hair was still damp and curling on top.
He pointed to the book in my hand. “I didn’t realise you had an interest in plants.
” He said it with a smirk, so I knew he was teasing me.
Putting the book back in its place, I turned to him. “You know, I never really understood the love–hate relationship people have with their brothers.” I looked him right in the eye. “Until now, that is.”
He barked out a laugh, making himself comfortable in a chair by the fire, waving at the chaise opposite him. “I never realised how annoying little sisters could be.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Little?”
“Well, you are younger, by a whole four minutes.” He winked. “And you are quite petite.” His eyes glanced over my small frame.
I sat opposite him in the chair he’d indicated.
Curling my legs beneath me, I surveyed him.
I desperately wanted to get to know this male.
My brother. Despite my earlier comments, I had always been envious of those who had siblings.
Had always wanted one myself. Had even dreamt about one when I was a child.
“Tell me about our parents,” I said.
He got a faraway expression on his face and stared into the fire.
“I was very young when our mother passed away,” he stated.
“Only three or four, so I don’t really remember her all that well.
What I do remember – have vivid memories of, in fact – is her smile.
It was like the sun on a warm summer’s day.
It would heat me up from the inside out.
There was this softness to her. Not just in her touch, or her eyes, but in her voice.
She used to sing me a lullaby. One about a little bird, telling me that if I sang it, the little bird would find its way home. I still remember it to this day.”
I frowned at him as a verse swam to mind, but he hurried on before I could say anything.
“Her eyes would light up with joy whenever she looked at me. It made me feel as if I were the centre of her universe.” He gave me a soft smile before glancing at the table between us.
“It wasn’t until I was older and looked back on those memories that I could see the pain she hid there.
” He paused, seeming to think on his words.
“I believe looking at me may have reminded her of you.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed, trying to push it down. “Did she ever talk to you about me?”
He nodded, and a wistful smile tugged at his lips.
“She used to tell me stories. At bedtime. I remember them clearly. They were about a little fire-haired girl who had gone to live in the Human Realm. She told me the girl looked just like me. Every night, she told me another story. And every morning, when I awoke, she asked me what I had dreamt of. More often than not, my dreams were filled with that little girl.”
“You dreamt about me?” I asked, looking at him in amazement.
“Every single night, until I was about six.”
“I… I think I may have dreamt of you too,” I confessed.
“It’s not surprising. Now that I can feel our connection, I’m just surprised we didn’t do it for longer.” He leant over and poured himself a drink from a decanter on the table. It smelt like whisky. He offered me a glass, but I politely declined.
“Our connection?” I asked, intrigued. “You can feel a connection?”
“Yes, can’t you?” He tapped the centre of his chest. “It’s a warm sensation. Right here.”
“Oh.” I had thought that was somehow connected to Caelan. My shoulders dropped. “What does it do? How does it work?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I know it’s what allows us to mind-speak, but I can also sense your feelings and where you are if I’m close enough.”
“What? Like a homing beacon?” I snickered.
He looked confused. “Maybe,” he muttered, cocking his head. “For instance, just now, I knew you were in the library, and thinking happy thoughts. What were you thinking of, sister dear?”
Colour rose to my cheeks. I could feel it sweeping up from the tips of my toes.
Aenan looked amused at my lack of response and laughed at whatever he saw on my face. “Oh, I see. We will have to work on your ability to shield your thoughts and emotions. I really don’t want a repeat of last night.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve already been practising,” I said, reaching out my hand for a glass, deciding I needed that drink after all. “Did you hear my thoughts before that?” Now I was curious to see if my wall had worked.
He shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”
“Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed, blushing again.
He chuckled and poured me a drink. We chatted for a while longer.
I peppered him with questions about his childhood, and in turn, he asked about mine.
The flow of conversation weaved between memories and musings, and I got the distinct impression he had not always gotten along with our father.
I vowed to ask him about it at another time.
Instead, I regaled him with information about the Human Realm.
He seemed fascinated with technology, asking me a hundred questions about how things worked and how they were made.
I stumbled through the explanations, realising with a twinge of embarrassment just how little I knew about the technical marvels of my adopted realm.
It was amidst that discussion that a sudden realisation struck me. I had no idea where my mobile was. I searched my pockets, the absence of the familiar weight suddenly noticeable. “I… I don’t know where my phone is,” I confessed sheepishly.
“I’m certain it will turn up.” He sounded slightly disappointed. We had just been speaking about it, and I had been telling him about the pictures I had taken. “I’m very keen to see this device. You make it sound as if you couldn’t live without it.”
Laughing, I agreed with him. However, I hadn’t seemed to miss it since I had been here. I made a mental note to search my room later.
Returning to the conversation with renewed vigour, we talked, and we drank, and we laughed, and we drank some more. The time slipped by as we got to know each other, and just as I had hoped it would with Caelan, our connection grew.
Finally, I mustered the courage to ask, “How did she die? Our mother.” I waited anxiously for his answer, my heart pounding all of a sudden.
Aenan didn’t respond straight away. When he did, his voice was heavy with emotion. “She was killed,” he said, clearly struggling to contain the raw intensity of his feelings.
My mind raced, trying to process the sudden shock of his words. They cleared away the lingering effects of the alcohol, flooding my brain with questions, but before I could utter a single word, he continued, his voice laden with sombre gravity.
“There are certain factors you are not yet aware of, so maybe that is a story for another day. Instead, would you like to know your name?”
His abrupt shift in subject matter threw me, and I stared at him, not sure I had heard right. “My name? I know my name.” I laughed. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not your human name, silly,” he chuckled softly. “I meant the name you were given when you were born.”
Oh.
His words caught me off guard, and I realised I hadn’t considered I would have been given another name. I hadn’t even considered the life I’d had before I was swapped as a changeling. The notion that I might possess a name beyond my human one was… perplexing. I nodded slowly, my curiosity piqued.
“Your name is Aelyra Ladeyn Wyndaryn.”