Chapter 4 #2
They spent hours scouring the shelves for any hint of information helpful to their cause.
Half the tomes were in languages Mireille had never seen, and what wasn’t locked behind glass and marble was entirely useless for her purposes.
She was being pursued by the fae queen, a malevolent terror who wished to destroy Norcliffe and all that Mireille held dear, and nothing could be done to prevent the impending disaster.
If Mireille did not find a way to subvert fae magic, to save her family and her kingdom, then nothing would be left.
The queen would rise in power, gaining more authority with every crown she grasped and every castle she toppled.
Bargaining with the fae prince had been, quite literally, their last chance. And she could not even find a book on the cultural history of fruit trees. It was beginning to appear as if they’d never had a chance at all.
By the time tea was served, Mireille had nearly given up hope of finding information on fae law or tradition. “Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Perhaps there’s not a secret here among any of the shelves.”
“So, where, then?” Thomas popped the last bite of a cucumber sandwich into his mouth. “The prince’s suite?”
Mireille’s own sandwich stuck in her throat.
He handed her a cup of tea. He said, “Well, I can’t go in there.”
“And you expect I can? That anyone would allow me to dance my way right over the threshold to his private chambers?”
The look he gave her said far more than any remark could have.
Mireille groaned. “Be reasonable, Thomas. It’s not as if fae secrets will be bolted to the wall with a finely engraved plaque.
Here lies the knowledge of every fae conundrum known to man.
Feel free to browse this register of twelve proven methods to trick a fae.
” The edge of Thomas’s mouth twitched and, a bit overtired, Mireille plowed recklessly on.
“Perhaps I’ll find just the one I need now: A detailed account for working your way into a fae prince’s bedchamb ?—”
Mireille squeaked and fumbled her teacup as a throat cleared behind her.
There was a flash of surprise in Thomas’s expression before it smoothed to something more cordial, revealing that he had been just as unaware that they’d been approached.
Mireille set her cup on the small table, then glanced at the fae now standing beside them.
The woman leaned forward as she replenished the tray. It was the dark-haired server who had saved Mireille from the shadow creature, and from the seatmate who had tried to trap her in a bargain, the night before.
“Forgive us,” Mireille said. “I’m afraid… well, I’m afraid there’s no excuse for it.”
The woman offered a closed-lip smile as she worked.
Mireille tried again. “I want to thank you for last night. It can be quite difficult to navigate court life and it means a great deal that you were willing to come to my aid.”
The woman only inclined her head. Mireille glanced at Thomas; he gave an infinitesimal shrug.
Mireille reached forward, gently touching her fingertips to the woman’s hand to still her work.
When the woman met her gaze, her dark eyes seemingly free from pretense, Mireille asked, “What may I call you?”
The woman placed the tea pot on the table, then reached up to tap her fingers to her throat.
Mireille gestured with her reply. “In Norcliffe, we were taught a bit of signing. Is this version familiar to you?”
The woman responded with a gesture that appeared to mean, “well enough,” then she glanced at Thomas, who held a book over his knee, and indicated for him to pass it over. When Thomas obliged, the woman pointed out the letters of a name.
“Kin,” Mireille said.
The woman inclined her head again.
“Well, Kin, I am in your debt.”
The sidelong glance she gave Mireille spoke volumes.
“Right,” Mireille said. “I will remember not to offer my debts out so easily, as well as not agreeing to any sly bargains.”
She gave a curt nod, then dipped her head as if to go.
“Kin.” When she turned back, Mireille asked, “Would the law books be on the first level or the third?”
With the smallest upward tilt to the corner of her mouth, Kin indicated her burden of tea pot and tray as if to imply she could not answer.
“I wonder,” Mireille said smoothly, “if the fae laws of hospitality would supersede any orders from your prince.”
Kin’s brow lifted playfully, then she turned to place the tray on a side table.
“Interesting,” Thomas murmured.
Mireille grinned. “Indeed.”
It was surely no accident that the fae secrets were tucked away. The morning search had been fruitless and frustrating and Mireille had no time to waste. They were going to have to use fae customs they did not entirely understand in order to gain any ground.
They followed Kin up a wide spiral staircase to a second story balcony where only a handful of bound volumes rested on a shelf.
A pale stone ledge extended from the wall beneath the shelf, its supports carved into woody vines with wisteria draped over the edge.
To one side rested a plush chair, beside it a small table.
Mireille bit her lip, exchanging a glance with Thomas, as they’d already checked the few books on the shelf.
She said, “Anything on customs and traditions would be helpful as well, but what we would really like are the older texts. Thomas is a bit of a historian, you see, and this is his favorite pastime. I, on the other hand, could do with a primer on court etiquette and something detailing the royal code.”
Kin nodded, tucking her dark hair behind an ear as she stepped closer to where Thomas stood by the ledge, his fingers tracing carved markings that Mireille could only assume were some sort of ancient script.
Shoulder to shoulder, Kin placed her hand over Thomas’s. She guided his palm to lie flat against the stone. He started, his hazel eyes flicking to her face, then Mirelle sensed the tingling warmth of magic that rose from their connected hands.
Kin’s fingers slid away, and beneath Thomas’s palm rested bound linen pages, their script trimmed in red and gold. He went still for one very long moment before his own hand slid reverently down the page.
Kin placed her palm on the ledge beside the first book, and another rose to the surface. Her smile was soft as she crossed her wrists behind her back and strode toward the window, eyes on the distant trees.
Thomas was too still, too quiet. Mireille leaned nearer, glancing briefly at the tome Kin had apparently left for her. “Well?”
His laugh was small and breathless, attention never straying from the page. “I don’t have any idea what it says.”
Mireille could just make out the corner of Kin’s mouth lifting where the woman stood facing the balcony. She had done what they had asked, fulfilled the wishes of the prince’s guests. But she had not broken any trust; the fae secrets were just as far away as they had been.
Except that Thomas was no amateur historian. He excelled at breaking codes. Beside her, he said, “Another. Please. Same time period.”
Kin turned, expression wary at the change in his tone, but Mireille only smiled and said, “See? He loves this stuff.”
Late in the afternoon, after Thomas had exhausted Kin and devoured more texts than Mireille could count, Noal appeared to retrieve the pair. Mireille made a point to grouse about their lack of success.
“Was there something in particular you were searching for?” he asked.
Absently, she ran a thumb over a finely carved vine that edged the table.
Every detail of the palace felt intentional, as if nothing had been left out.
“Actually, several things. But I was wondering most of all about fae customs. The significance of certain flowers, for instance.” The flowers were far less a concern than the stipulations of fae bargaining and the right of rule, but the blossoms seemed her most likely chance to gain Noal’s trust, especially given the look he had shared with the prince their first night.
When he did not respond, she tapped a fingernail against a small glass urn atop the table.
“Can’t find anything of the sort, despite all of these references. ”
Noal’s expression remained level. “You wouldn’t. They’re in our hearts, practiced within our rituals. Our traditions are not bolted to the wall with a finely engraved plaque or listed on a register for all to see.”
A small, choked sound came from the corner, where Thomas attempted to cover his laugh with a cough, likely at the man’s reference to her earlier comment.
“Yes,” Mireille said. “I can see how listing them out might be a problem. I wonder, then, how one might find the answer to those questions instead.”
Noal did not respond.
“I suspect I will not find them with the prince.”
Noal’s attention seemed to sharpen on her. “Indeed, if one were to discover insight at all it would be with the heart of Rivenwilde. Your dinner with the prince approaches. Shall we return you to your rooms so that you may prepare?”
She leaned nearer, dropping her voice. “Truly? You’ve nothing to offer but obscure comments?”
“Not in the way of kingdom secrets, no.”
Mireille narrowed her gaze. “Because you cannot reveal more or because you will not?”
“Precisely.”
“I see,” she said. “It appears we are left entirely up to our own devices.”
* * *
Because of the attack, Alder had changed the rules. Their dinner would be private. He was to meet Mireille at her suite, then walk with her to a secluded dining hall.
Dressed for the occasion in a gown that was far more elegant than the last—and with a much lower neckline, despite the prince’s warning to Noal—Mireille stood in the center of her sitting room, watching as the door came open, well past when she was to expect the prince.