That she can spend carefree time with him. That she’s had a terrible start in life yet bounced back without trouble, while I’m still broken.
Tristan always attaches a little gift, or another message for me to her collar, and while there’s always a pretense of it being about our research, they’ve become more… tender. I’m ashamed to say I’ve not discouraged him. I eat any treat he sends me and find it endearing how he always assures me it has ‘no animal’ in it.
And while we don’t speak in person, the messages have also become more frivolous. He’s written to me extensively on how he’s been working with the royal cooks to perfect a recipe for a pizza made out of their local ingredients. Yesterday, the update was that it’s not perfect yet, but Tristan has managed to coerce Prince Sylvan to share his crop of tomatoes. I find the simple nature of those musings so sweet and soothing. I would like to try this new style of pizza some day, and I wrote to him about that, even though I know I shouldn’t have.
But as much as I dream of seeing him, stepping out of the Book Mausoleum feels like jumping off a skyscraper. And while thoughts of him calm me, I’m still refusing to see him in person.
Servants come in several times a day. Initially, I found their presence awkward, but I was so weak that their help proved invaluable. A maid named Celeste is the most frequent visitor. She brings all my meals, and after a week at the palace, she convinced me that rearranging my quarters is no trouble. As soon as I made the tiniest mention of it to Tristan in a letter, he sent a decorator to ‘help my wishes come true’.
Now, the drab walls have been covered with beautiful tapestries that additionally ward off the cold and hide the skulls and bones of librarians past. The books have been moved to one side of the room, so I have a space I can call mine. I own several new pieces of furniture, and flowers are regularly replaced in large vases, filling my new home with soft fragrance.Suspiciously, every bouquet is arranged to contain a lusciously green herb reminiscent of a fern. It carries the exact scent that’s so prominent on Tristan. Perhaps I should call him out on it. But I don’t want to. This scent makes me feel safe.
The attic remains somewhat eerie, but with the addition of color and soft fabrics, it’s cozy rather than oppressive, like the hut of a hedge witch who came into a bit of money. Courtesy of Tristan, I’ve collected quite a few unicorn-themed trinkets, and I have to say it suits my aesthetic much more than the gloomy gothic style that featured here before. While I don’t have a fireplace, because of the books, as soon as I complained about the green of swamplight, I was provided a powder to put over the torches that makes the light glow blue instead.
Other than growing tomatoes, Prince Sylvan is the castle’s master alchemist, with whom I’ve corresponded about rare potions, which has been a dead end. I did have some hopes about his husband, Hawk, who possesses a rare ability of consuming shadows. If he could eat mine, I’d be free of the attachment to Tristan, but Sabine explained that his magic only works on elves.
Which brought me back to square one.
I still don’t know how to break our bond, and neither I, nor Tristan, nor Sabine have managed to find any truly useful information about finding unicorns yet.
Without a busy job, phones, or the internet, I seem to have more time for pondering everything. Especially in daytime, when I sit with Lady on the carpet and look at the stars through the skylight, wondering whether my bond with Tristan really isnow written in them. Or what that might mean in a magical world. If it’s something that physically happens, then how could a unicorn rewrite that? And how has Sohan communicated with one? In his mind? Or does the animal speak?Is iteven an animal?
All questions I’ve eventually exchanged with Tristan, yet seeing him and talking to him is a whole different story.
I worry that if I meet him in person, look into his golden eyes, and feel the warmth of his fingers, I will be fooled into the stupid attachment called love.
I don’t believe in this kind of stuff anymore.
I can’t. Not after Gloombane.
He killed all the joy I was ever capable of, and my ability to trust.
And love? Its first blossoms were what put me in that position in the first place.
Even now, with Lady lovingly putting her head in my lap, I feel empty, as if a part of my soul has departed.
Once again, there’s a creak, and the massive dog barks, staring at the wall.
“It’s all right, girl. It’s just rats,” I whisper, scratching her behind the ear.
Going by the way she’s growing, I dread to think what the rats of the Nightmare Realm look like, but I’ve not yet seen one in my rooms, so I try not to overthink it.
I flinch when I hear steps on the stairs, then a loud knock, but despite barking, Lady’s wagging her tail.
“It’s me, Nate,” says Sabine, so I get up to open the door for her. “These stairs…” she mutters, all flushed.
Little Nathan, who looks just like I imagine Tristan had as a toddler, sits on her hip, attached with a contraption of leather and velvet. His big golden eyes zero in on me the moment they both enter, and I offer him my hand to play with. This time, I’mwalking it up his arm, like it’s a massive spider, and the kid swats at it gleefully.
“I’m sorry. Should I open the window?” I ask, indicating the balcony, where I sometimes watch the sky from. It may be cold most days, but that’s nothing a hot water bottle and blanket combo can’t fix.
“No, but I did need to come in person. We might have had a breakthrough in our search for the unicorn, but Tristan, of course, wants to tell you himself.”
My heart stops for half a second, then races. “Oh, that’s so exciting. You could have just put his letter in the elevator and rang the—”
Sabine throws her hands in the air, and some of her bouncy red curls escape the messy updo on her head. She’s wearing tight leather pants under her dress, which are very much visible because she’s hitched the front of it with straps, probably to climb the stairs comfortably.
“He wants totellyou. And since you won’t see him, he’s stalling, even though we’ve now known this new information for days. I am so tired of all this avoidance. I understand that you’re still wounded by what happened, and we’re doing everything we all can to break the shadow bond for you, but I have never worked so inefficiently. Results require cooperation, and at this point, it’s starting to feel like you’re happy to stay here among the flowers, reading books and exchanging letters. Which is not a problem for me, but if that’s the case, I’d rather know, and not waste my time trawling through tomes about meetings with unicorns.”
Nathan laughs, mumbling something I can’t even dream of understanding, and claps his tiny hands.
