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The banners showed quarters of alternating red and white, and in the middle where they met, a bird. Tiiran didn’t know enough about birds to know which one. He also didn’t think it mattered; at least, it didn’t matter to him. Then he reached the start of the stone corridor that led to entrance of the Great Library and saw two of those same banners hung above the library doors. They had not been there the night before and Tiiran had left well after dark.

He stopped dead, his arms trembling faintly from the weight of the overloaded tray of food for the library assistants.

The banners, bird and all, were for the family of the king. King Piya had not done anything for the library to put his name on it. He had not even appointed a Head of House to manage palace affairs, leaving the library in need of repairs that had never been approved, much like the rest of the palace.

Tiiran exhaled in irritation but continued forward. He put his head down to keep the banners out of view and to focus on balancing the tray while unlocking the doors. He poked the tip of his front tooth with his tongue as he concentrated, soothed by feeling where the once-jagged edge had grown smooth.

The library was cold, dark, and stunning: three stories high, with an arched ceiling full of windows of colored glass to let in light. Centuries-old and still standing, it would stand for centuries more if the noble houses would get their shit together and stop killing one another for a throne none of them seemed to know what to do with. Two decades of murders and battles, all apparently for the right to hang banners.

Tiiran shut the door behind him with his foot, grunting at the effort since the door was solid wood and the tray was heavy, then carried on inside, his short, soft boots making almost no sound.

The entrance doors led directly to two rows of tables and chairs used by library assistants to fulfill copy requests. Down the aisle between the rows was a tall desk. In the past, there would have been several assistants at that desk waiting to answer questions and receive mailed requests or gifts to the library. Beyond the desk was a massive spiraling staircase and a small area where visitors used to wait to be called into the offices of the various Master Keepers—the most knowledgeable of record keepers and librarians.

The waiting area was lit by a wall of windows of plain glass and one small wooden door which led to a garden, now overgrown. To one side on this level, several doors led to small offices and an informal rest area and simple kitchen. To the other side of the desk and the staircase were more shelves and cubbies, as well as the cellar entrance, currently covered by a large, threadbare rug. Out of view of the library’s main desk were several back staircases, and, tucked away in a corner, a lift box with a pulley for anything too heavy or unwieldy to be carried up or down flights of stairs. The lift box was large enough to fit a person, something every younger assistant tested at least once.

In addition to all the bookshelves, there were small nooks beneath the windows with chairs and tables for the more studious scholars who didn’t like interruptions. Some of the nooks even had fireplaces for winter work. Most of the fireplaces needed to be cleaned. Several were blocked.

Tiiran bit back some growls about that and headed to the rest area. The space held several chairs with sagging stuffing, a sink and water fountain, a small hearth built into one wall, and several counters and cabinets, empty but for supplies for tea. The room next door had a toilet and a water source, both connected to the palace’s plumbing but too old to have been built with heating.

He unloaded the tray, tucked his key into a pocket, and started a fire in the hearth to heat water, then took the plate out of the room to go to Master Keeper Toak’s office on the second level. Toak wasn’t there, of course. Dust on the chair that said Toak hadn’t been in yesterday either. Tiiran left the plate on the desk, removed the old plate full of food, then returned to the rest area for his breakfast.

Light was beginning to trickle in. It helped Tiiran feel less like growling. So did the buttery bun and the cup of spring tea he made for himself, so called because it gave people a spring in their step. He brewed the tea strong and bitter and didn’t stop for honey or cream, busying himself with taking Toak’s forgotten food outside to feed the birds and to check on the library’s two mousers.

The mousers would let it be known if they hadn’t caught any mice and were hungry, but the commotion from the birds would attract them so Tiiran could make sure they were all right. Po had told him repeatedly that the mousers would take care of themselves. After all, they had a tiny entrance near the wooden door leading out to the garden, and they came and went as they pleased, and they were both obviously well fed. Tiiran even put out bowls of water for them, but the palace gardens had many fountains, and Po said cats often wandered.

Tiiran wasn’t certain of that; when he saw the cats, they were usually in front of one of the library’s fireplaces or flopped over on a bench outside, soaking up sunshine. They didn’t seem to wander far. But then, they weren’t all that wild, although they were also not like any housecats he’d seen. Gray, named for his color, and Agate, in swirling black and brown, didn’t cuddle or sit in any laps, although they did like certain people.

Not Tiiran, obviously, though he sat on the bench to wait for them to appear and hopefully approach him.

That was what Orin had suggested, smiling indulgently one rainy afternoon while Tiiran had peered through the glass and wondered if the cats were outside or had the sense to come in. “ Sometimes, one had to wait for feral cats to trust on their own .” Orin knew about people as Tiiran did not, so perhaps he knew about cats too.

But the advice felt like nonsense. The cats adored some people. Po, for one. Probably Orin, if he ever came out here for reasons other than fucking, if he did. Nikoly, somewhat aggravatingly.

It was too early in the morning for any real sun, and spring sunshine was rarely all that warm anyway, but Gray was on one of the benches, tail twitching in excitement as he watched crows swarm over the meat Tiiran had tossed them. Old and wise, Gray wouldn’t go near the birds.

Agate, young and reckless, wriggled closer to observe the chattering flock, but was sent off by a snapping crow and slowly returned to touch noses with Gray. Tiiran pointedly didn’t watch them too closely, instead looking critically at the hem of his robe which he had repaired last night with pins since he had no needle and thread. The hem had fallen the day before and ripped further when Tiiran had stepped on it.

The cats, apparently not pleased at being ignored although neither of them acknowledged Tiiran, both hopped from the bench and headed inside.

Tiiran followed them, resolving to ignore them in return if one or both of them appeared in the assistants’ rest area to sit before the fire. Po could deal with them if they wanted attention. Po claimed she had a natural appeal with half-wild animals, usually while trying to convince Tiiran to bring her a cup of tea, which he often did, if he had time.

He went back to his tea and took his cup out to the main desk, where he found a rolled-up banner of that same red and white with a bird, as well as a note from someone he didn’t know that the banner was to be hung from the staircase, “By order of the Captain of the Palace Guard, Medit Pash.”

And like that, Tiiran was growling again.

“What does Piya think he’s done for this library to warrant that honor?” Eight years Tiiran had worked in the Great Library and not once had a ruler set foot inside it, much less taken an interest in its running, yet the library was now supposed to “demonstrate the power and wisdom of King Piya.”

“Hog-fucker could try actually ruling ,” Tiiran added, then, despite the relative safety of the empty library, and the lack of any noble eyes-and-ears waiting to report Tiiran’s disrespect to anyone who would listen, he hurried back to the rest area to throw the note in the fire and stuff another bun into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything else reckless.

Lanth would have been proud, or so Tiiran hoped. At Tiiran’s defiance, almost certainly. Of his vulgarity, probably not.

Orin would advise Tiiran to try to be more careful, even while praising Tiiran for his restraint in not saying anything worse. He’d do it in that teasing way of his that never felt mean. If Orin was smiling, it was as if Orin was genuinely pleased with Tiiran, even though Tiiran was probably missing something obvious and Orin could have made fun of him. Tiiran didn’t understand many things that others seemed to but Orin didn’t mind, possibly even liked it. Tiiran should remember that the next time Nikoly started in with his hopeful, questioning gazes while eagerly describing the pleasures of the capital to Tiiran.

Tiiran sighed as he took the banner to the staircase, where he tossed it over the lowest railing and left the ends to trail on the ground. He’d have to dig up some twine or rope to hang it properly but that would do in the meantime. If any palace guards came in here, Tiiran would honestly claim that they would have to ask the palace Head of House for money for rope. Tiiran wasn’t reworking the library budget for rope to hang banners no one needed.

The mild protest would only buy them a little time… unless Piya was also replaced soon by some other ruler who would also fail to keep the throne. If Piya managed to last, the banner would eventually have to go higher. But if Piya actually began to run the country, Tiiran might not even mind as much.

Until then, hog-fucker Piya—who had not actually had relations with a pig that Tiiran knew about but would likely claim to if he thought it would help him stay king—had not earned the library.

Tiiran hoped Piya would— rule , not romance pigs. A ruler who lasted, who was good or at least decent, and capable of appointing others who could do their jobs, was really all that most wanted who weren’t nobles from the oldest houses. Those beat-of-fours seemed to think they should have the throne, starting twenty years ago with the Canamorra trying to take it, which had sparked countless battles, executions, and coups, that had in turn led to a series of rulers Tiiran didn’t bother to keep track of.

The country needed peace for the sake of the palace and the people in it, and the library, and the lands far beyond the capital even though Tiiran had never seen them. They needed Piya to start having council meetings again, even if those traditionally required a Master Keeper’s attendance in the room, if not on the actual council. The only Master Keeper currently even near the palace was Toak. The others were all ‘resting’ in the country or elsewhere and had been ever since Queen Tye’s brief and bloody reign.

Where once Tiiran would have had to check the offices of each Master Keeper to see if they needed wood for their fires or oil for their lamps, he now went through the piles of requests meant for them and looked over the stacks of loosely bound reports from outguards. The library had received a series of diaries yesterday. Some of the older nobles, particularly the scholars, bequeathed journals or histories they’d written to the library upon their deaths. The library would receive them, read and copy them, and place the information in the appropriate areas.

He climbed up on a stool that gave him a better view over the top of the desk, and glanced up to nod a greeting to a sleepy Amie and Po as they came in, leaning on each other the way one might expect of those who had been lovers for years. Both of them waved back at him between their yawns as they headed straight to the rest area to get their breakfast.

Tiiran put the outguards’ reports in a stack for the newest assistants to copy, waving absently as another of those assistants came in. Outguards went out among the various territories of the beat-of-fours and older nobles to observe the economies of those territories as well as any other events that they found of interest. They were the eyes-and-ears of the ruler, recording information they then brought in to the library for the ruler, or other nobles, to consult if necessary. From what Tiiran understood, nobles were supposed to welcome the outguards into their lands, but many didn’t, and the outguards themselves often avoided the nobles altogether. Orin said it was easier to get at the truth without a noble in the way.

Po came out with an apple in her mouth, juggling two books, a reed pen, and a pot of ink, and sat at one of the tables, clearly working on whatever she hadn’t finished yesterday.

“There isn’t enough light in here yet.” Tiiran scolded as he sorted. “Mind your eyes.”

“I don’t want to dust shelves,” Po whined. She was older than Tiiran by two years but shifted between acting even older and like an assistant on her first day.

“The second and third level curtains haven’t been opened. Or the first.” The smaller windows were helpful for daytime reading as well, but the curtains had to be opened and closed strategically throughout the day to keep direct sunlight off the books. The scrolls at least were hidden in drawers.

Po sighed dramatically but was already up, crunching her apple as she sauntered past him toward the staircase.

“Nice hair,” she remarked, bringing Tiiran’s hands up immediately, but his hair was as neat was it ever was.

Which wasn’t very. Tiiran’s hair never had been manageable. Lanth had told him that was common for those with some fae blood. His was every texture imaginable, soft on the bottom and dry on top, too big when wet and frizzy as a dandelion whenever he got caught in the rain. He’d discovered it was somewhat easier to control when long, though that made no logical sense. He didn’t grow it to his waist as many beat-of-fours did, but when it reached past his shoulders, it was long enough to twist up on top of his head and stab a wooden hairpin through it. The ends stood out in chunky spikes, but Tiiran didn’t care as long as the rest was out of the way.

He lifted his lip to snarl at Po for the trick but she just laughed. Then her laughter stopped and she choked on a bite of apple.

She’d noticed the banner. But, wiser than Tiiran, she didn’t comment as she continued up. Tiiran returned to flipping through the stack, frowning over the gifted diaries. Those ought to go to a Master Keeper to examine. He had a shortage of Master Keepers, which was only part of the reason Toak had piles and piles on his desk of work he had yet to attend to. The rest was Toak being a steaming dungpile.

“You’re frowning,” someone with a strangely muffled voice observed from directly in front of him. “Did you need help with something?”

Tiiran’s shoulders hitched up as his frown deepened. It had to be Nikoly, who always had something to say in tones Tiiran didn’t understand.

Tiiran’s mouth was open before he had a chance to think better of it.

“Eat my entire ass,” he huffed, exasperated at his work, and that fucking banner, and Nikoly probably watching him with his stupidly beautiful eyes.

Startled silence answered him.

“It is perhaps not the wisest, or kindest, to be rude to one’s coworkers .” Lanth could have been in front of him, shaking her head in despair at Tiiran letting his worries get the best of his mouth again. It was perhaps also a bad habit to fall back into to assume every question might hold something mean or mocking and not simply be a question.

Tiiran belatedly raised his head, wincing to find not Nikoly in front of the desk, but Mattin, frozen with half a sweet bun in his hand.

Mattin stared back at him, eyes wide and luminous even in the dim library. Tiiran didn’t know how that was possible since Mattin claimed no fae blood but there it was. Maybe his brown eyes were so big they reflected all the light shining off the silver-and-glass clasps in his long hair. A beat-of-four who nonetheless worked in the library, Mattin wore his hair as long as most of the other nobles from the ancient houses, although his was usually braided to keep it out of the way.

At twenty, he was just under two years younger than Tiiran, though far more educated, as might be expected of a beat-of-four. He wore the same long robe as all the other assistants, intended to help keep their clothes free of dust and ink, but his was embroidered and a brilliant red, not gray or white or, in Tiiran’s case, brown. He was also the second shortest assistant in the library, leaving Tiiran to forever be the smallest.

That was a mark of fae blood too, allegedly.

The color in Mattin’s cheeks was visible even in bad light. He blinked his pretty eyes once, then swept a look over Tiiran’s face before swallowing the bit of bun still in his mouth.

“ Oh .” Mattin licked his lips. His voice was his own again, as soft as the rest of him. “Well, if you like…”

“Morning.” This time, the interruption was Nikoly, smooth and pleasant, yet slightly louder than he needed to be as he approached the desk. “Am I interrupting something?”

Tiiran narrowed his eyes and turned from Mattin’s somehow radiant face to… Nikoly’s chest, before he tipped his head back to look Nikoly in the eye. Nikoly’s tone had been friendly, as usual, but his eyebrows were drawn together.

Tiiran hadn’t done anything to deserve a look like that. Neither had Mattin, for that matter.

“People working,” Tiiran answered crisply, “something that shouldn’t be unfamiliar to you.”

Nikoly’s frown was abruptly replaced with a smile so bright it was as if Po had opened a curtain and a sunbeam hit Tiiran full in the face. Mattin made a small sound, clearly also struggling with Nikoly’s handsomeness at this early hour.

“Good morning, Ly.” Mattin recovered first, greeting Nikoly with the nickname some of the others used for him. He turned his large eyes up to Nikoly and Tiiran decided to glower at the diaries and the rest of the work to be done today—if what came in today wasn’t more urgent, which it often was, leaving him with an endless pile of things that needed to be done.

“ Is it a good morning?” Nikoly answered playfully, leaning in toward Mattin as if no one would notice. For someone who wasn’t a noble, he sure knew how to talk like one and waste time.

Tiiran sighed heavily. He was being unfairly harsh toward Nikoly today. It wasn’t Nikoly’s fault that he was friendly, and handsome, and friendly while being handsome. It wasn’t Tiiran’s business if Nikoly wanted to flirt with Mattin. Tiiran couldn’t even fault Nikoly’s choice. Mattin looked as delicate as those metal creations in his hair. He had shadows beneath his eyes because he’d been in the library nearly as late as Tiiran had, but that was the only thing marring his loveliness, and it wasn’t marring it much. Most of the more dedicated staff were similarly exhausted. Even Nikoly, who, from what Tiiran had overheard yesterday, had gone out of the palace last night, had still come in on time and would likely stay late tonight. Mattin liked to go out to the capital sometimes too, to listen to bards, he said.

Tiiran flipped through the stack of reports again, then the mail, noting the little scars on his bare wrists from the kitchen and scullery work he’d done as a child. His skin was not soft, not as Mattin’s would be. He didn’t know if Nikoly would have soft skin, but he seemed like someone who would. Maybe not his hands, large and callused from whatever he did when not at the library, but the rest of him. Like Mattin, Nikoly had a bit more money to spend. He was probably a merchant’s son.

Nikoly’s robe was dark, embroidered with light thread along the edges. He never buttoned it up, claiming the capital was too hot already, as if the capital wasn’t known for a light chill in the air even during summer. Lately, he had even taken to leaving the laces of his shirt untied, showing some of the ink that had been pressed into his brown skin with needles to form small designs around the collarbone. There was another, bigger mark on the back of his neck, the outline of a loping dog or wolf, and more designs down his fingers that Tiiran sometimes thought were vines or stylized flowers like they had in certain old tapestries. Then he told himself to stop wondering if Nikoly had flowers on his hands, to stop thinking about his hands at all, and firmly move his thoughts to something else before he wound up imagining a hand inked with flowers around his prick.

They did that in some places farther north—inking, that was; using hands for pleasure was doubtless done everywhere. Although until Nikoly had started work at the library, Tiiran had never seen it for himself. Nikoly also did not wear ear cuffs but instead had his ears pierced : tiny dots of metal in his earlobes and up the shell of one ear. He wore a bracelet depicting a rowan tree as well. Mattin had one too. Rowan were beloved by the fae and were considered a good talisman.

“A quiet morning so far,” Mattin said to Nikoly, perhaps enjoying his attention, perhaps staring at the skin around Nikoly’s collarbone and wondering what those inked marks were meant to be and if Nikoly would show him if he asked, “although Tiiran is troubled. More than usual, I think.”

“Troubled?” Nikoly turned toward Tiiran. “If you need help, you have to only to ask.”

“For help?” Tiiran asked in momentary confusion, shaking his head before finally scowling upward. “Who is there to ask? We have no Master Keepers worth anything and no ruler to….” He shut his mouth when Nikoly’s eyes went wide. Nikoly’s eyes weren’t as bright as Mattin’s, but seemed warmer, perhaps because of his lush, dark eyelashes, and eyebrows that went up and down expressively, and mouth that was quick to smile, although right now, Nikoly’s lips were parted with surprise or shock.

He had dark curls that fell over his forehead and over the tops of his ears. The rest of his hair was shaved short. He was strangely elegant for a library assistant.

Tiiran was in a hastily repaired robe of unremarkable color, in equally plain clothes. His skin, slightly more golden in tone than Mattin’s, did not glow when he flushed with heat or anger or embarrassment. His hair was at least six different shades—but all of them brown. Po said his hair shined in sunlight, but Tiiran knew he looked like a pile of fall leaves; fae enough to worry people but not enough to make him pretty.

He ground his teeth together before dropping his head again. “Nothing. Never mind. Of course we have a ruler. Long live King Piya. May he bless the library with more money.”

“Tiiran,” Nikoly seemed to sigh the name, “I meant for you to ask me for help, if it pleases you to.”

Tiiran snapped his head up, then was so lost in Nikoly’s warm stare that he almost didn’t hear Mattin’s quiet, “Yes, I’m happy to do more. You know I am. Even dusting.”

Mattin was terrible at dusting, polishing wood shelves and tables, cleaning windows, and making tea. Also lighting fires. It was probably because he was a beat-of-four and had never done such things in his life until coming here. All his years at the library couldn’t train the frittering noble out of him, though he meant well.