This is another feat entirely.
My thoughts remain distracted as I finally tear myself away from the gallery and resume my wandering. I determine to learn more about Arianrhod of the Sky Court. The little I know about her—the strongest sylph ever to weave the wind, from one of the oldest fae bloodlines ever to rule—only increases my curiosity about her grim demise.
How had one so powerful fallen so fast? What happened to her court after her soul returned to the skies? Was her maegic like mine, or somehow different? Was she a distant ancestor, some severed branch of my unknown family tree?
I stack those questions atop the growing mountain of others in the back of my mind about Soren’s homeland, his family dynamics, his history…
It is growing rather cluttered in there.
My feet subconsciously steer me toward a solution to my curiosity. The library. It’s dark when I enter, no fire in the grate or signs of life amid the many shelves. After lighting a handful of sconces, I peruse the books for a long time. There are more than I could read in a lifetime, many written in foreign tongues I do not recognize.
Despite the vastness of Soren’s literary trove, my search for material related to the Sky Court turns up empty. Instead, I select a thin tome that chronicles the history of the Water Court and its ruling family, and settle in on a chaise lounge to read. I make it through approximately five pages about the geothermal springs that heat the turquoise waters of Hylios before my eyes slip shut and I tumble into dreams.
The luxurious weightof a down duvet settles over my prone form. I jolt into consciousness, my sluggish eyes adjusting to the darkness of my bedchamber. As the cobwebs of sleep clear, I see a shadow sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“Soren?”
“Shh, skylark. Go back to sleep.”
Oh, gods, he must’ve found me asleep in the library, book askew on my chest, and carried me here. My cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Sorry. I was reading. I must’ve nodded off…”
“Mmm. Probably something to do with your choice of material. Not the most enthralling historical account, as I recall. It would have even the most disciplined scholar slack-jawed and drooling by the second chapter.”
I push up into a seated position against the headboard. “I was not drooling!”
“On my favorite pillow, no less.” There is a teasing note in his voice. “I’ll set out some better books for you tomorrow, ones that won’t bore you into slumber. We can’t have you ruining the furnishings.”
“I thought I was not to be trusted with your books after the castle incident.”
“Thank you for reminding me.” His eyes gleam, inquisitive. “What were you hoping to learn, anyway?”
My blush intensifies. I hope he cannot see it in the dark. “Oh, nothing in particular.”
“Skylark.”
Sighing, I hurry on, “I was curious about Hylios. How things function here.”
“Things?”
“The royals. The armies. The citizens.” I clear my throat. “You.”
There is a loaded silence. “Me.”
“Yes, you. You are a king, after all, even if you don’t act like one. Is it so shocking I would be curious about your long reign?”
“No, I suppose not. But I was not joking when I said you merely need to ask. I will happily answer anything you want to know about me.” Another short silence descends. “Almost anything.”
I shouldn’t pepper him with questions. It’s late, and he has better things to do with his time than indulge an inquisition…But before I can stop myself, I’ve blurted out, “How old were you when you took the throne?”
“Seventeen,” he answers immediately.
“So young.”
“At the time, I felt ancient, trust me.”
It is as difficult to imagine him as a teenager as it is to imagine him at six. Hell, it is difficult to envision him at any age remotely close to my own. There is a timeless air around him, a self-awareness accumulated by centuries on this earth.
My mind stalls on thoughts of a very different Soren. One less in control of himself, one more on par with my own floundering skills…