Chapter 9 Adele #2
The walk to the second level should’ve given me plenty of time to regain my composure. Instead, I spent the entire time acutely aware of Raoul beside me, of how his body occasionally brushed mine as we walked, of how he’d shortened his stride to match mine.
You’re both hopeless, Fletcher said, trotting along behind us.
We’re being professional.
You’re being something, but professional isn’t the word I’d use.
Then what word would you use? I asked.
Delusional.
I decided to ignore him.
Raoul led us down a corridor I hadn’t seen during the original tour, stopping in front of an ornate door carved with clouds and lightning bolts. He pressed his palm to the wood, and I felt a pulse of magic before the lock clicked open.
“The magical seal responds to Emberforge members only.” He glanced down at me. “That includes you.”
By marriage. Amazing.
The room he led me into stole my breath.
It was enormous, easily the size of the great hall, but instead of being empty space, it was filled with row after row of shelves. Leather-bound volumes stretched as far as I could see on the shelves.
“Three hundred years of daily observations,” Raoul said, pride shining in his voice. “In most, you’ll find weather reports. Temperature, precipitation, wind patterns, unusual events. It’s all documented.”
I moved forward in a daze, trailing my fingers along the spines of the nearest volumes. The leather felt soft with age, the gold lettering still clear despite the years.
“This is…” I couldn’t find the words to describe what I was feeling. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Raoul’s laugh made me turn. He was watching me with an expression that made my heart stutter.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. You look at historical documents the way most people look at treasure.”
“These are treasures.” I pulled a volume from the shelf, opening it carefully.
The pages were filled with neat handwriting, recording who’d given birth, who’d died, and who was building a new house.
“Do you have any idea what kind of patterns we could identify with this much data? What kind of predictions we could make?”
“Show me.” He came over to stand beside me.
I opened the book to a random page and began explaining the notational system, how the various measurements could be cross-referenced and analyzed. Raoul leaned in to see better, his shoulder brushing mine, and warmth flooded through me.
A snowflake drifted down between us.
“Sorry,” I muttered, dissolving it.
“Don’t be.” Warmth and amusement came through in his voice. “I’m beginning to recognize your weather patterns. Snow means you’re feeling something you don’t want to acknowledge.”
“That’s not—It’s merely unconscious magic responding to—”
“Temperature differentials. Yes, I know.” He turned to face me fully, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Very scientific. Nothing emotional about it at all.”
“Exactly.”
More snow began falling, gentle flakes that caught in his hair.
“Adele?”
“Yes?”
“You’re creating a blizzard.”
I looked up to find he was right. A full cloud had formed above us, snow falling in earnest now.
“Right. I’ll take care of it.” I waved my hand, but the snow didn’t stop. If anything, it increased.
Raoul’s mouth twitched. “Having some difficulty with control?”
“It’s the proximity,” I said, stepping back. The snow slowed slightly. “Dragon shifters create localized heat zones that destabilize my ambient temperature regulation.”
“Is that what I do? Destabilize you?”
Yes. Completely. In every possible way.
“Physiologically speaking,” I said.
He closed the distance I’d created, and the snow picked up again. “What if I did this?” His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
The snow transformed into a gentle rain, drops falling around us but somehow never actually touching either of us.
“Fascinating,” I breathed.
“Agreed.” But he wasn’t looking at the rain. He was looking at me.
The air between us felt charged with feelings I couldn’t explain away with science. His hand was warm on my skin, his amber eyes dark with want, and I couldn’t remember a single reason why we’d agreed to maintain a professional distance.
“Raoul—”
“We should look at the records,” he said, but he didn’t move away.
“Yes. The records. That’s why we’re here.”
“That’s definitely why we’re here.”
Neither of us moved.
Fletcher, who’d been exploring the archives, barked.
We jumped apart like guilty children. The rain stopped, leaving us both damp and breathing hard.
Sorry, Fletcher said, not sounding sorry at all. I thought I saw a mouse.
You’ve never been afraid of mice before.
I was acting in a defensive way. Scaring it to keep it from going near you.
I don’t believe you.
He huffed.
Raoul ran a hand through his damp hair, looking as unsettled as I felt.
“So,” I said brightly. “The records. So, you mentioned they’re organized chronologically?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “The oldest volumes are in the back. We can start there if you’d like to see the full historical scope, or we can begin with more recent data if you’re looking for specific patterns.”
“Let’s start with the oldest.” I needed something to focus on besides how much I wanted him to touch me again. “Historical baseline data will be essential for identifying long-term climate shifts.”
We made our way to the back of the archives, where the volumes were even more ancient. Raoul pulled down several books, and we settled at a reading table with Fletcher curling up beneath it.
Try not to create any more weather disasters, he said.
I’m not—
You absolutely are.
I ignored him and opened the first volume.
For a while, we worked together quietly. I took notes, cross-referencing observations, identifying patterns. Raoul asked good questions, making connections between weather patterns and historical events.
It was perfect. Exactly the kind of intellectual partnership I’d hoped for.
Except I couldn’t stop being aware of him. Of how close he sat, how our elbows occasionally nudged, how he smelled amazing. How his voice dropped lower when he was concentrating. How his fingers skimmed across the page as he read aloud.
The same fingers that had been—
No. Not thinking about that.
I was three volumes deep into precipitation patterns from the two-hundred-and-eighty-one years ago when Raoul made a small sound.
“What is it?” I asked, looking up from my notes.
“I’m not sure yet.” He got up and pulled four more volumes from the shelves, each with a newer date, placing them on the table. Sitting, he skimmed through the first two he’d collected. “There’s something odd about the rainfall distribution in Brightmore Valley.”
“That’s,” I paused, thinking, “a few valleys away from here, to the east, correct?”
“Yes.”
I moved my chair closer to see what he was looking at. Our shoulders pressed together, and I firmly ignored the flutter in my belly.
“See here?” He pointed to a chart in the oldest volume. “For some reason, Brightmore has received significantly less rainfall than the surrounding regions during this growing season. I noticed a cyclical pattern while reading about cloud formations.”
“It could be a topographical anomaly.” I leaned in to study the data. “Mountains create rain shadows—”
“That’s what I thought too. But look at this.” He pointed to another volume, this one with a closer date to present day. “Same pattern. Brightmore is dry during this growing season only, exactly fifty years after the prior drought.”
My pulse quickened in a way that had nothing to do with Raoul’s proximity. “And fifty years after that?”
We studied the volumes, spreading them across the table in chronological order. Every fifty years, we found the same pattern. Brightmore Valley received approximately a quarter of the rainfall of neighboring regions during the crucial growing months.
“This is amazing,” I breathed, already calculating in my head.
“It’s some kind of atmospheric pressure system that shifts on a fifty-year rotation.
The mountains must channel wind patterns differently depending on—” I stopped, my stomach dropping.
“Raoul, it’s been fifty years since the last incident, hasn’t it? ”
“That means it could be happening this growing season.” His expression had gone serious. “If the pattern holds, Brightmore is experiencing drought conditions right now.”
“We need to verify this.” I was already pulling my notebook closer, sketching out the atmospheric conditions that could cause such a regular cycle. “If it’s happening right now, we might be able to intervene.”
“We’ll visit tomorrow,” Raoul said. “Brightmore is only a few hours’ flight from here.”
I looked up at him, finding his amber eyes on me. The heat there made my breath catch.
“I’ve had access to these records my entire life and never studied them the way we have today.” He hit his forehead with the heel of his palm. “What kind of king overlooks something as vital as this?”
I shrugged. “We have three hundred years of data. Want to talk about the prior kings and what they missed as well?”
“You’re right.” He sank back into his chair. “The important thing is that we’ve identified it, and if there’s a problem right now, we can see if we can come up with a solution. Thank you for pointing that out. I tend to—”
“Take responsibility for everything, even things you can’t control?”
He smirked. “Something like that.”
“Yes, something.”
A warm breeze swirled around us, carrying the scent of summer rain.
We leaned closer—
The archive door burst open with a bang that made us both jump apart.
Demi rushed inside, holding a small message scroll aloft. “We have a problem.”
We both got up from the table.
“What’s wrong?” Raoul asked.
“It’s about the Summit.” Demi moved into the room, her usual cheerfulness replaced by tension. “Two of the clans are threatening to boycott unless we address a crisis with their newborns. They’re accusing each other of sabotage, and both are demanding we take a side before they’ll attend.”
My stomach sank. A Summit boycott would be a political disaster.
“What kind of crisis?” Raoul asked.
“That’s the strange part.” Demi handed him the message, explaining for me while Raoul read. “Both Clan Silvervale and Clan Goldwing are reporting the same issue. Their infants won’t stop sneezing. At Goldwing, they’re also coughing. The parents are exhausted, and everyone’s blaming everyone else.”
Fletcher slunk out from under the table. That sounds annoying.
“When did this start?” I asked, my mind already spinning through possible causes.
“About two weeks ago, according to the message.” Demi looked between us. “They want answers before the Summit, or they’re not coming. And if two clans boycott, others might do the same.”
Raoul’s jaw tightened. “We’ll figure this out.”
“How?” Demi asked. “We can’t exactly tell their babies to stop sneezing or coughing.”
His gaze met mine. “We need to visit both clans and see if we can find out why this is suddenly occurring. Silvervale and Goldwing are in the east. We can stop at the village along the way and then continue from there.”
“Alright.”
We shared a smile that felt giddy on my part because this meant we were going to spend time together.
“You two…” Demi’s eye had taken on a sparkle that didn’t fit with a clan dispute. She shook her head. “Never mind. I think you two need to discover this on your own.”