“It is.”
“Can’t you be any more specific?”
Maeve bit her lip.
“Alright,” laughed Ambrose. “Come.”
He guided her a few rows down and reached up to a high shelf.
“This one,” said Ambrose, pulling down a wide, thick page book with no title, “has the most family trees but little additional information. You’ll need to cross-reference with any of these.” He gestured to an area of books on the higher shelf, also with blank spines.
“That’s a mighty fine start. Thank you,” said Maeve taking the large book from him and setting it on a desk.
Ambrose lingered for a moment.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your disbelief in Kietel’s Dread Descendent claims would it?”
“No,” said Maeve as she opened the book and ran her finger down the index.
“Surely you can at least tell me whose blood you’re looking to inspect without specifics.”
Maeve laughed. “A friend from school.”
“A friend I am unaware of?”
“A friend you are not unaware of. My tutor.”
“Ah,” said Ambrose excitedly, as though she had just confessed something. “The tutor that has you casting Supreme level spells? And how is this young wizard unsure of his bloodline. He’s of human decent?”
“No,” said Maeve defensively. “Well, only partly. That would be wild. He’s. . . He was abandoned as a baby. He grew up in a human orphanage with no idea of his abilities.”
“That’s interesting.”
Maeve nodded as she flipped through a few pages.
“Is he-”
“That’s all the information you’re getting, Daddy,” said without looking at him.
Ambrose turned to leave, but he stopped. “At least tell me his name?”
Maeve grinned. “Malachite Peur.”
Ambrose nodded, content with his interrogation, and took his leave. Maeve gathered all the books and carried them back upstairs to her room to browse in solitude. The last thing she needy was Arianna being nosey.
Hours and hours of research and Maeve came up dry. She ran her hands across her face with a groan.
“More tea?” Asked Zimsy.
Maeve shook her head. “I think it’s making me jittery now.”
Zimsy sat on the lush carpet across from her and folded her legs beneath her. Her Elven hair spiraling past her shoulders, shiny as silk.
Her wide eyes peered over the books Maeve flipped through. Her features were delicate, like those of a bird, with subtly pointed ears and glowing skin, She had only been a child herself when she came to be a servant in their house. Years before Maeve was born. But even now, Zimsy glowed with everlasting beauty, as all the Elven people did.
“Who is he?”
“Who is who?”
