WREN
The library took three weeks to organize properly.
Not because it was particularly large, but because Elspeth and I kept disagreeing about methodology. She wanted strict alphabetical by author within each subject category. I wanted to organize by how often the books would actually be used. We compromised by doing both.
Tavrin watched us argue about the placement of a water-stained astronomy text for twenty minutes before quietly retreating to make tea.
“He’s afraid of us,” Elspeth observed.
“He’s not afraid. He’s strategic.”
She’d found her place here faster than I’d expected. Within a week, she’d claimed a corner of the library as her own workspace. Within two, she was correcting my shelving choices with the quiet confidence of someone who had always known exactly where things belonged.
“There’s an Academy,” she said one evening. “For archivists. They train scholars. Preservation specialists.” A pause. “I read about it years ago, in Uncle’s study.”
“You want to apply.”
“I want...” She stopped. Started again. “I don’t know what I want. I never got to want things. But if I could...”
Tavrin looked up from across the room. “Write to them. I’ll fly down to speak with them myself if necessary.”
“You’d do that?”
“You’re family.” He said it like it was obvious. “Family gets whatever they need.”
Elspeth’s eyes went bright. She looked at me, then at him, then back at me.
“Is he always like this?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s wonderful.”
I found her in the library at midnight, two weeks later.
She wasn’t organizing. She was sitting in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest and tears streaming down her face.
“Elspeth.”
She startled. Scrubbed at her cheeks. “I’m fine. The dreams...” She stopped. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” I sat down beside her. “What do you dream about?”
“His hand. On my wrist. I keep feeling him grab me. And then I wake up and I don’t know where I am, and for a moment I think I’m still there, and he’s coming, and you’re not...” She broke.
I pulled her against my chest and held her while she sobbed.
A sound at the door. Tavrin, wings half-mantled with alarm. He took in the scene and his expression shifted.
He disappeared. Came back three minutes later with a blanket, tea, and a plate of the honey bread Elspeth liked. Set them down within reach and settled against the far wall.
Not intruding. Just present. Standing guard.
Elspeth cried herself out. Drank the tea. Ate two pieces of bread.
“He’s not going to hurt you again,” I said. “We’re here. You’re safe.”
“I know.” She wiped her face. “It’s just... the dreams don’t know yet.”
Tavrin’s voice, low and rough: “The dreams learn. Eventually. They learn that the danger is past.”
