“Everyone knew he was unusually powerful,” Orla added, “even when we were young. I wasn’t as close to him as Dearan and Brielle, but it was ridiculously adorable to see him carrying around his journal with as much passion for it as most young fae cared for their weapons.”
He still enjoyed his journal. I knew that, but I wondered if they did. I hadn’t been able to see if he carried anything around as a fae.
Brielle took another laetis. “I was actually a little sad when he stopped. I felt like he let go of a piece of himself.”
That tugged at my heart. “When was that?”
Orla made a sad little huff. “After the war he disappeared onto Umbran lands. We weren’t quite adults, but he took over his properties as lord.”
Brielle nudged her. “As did our brothers.”
Orla nodded again. “Everyone pulled back to where they felt safest. The Snow Queen was horrible, so if you could avoid her, you were better off. Then she disappeared, and we didn’t really see each other until a year ago when Bylur started gathering everyone to make a council. I haven’t seen him carrying around a journal since before the Battle of Brothers.”
* * *
More days passed, and I spent all the time during the nobles’ fancy evening dinners exploring locked rooms around the castle. Tonight, I was back up at the tapestry of the Battle of Brothers. Brielle had mentioned her father dying in that fight, and it made me want to look at the artwork again. Had the artist known her father? Was he the dying soldier that the other fae knelt by? The whole image was so full of tragedy that I could only stare at it for a few minutes.
I turned around to unlock the door across the hall. This lock had five pins, but it only took me a minute to manipulate with my tension stick and hooked pick. Itucked the lock picks back into my pocket, sent a silent thank you (for the millionth time) to Brittania for the pockets, and let myself into the room.
The room was completely empty. No furniture. No little doors to washrooms. Nothing. Except…
All the walls, and the ceiling and the floor, were painted. Not just one solid color, but a gorgeous mural of a waterfall surrounded by stone cliffs with moonlight dancing magically over the water.
The waterfall where I met Bylur. The stone steps across the floor mimicked the stones in the middle of the pool, and the ceiling held stars that literally twinkled as soft moonlight came in the open window.
Most of the rooms I’d lock-picked my way into had open windows, but none had stones painted like this. I reached for the waterfall, wanting to feel the texture, but I stopped when swirling shadows gathered next to the wall farthest from me.
The pile of darkness made my heart speed up, but I forced a slower breath and turned away from the shadows. “Bylur? Is that you?”
“Yes. What are you doing here?” His voice was calm and measured, so I didn’t think he was angry this time.
I shrugged. “Exploring. I hadn’t been in this room yet.”
“It should have been locked.” His voice was closer, almost directly behind me.
I smirked, knowing he couldn’t see me while I faced the wall. “I’m pretty good with locks.”
“You would have needed tools or magic.”
“Tools,” I answered. “Humans don’t have magic.”
His voice turned wry. “That’s what you think.”
I shook my head. “Can you tell me why this room is painted and locked? It’s gorgeous, and I bet lots of people would love to see it.”
He didn’t answer right away. I started chewing on my lip. Was he more upset by my lockpicking than I’d realized?
“Bylur? Are you still there?”
He set a hand on my shoulder. “Yes. I was debating telling you.”
Oh. Before I could say anything, he continued. “This room was a nursery I spent much of my childhood in. Our family lived here for half of every year, so they painted it with the grotto where I was born. Life and death are powerful moments for fae magic. My mother chose the grotto because she is from House Waden and had strong water magic. I ended up with light magic that is tied to the moon, in addition to the shadow magic from my father’s house. My mother enchanted the water in the paint to absorb wild, uncontrolled magic, so when I was little, and I threw magic about with abandon, the painting absorbed the energy. It turned the painting permanent and added… sparkle.”
“Can I touch it?” I could see the sparkle, but I didn’t know if it was just light.
“Yes.”
He stepped forward with me, and I ran my hand along a stream of waterfall spray. It felt like a featherbrushing my fingers, gentle but full of energy. The faintest hint of ink and cedarwood wafted off his presence.
