“And yours,” he said, then snapped his fingers, conjuring three books between us, their sudden existence startling me. I kept forgetting about magic.
No wonder the bookshelves were fifteen shelves high.
“Start with these,” he offered. “I’ll have the others sent to your residence by nightfall as promised.”
I stood, then scooped the books into my arms, laying the container of food atop them. “Thank you, Fenyte.”
He nodded, and I made to leave.
I’d taken a few steps before turning back. “Fenyte?” I asked, and his face animated with attention once more.
“Yes, Lady Nyleeria?”
Stars, I hoped I could get used to that or ask Caius to make it stop.
“Is it really gentlemales?” I asked.
A small chuckle escaped him as he gave me a knowing smile. “Indeed, it is, Lady.”
“What an awkward word,” I said.
“Indeed, it is,” he repeated, and with that I made for the exit.
It took a few wrong turns and getting outright lost to the point I had to ask for directions, but I eventually made my way out of the palace and claimed a grassy outcrop that overlooked the aquamarine lake.
Legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, I leaned back on theheels of my palms and allowed my eyes to feast on the glorious view while my skin soaked in the sun and stars, I wondered if I’d ever get used to the beauty of this court.
Hunger pulled my attention to the package Maqueea had so kindly put together for me. Tugging at the sides of twine that wrapped it closed, I opened it to find an assortment of fresh fruit and some sort of sweet, billowy pastry.
Maqueea. Rackna. Fenyte. I repeated, committing their beautifully unique names to memory as I ate, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were common among the fae or if they were as unique here as they would be in the human realm. As I thought more on it, I ran through the fae names I’d encountered thus far and had to admit that they were vastly different from human names—well, with the exception of mine. Growing up, villagers would always comment on itsuniqueness, and they didn’t mean it as a compliment. Mother had claimed it came to her in a dream. I scoffed aloud, wondering just how many of my strings the fates had wrapped around their gnarled little fingers.
Turning my attention to the books, I tilted all three so the spines were facing me and noticed a slight shimmer to them as letters seemed to shift, morphing into my mother tongue.
“Clever,” I breathed, grateful for the magic that solved a problem I hadn’t even thought of. By the Mother’s grace we spoke the same language, but depending on how old some of these tomes were, it was possible certain dialects would be unintelligible.
The first book appeared to be on Spark lore. The second was a more clinically dense one on magic and its many forms. As my attention landed on the third, my chest tightened at the title:Human Histories: The Alton Royals.
Swallowing hard, I held it with both hands, the other two books forgotten. I paused for a long moment, staring down at it as a muddled mixture of dread and curiosity soured the sweetness of my lunch. Then, reminding myself that the truths in these tomes couldn’t hurt me as much as my ignorance had, I took a deep breath and flipped the cover over.
Chapter 12
The Great War
Ihadn’t realized what I was looking for until I began scanning through the pages and my fingers stopped over the nameKing Thaddeus Artemis Alton the Second—Thaddeus’ father.
Apparently, Thaddeus was the oldest of seven; two brothers and four sisters. I knew he’d lost family in the Great War, but I hadn’t realized just how large his family was. In the rare moments we’d talk about his family’s deaths, he’d always made it seem like he’d lostasibling, and I couldn’t help the twinge of empathy for the sorrow the child version of him had endured, regardless of the man he’d become.
Most of the text was about their lineage, the human realm, and how our hierarchy worked, and for the most part it was exactly what I’d learned through my studies with Mrs. E—that is until I turned the page to find what had been erased from our histories, or perhaps never recorded. What we called The Great War, and stars, it wasn’t until that exact moment I’d truly understood just how fabricated our own historical texts were—and why.
Like a masochist, I read and re-read the section detailing the war at least half a dozen times as if hoping the pages would shimmeragain, offering me a different translation, but no matter how many times I took in the details with shocked horror, the shame that sluiced through me when I finished was just as heavy as the last.
I stared down at the words, unseeing as I tried to wrap my mind around those truths. It took me a disgraceful amount of time to stop rationalizing them. To stop fixing it in my mind. To stop casting it off as a lie and ignore it. To accept the truth—something I now knew with certainty Thaddeus never would.
“There you are.”
I jolted, slamming the book closed and pressing it to my chest as if I’d been caught with contraband. Heart racing, I kept my focus forward, unsure of how I could ever look Endymion in the eyes again.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, taking a seat next to me.
