Eislyn wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood. There was no sense in moping around Thane’s chambers. It did nothing. It helped no one. It only made the ache in her heart grow worse. There was nothing for her to do but return to her studies.
As she strode away from the chair, she spotted something through the open doorway leading into Thane’s study. His desk, normally neat and orderly, was a mess of books and papers that threatened to topple to the floor. Curious, Eislyn strode to the door and poked her head inside. There were a couple of books stacked on the nearest edge that she recognized. Books they had poured through together, hunched over their lanterns late at night.
She went closer and gingerly picked up the top book. A part of her hated to even lay a finger on the tome. She didn’t want to disturb his research or snoop through his things, but something about the sight of all these papers called to her.
Gently placing the book back where she found it, she moved around the side of the desk to peer at the others. She picked up one and read the title. It was a detailed history of the Fire Court. Frowning, she moved to the next. This one traced history back even further with theories on how the fae had come to these lands.
What had he been researching?
Eislyn’s fingers drifted toward an unmarked book at the very edge of the desk. Breath tight in her throat, she flipped it open.
A Detailed Investigation Into the Origin and History of The Ruin
By Thane Selkirk
Eislyn gasped. She flipped the next page and drank in the words.
I write these pages in hope to assist the Princesses Eislyn and Reyna of the Ice Court. I may have made some interesting connections, but I wish to further investigate before bringing my findings to the princesses, in case this research amounts to nothing more than a dead end.
With her heart in her throat, Eislyn greedily continued to read page after page of notes. Instead of focusing on the recent hundred years, Thane had turned his attention to centuries past. All this time, he had been locking himself up in his study and pouring through ancient tomes...all to help her kingdom.
Overcome, Eislyn dropped into the desk chair and stared at the monumental pages and books laid out before her. Thane must have really thought he was on to something, if he spent this much time and effort on these studies.
There was a lot to pour through, a lot to understand. With a deep breath, she stood and padded back over to the door that led out into the tower corridors. She could not risk anyone venturing inside Thane’s chambers to discover this themselves. Particularly no one loyal to Aengus. She did not trust him not to destroy this information.
Before she could lose her nerve, she rushed back over to the desk and gathered all the papers and books in her arms—what she could carry, at least. She would return for the rest in only a few moments. This research would be far safer in her own chambers than here.
As she headed for the corridor, she paused and took one fleeting glance behind her. Despite the excitement of finding Thane’s notebook—or perhaps because of it—the pain of his disappearance felt like a shard of ice through her heart.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the empty room, tears burning her eyes. “But please come back soon. I don’t want to do this without you.”
64
Mariel
Mariel plopped two overflowing tankards onto the wooden table and sashayed through the tavern, nodding as her regular patrons shouted out their orders. Things had returned to normal in the days since the coronation, as much as could be considered normal in the poor streets of Tairngire.
She had not yet been able to extract Imogen from her cell—the dungeons were too heavily guarded at the moment. Aengus no doubt worried that some seeds of disloyalty had sprouted amongst the courtiers. They would regard him as an outsider, someone who had toppled their carefully-constructed world.
The High King was still missing. Rumors about his disappearance had swept through the city. Some believed he was on a coronation trip throughout the realm, bestowing good wishes on villages and towns he passed by. Others believed that the Grand Alderman had thrown him into the dungeons with his mother. And many others believed he was dead.
“Mariel,” her brother called out as she poured two more tankards of ale. He jerked his head, motioning for her to join him at a table where he sat with two grubby boys wearing patchwork garb.
Frowning, she wheeled through the pub, depositing mugs of mead, before finally stopping at her brother’s table. “You calling me over for drinks? You can poor the damn ale yourself, you know. We’ve a busy crowd here this night.”
“Sit.” He motioned to the chair, his voice grave.
Unease rippled through her. She took the seat.
“I know I said I don’t like you doing your...erm, business, but I thought you should hear these two boys out,” he grumbled.
She sat a little straighter in the chair, her heartbeat picking up speed. Since Reyna had killed Sloane, the murders in Drunkard’s Pit had completely stopped. Apparently, he’d been using the poor low fae as sacrifices in order to extend his pitiful life with dark magic. Now that he was dead, the streets were safer than they’d once been.
Or so she’d thought.
She turned to the boys, eyeing them. They were both young, though most fae looked young to her ancient eyes. Perhaps fifteen or sixteen years. Fresh-faced fae with hard eyes. The eyes of the street. Their tawny hair was ratty and dirty, the sweet color dimmed by grime. Her heart ached for them. Once, this city had thrived. The low fae had never had the riches of the nobles, but they had done far more than merely survive.
“Tell me what you’ve come to say,” she said quietly. “You can trust me.”
