Page 5 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

“Is the faery language universal?”

“Possibly. Our lessons on the faery language included counting to ten and some colors. Damn it.” Miranda bared her teeth and started to pace.

There wasn’t likely to be anywhere outside the courts themselves where she might find a translator.

Fae and humans might be trying to coexist, but each race still kept to their borders.

She was unlikely to find books to aid her in a translation and going to a person with this sort of information was out of the question.

Graves was beloved and duplicitous. She couldn’t risk him finding out what she was doing.

He controlled high society the way Thaddeus Wraith controlled the criminal underground.

The first Night Fae to run on a campaign of tolerance and peace, he embraced every idealistic policy proposed in parliament.

He was personable, charming. A fox dancing with his prey like equals.

Her prize mocked her. She shouldn’t have waited until she was home, she should have checked the contents and thrown them back in Wraith’s face as the mockery it was. She’d been so…distracted, so disarmed by that annoying—

Miranda stopped pacing.

“What is it?” Lydia returned the book she’d been skimming to the shelf and went to Miranda. “Did you think of something?”

“I may have,” Miranda started, words forced through her clenched jaw. This was the worst solution imaginable, but if Miranda recalled enough of her mother’s lessons it was possibly the only solution. “How much do you know about Lord Devin Drake?”

Lydia frowned. “The name is familiar…is he the one that inherited out of nowhere? Mother called him a half-fae who no one had any clue existed until Lord Warner died.”

“That’s what my mother said as well, it was quite the scandal last year.” Miranda chewed her lip, thoughts returning to the club. He was only half-fae which explained why he appeared entirely human save the ethereal blue of his eyes.

“I suppose he might read Faery, but I don’t see how that helps you.” Lydia adjusted her spectacles. She was never without them, the lenses obscured her eyes so that it was hard to see where she was looking or the exact color, though Miranda had always assumed they were brown.

“Well…I was actually with him not hours ago.”

Lydia’s jaw fell open. “That’s quite the scandal, Miranda. What were you doing with a Lord at such an hour?” Her pale cheeks flushed with color. “I wasn’t aware either of you were even acquainted.”

“We’re not. And it wasn’t like that, so please don’t think I was out pursuing any sort of lascivious activities.

Honestly, the thought alone is repulsive enough.

” As if to prove her wrong, her mind conjured the image of Drake’s very handsome face as he whispered seductive words against her ear.

She closed her eyes briefly, hoping to force him from her mind.

“Repulsive. I’d sooner endure a hundred of my mother’s eligible bachelors than his annoying flirtation. ”

Lydia looked ready to laugh, her lips forming a tight smile like she were holding it in. “That’s quite the protest. I’m sure to believe you now.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. Lydia was not observant of anything outside of a page, so it was hard to say if she was sincere or placating.

“Anyway, I have reason to believe that he will help me.”

“Are your cheeks red, Miranda?”

The words hit like a slap and Miranda hid her cheeks with her hands. “No, of course not. Why on earth would I be blushing?”

“Oh, you weren’t. But you are now.” Lydia giggled.

“I was merely caught off guard. Drake is insufferable. Full of himself. Arrogant.” Miranda took a deep breath. “But he may be my only hope of translating this.”

She couldn’t very well go waltzing around Unity asking for someone to help her translate incriminating documents concerning Yarrow Graves.

Ready to be done with this conversation and salvage what meager sleep she could before her full morning tomorrow, Miranda left Lydia to her midnight research and returned to her room.

She had expected to sleep soundly knowing she was that much closer to saving her sister from a disastrous engagement. Instead she tossed and turned, haunted by looping, unfamiliar letters and the most aggravating set of blue eyes.

-

Miranda awoke three hours later, bleary-eyed and fatigued.

Her maid threw open the curtains to let in the first rays of morning.

All her life Miranda had started her day with the sun.

It allowed her to fit training into her schedule of studies, social engagements, and etiquette lessons.

Even though she had outgrown most of her studies, Miranda could continue training until marriage.

“I’m not feeling well.” Miranda groaned, turning over and pulling her pillow over her head.

Her maid, Yara, started making the bed around her. “Your parents will never believe that you are ill. Up you get. You’ve got training then tea with your mother and sister.”

Miranda sat up. The only time she had missed a training session was when she’d been unconscious with fever. Perhaps she should have feigned oblivion.

A guardian must keep their skills sharp and practiced, it is the greatest honor and should not be fooled away .

She heard her father in her head, willing her upright. Not everyone was gifted with the Divine’s blood so she must never be ungrateful. In truth, she favored training more than her other studies, just not when she’d spent all night sneaking around the Fells.

She shuffled from her bed and freshened up.

Yara helped her into her training uniform and did her hair before sending her down.

Her training uniform was form fitting and traded skirts for pants to aid maneuverability.

Navy blue with white accents and gold filigree were sewn into the shoulders and lapels.

It was one of the few exceptions to lady’s fashion of heavy, layered dresses and corsets.

The training room was in the basement. A large space with no furniture, just cushioned flooring for rolls and melee.

The walls held weapons for practice, though most guardians settled on one type for their proficiency.

Since the end of the war, her father had taken to adding weapons from the other races to their arsenal.

Faery daggers and broadswords. Demonic maces.

They were crafted in unique materials, unlike the steel of human weapons. Moonstone. Tempered obsidian. Silver.

Miranda enjoyed practicing with them, learning their weight and balance. But she was partial to a sword. It was her father’s choice of weapon and, as a child, she had longed to be as strong as her father. Her father was not there today, however, and only Master Thorn awaited her.

A no-nonsense teacher, Thorn ran her through her drills and stretches with barely a good morning. His only comment had been that she was tardy.

“In a hurry today, Miss Wilde?” Master Thorn asked as she fumbled through her stances.

Training ended with a sparring match, and while Miranda had no trouble keeping up with her instructor at this stage of her life, today she was not herself.

Her mind was adrift with the prospect of a reunion with a certain roguish asshole.

Miranda caught her breath. Thorn’s sword hovered inches from her nose. “Yes, sorry, Master Thorn. I have tea with my mother later and got a late start. I…I slept poorly.” Not a total lie.

He returned to a neutral stance. They bowed and he dismissed her for the day with a sharp reprimand that she get some proper sleep for next week.

Miranda rushed to clean off the sweat and get dressed for tea, pants not permitted.

It was nearly an hour before she headed into the parlor swaddled in layers of pale blue skirts.

Her mother and sister were already sitting, but the tea and sandwiches had not yet been served.

She only had to get through tea before her time was her own.

If Drake had inherited his father’s estate, then the house was in the Garrison.

She merely had to sneak into her mother’s office and find the almanac that contained a list of the current peerage and their addresses.

So long as she stayed in the Garrison, she needn’t wait until nightfall.

Though, she couldn’t be certain that Drake would be home, there was no harm in checking.

But first…tea.

“Miranda,” her mother addressed primly while Miranda offered apologies for her tardiness. “Sit,” her mother instructed. “We were just discussing flower arrangements.”

Miranda looked past her mother to her younger sister.

They shared the same face shape, but her hair and eye color matched their mother’s soft, pretty shades of brown, while Miranda took after father.

Cordelia was only younger by a few years, but their lives had been invariably different. Cordelia was not a guardian.

Having the gift of the Divine’s blood was considered a great honor.

Not every human was born with the gifts it bestowed.

Agility. Speed. Strength. It was said that they were gifted the Divine’s blood millennia ago so that humans could compete in a world of magical creatures.

The gift tended to run in families, passed from parent to child, but could manifest in any human no matter their lineage.

Both Miranda’s parents were guardians, even her mother, the prim and proper lady sipping tea with the utmost decorum could face an immortal in combat.

But the Accords saw those days long buried.

Now, there was peace and very little need for defenders.

“We picked out a lovely arrangement of everblooms and night lilies. I think it’ll really highlight your sister’s features and coloring,” her mother commented.

A servant brought fresh dewbaine tea and lunaleaf sandwiches, fae ingredients that they had started to explore after Cordelia’s betrothal to a Night Fae.