13. A Bruise in Another World
A Bruise in Another World
They reach the tower library twenty minutes later, and Seren’s dignity scatters.
He gawks at the wealth spiraling up the walls.
The library holds more books than he’s seen in his lifetime.
Writing or copying all of them must have taken generations—that’s certainly one use for immortality.
Seren itches to open them and see how they differ from Alard’s books.
The ones he can reach, at least. He can’t see any stairs or ladders to the upper levels.
Seven stories of shelves stretch to the faraway ceiling, the upper floors open above the comfortable main floor.
Cushions and couches nestle around small tables, some draped with luxurious fur blankets.
Another mountain of furs warms next to a magical brazier.
Unlike most of the palace, there are no waterfalls or winding vines. Nor any candles, each magical light safely contained in lantern frames. The library is perfectly orderly.
Except for the shirtless young man scaling a support column. Seren stops, too startled to speak.
“Tansy,” Nevander says sternly.
The young man stops halfway to the second tier. Either because he’s listening to Nevander, or because he can’t climb any higher. His legs, clad in sky-blue leggings, slip an inch down the column.
Then he leans back, beaming over his shoulder. “Hello there, Lord Nevander. Could you be a dear and fetch some books from the top?”
“Get down from there,” Nevander says, ignoring the request.
“You’re no fun.” Tansy squints down at Seren. “Who is… Oh. Fuck.”
Tansy drops from the column. After an alarming stagger, he somehow keeps his feet. He stares unabashed, giving Seren his first clear view of the boy he replaced.
They could have been cousins. Before Seren had blue hair and pointed ears, at least. Cousins or neighbors, because most people in Wymond are cast from the same few molds.
Not brothers. Tansy’s face clarifies the imperfection of Seren’s disguise. Tansy has not just Edith’s blue eyes but her sweet, doll-like features. The same blond-brown hair, worn long to his shoulders.
He’s considerably shorter than Seren, not helped by his bare feet. Silver rings gleam on his toes, and a delicate chain harness chimes across his bare chest. He wears the fae jewelry with utter confidence. All of Wymond would be scandalized.
In the next breath, Seren recoils. Stubborn resentment strikes like a hammer. A grim, hateful hope. Jealousy jabbing into the bruises.
Nevander moves to a discreet distance, still in earshot.
Seren straightens his shoulders. “You’re Tansy.”
“You’re Calithel.” Tansy puts a hand on his cocked hip. “Except I heard you’re still using the name you stole from me.”
Seren tenses. “Is that a problem?”
“Not like I knew the name until yesterday,” Tansy says with a shrug. “I mean, I knew Primrose renamed me, but I like Tansy better anyway. Or maybe I could be Calithel…”
“You knew you were a changeling the whole time,” Seren says, suddenly dizzy. He hadn’t expected Tansy to know so much. Only one of them grew up in a shroud of lies.
“Hard to explain these ears, otherwise.” Tansy tosses his hair back. Bracelets jingle. “Or the fact that Primrose raised me. Not much family resemblance there.”
His words are light, but his resentment still burns.
“Was living here difficult?” Seren asks, unsure which answer will hurt more.
“Absolutely terrible,” Tansy sighs. “Take this library. Obviously built for flying people.” He points accusingly at Nevander. “Flying people who refuse to help an adorable human in need.”
Nevander appears unmoved. Good. Tansy’s flirtatious tone of voice is uncalled for, especially half-naked like he is. Maybe Seren just isn’t used to fae customs, but he’s glad Nevander isn’t distracted.
“What books are you looking for?” Seren asks, latching onto possible common ground. Details to fill in his mental sketch of Tansy.
“Curses and bindings,” Tansy answers, promptly and alarmingly.
“You won’t find those in this library,” Nevander says, not sounding surprised enough.
Tansy winks. “I’ll find remedies and unbindings, though, which will tell me what curses to research… other ways. Don’t worry about that.”
“There’s another library?” Seren asks, distracted. There are so many books in this room alone. “I mean, wait. Who are you trying to curse?”
“Myself,” Tansy says, like it’s obvious. “Something long-term to bind me to Summer before realm-sickness gets me.”
Tansy’s resentment spikes as he speaks. Seren replaced him once before. He doesn’t want to be replaced again.
Except this time is different. Tansy’s absence is a bruise in another world, another life. Seren has to fix it. With or without Nevander’s help.
Seren glances at Nevander. The guardian vowed not to force Tansy back, but said nothing of persuasion.
“Why don’t you want to go back?” Seren asks.
“And leave the best mead in all of Myria?” Tansy counters.
“They say there’s barely any magic in the human realm.
All my friends are here.” He looks Seren up and down.
Jealousy flashes, bright and painful, not a hint of it reaching his smile.
“You can be my friend, too. You’re pretty enough.
Trust me, you’re going to love it here.”
Pain surges behind Seren’s eyes. Falsehoods and promises and hope. Painted copper above the door. The pain is Seren’s own, and he blurts out, “Edith and Alard.”
Tansy frowns. “What?”
“Your parents.” Seren shoves down the loss. They were never his. “Their names are Edith and Alard. She’s the village apothecary, and he’s a traveling scribe. They’ve missed you all this time. It’s been… It’s been hard on them.”
Tansy’s lip twitches. For a moment, he looks as lost as Seren. Then he lifts his chin. “That’s very sad, but I don’t care.”
“You should care,” Seren snaps. Fuck. He forces his fists open, trying to control his emotions just like his magic. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed this magical fae castle, but my mother is dead. I’ll never meet her. You still have that chance.”
Tansy’s smile is far sweeter than his words. “You have a lot to learn about being fae, Prince Seren. Appealing to emotion? Try a riddle game next time.”
He sweeps a bow, chains tinkling, then snags one of the fur blankets. Whipping it over his shoulders like a cape, he stalks from the room.
Seren could probably stop him. He’s supposed to be the prince. But he doesn’t know what else he could say, and he’s never been good at riddles.
“How can he not care?” Seren asks helplessly. Mostly to himself.
Nevander gestures, and the library door swings shut. “Remember that he’s human. He can lie.”
And he’s young, rumbles a woman’s low voice.
The largest pile of furs shifts. Stretches. Rises to its feet, until its shoulders stand taller than Seren, and its massive head swings around. Tiny white flowers rustle in shaggy fur. Not a pile of blankets, but an immense brown bear.
“Nevander,” Seren says, backing away until his legs hit an armchair.
Nevander touches Seren’s shoulder, which is reassuring, but not as reassuring as drawing his sword would be. “She’s no enemy. Though hiding under glamour wasn’t very friendly.”
A sigh echoes. The rumbling voice continues, clearly coming from the bear, though her mouth doesn’t move. I dislike being bothered during naps. Then I awoke, and your conversation was too intriguing to interrupt.
After all the wonder and terror, Seren isn’t yet beyond surprise. He blinks stupidly into the bear’s warm brown face. The talking bear.
Except perhaps he shouldn’t make assumptions. “Are you really a bear, or are you a fae in disguise?” Seren asks, then winces. “Sorry. Was that rude?”
“Don’t apologize lightly,” Nevander reminds, which only makes Seren feel more off-balance. “Seren, meet First Ritekeeper Primrose.”
Seren is at a loss for words. He’s heard Primrose’s name plenty over the past day. Nobody ever mentioned she was a bear.
Primrose shakes herself. Blossoms scatter.
They vanish before touching the ground, and the number in her fur doesn’t diminish.
I am not fae, though I forgive the insult.
I am a watcher of centuries and teacher of queens.
Most recently warden to a certain human brat.
I am foremost among Summer beasts—though my wild sister would dispute that.
“Is your sister here too?” Seren asks, suspicious of every blanket.
Shalin keeps to her woods and valleys. Primrose shoves a chair aside with one massive paw. Your guardian says you have an uncontrolled gift.
Seren’s nervousness heightens. He can’t hope to control his power without fearing it won’t work. “I would be grateful for any guidance.”
Primrose sits in the center of a circle, newly cleared of furniture. Sit and tell me of your powers, and what young Nevander has taught you so far.
Nevander nods, which is when Seren realizes he’s once again looked for reassurance. He can’t keep doing that. Nevander isn’t his friend, however attentive and caring he acts.
Controlling his power is the first step to reclaiming his life. Resolved, Seren sits cross-legged in front of the looming bear. Getting his fine trousers and boots on the ground feels wrong, but the plush rug seems just as fancy. So maybe he should worry about defiling the rug with his trousers.
Nevander moves to the side, distant but observing both of them closely. Primrose remains watchful. Absurd in such a magical place for them to want to learn about Seren. He’s supposed to be ordinary.
But he isn’t, and that’s the problem.
“When I was young, I started feeling other people’s emotions,” Seren begins, as calm as possible.
He isn’t used to talking about this. “Not everything. Just the emotions directed at me. My parents’ hatred.
My neighbor’s happiness when I helped with her garden.
The grocer’s wariness. He thought all the children were trying to steal sweets—which to be fair, we were. ”