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Nemesia

Mates are said to be a blessing from the gods. Very few fae get to experience the sacred joining of their aether-heart with another’s. Blood is, naturally, the conduit of realization for two fae, though many mates have reported feeling a deep connection to one another prior to scenting the blood of their mate. It is tradition to draw the blood of your mate, a symbolic gesture that shows no other will draw their blood again, because they are now under your protection.

The Traditions of the Fae

Instead of working in the crowded and noisy archives, Genevieve lets me use her office to study every day. It reminds me of my small reading nook in the Thayarian archives and is hidden away from the prying eyes of the other librarians. That fact also seems to be a reason Genevieve likes it so much as well—she’s an outcast, even amongst them. But it never appears to affect her. She’s always happy, always grateful for the life she was forced into for no reason other than her own mother’s death delivering her and the whims of the males who control her fate. When I work here, she brings me tea and snacks throughout the day on her breaks, and we talk until she realizes she’s late and dashes away again. During one such break, we’re drinking steaming cups of tea when she asks me about the books Mazus gave me.

“Have you found anything interesting in the books from King Mazus? The one you’re translating, or any of the others?”

I consider my words carefully. I like Genevieve. We’ve formed a fast friendship, and I want to trust her, especially after all the small cracks I’ve seen when she talks about Mazus. But I’ve also seen how brainwashed the Velmaran citizens are when it comes to the Golden King.

“Many interesting tidbits, though nothing that’s sparked my own particular interest. One of the stories about the fae says that we’re the descendants of a powerful group of goddesses.”

Genevieve laughs brightly. “What a fun story,” she giggles out, and the way it makes her cheeks flush and her eyes brighten overwhelms me with a need to touch her. I lean into her warm amber gaze and place my hand over hers on the table. Her eyes cut to mine, a question in them. Before I can say anything, she stands and straightens her gown, though I swear her fingers linger on mine for a moment before she fully pulls away. “I need to get back to covering my section. There’s a Reshnar scholar here. The King himself granted the request, so I should check in on him.” She turns her back to me.

“Wait!” I say, and she turns, eyes sparkling. “Would you like to join me for dinner this evening? I’d be happy to let you look through His Majesty’s books after.” I don’t know what’s come over me, but I don’t want her to go—I want her to stay here with me. The prospect of beautiful company after so much solitude both excites me and makes me cringe at my lack of restraint. I find her stunning, something about her quiet yet exuberant demeanor intoxicating. And the questioning look in her eyes when our hands touched… Could she—I don’t let myself finish the thought.

She blushes, and it lights me up with excitement for what might be. “That would be wonderful.” Her eyes are bright with what I swear is longing, and there’s a small spark between us. Despite my earlier decision not to pursue anything romantic with her for her own safety, something about that look in her expression makes me waver in my resolve.

“It’s decided then. I’ll find you when I’m done here for the day, and we can retire to my room for dinner.” I emphasize the last word, suggesting dinner is the furthest thing from my mind. She blushes again before walking down the spiral staircase, and my chest flutters.

What would Laurel say, seeing me flirting with Velmarans? Practically inviting one to sleep with me?

Shaking my head to clear the thoughts of Genevieve from it, I open the massive Old Fae book and the dictionary I’ve been using to translate. My vocabulary has improved quickly, the knowledge refreshing from the depths of my memory. I started translating the section on fae mates two days ago, and I return to that section now.

Reading a passage about how mates discover one another, through blood, I catch the word used in the book’s title, though here it makes little sense to be translated as legend . I wrack my brain, searching its depths for alternative translations. I flip through the dictionary for the character in question, then scan through the various translations to the common tongue. Legend, myth, fable, story, and tradition are all listed as viable translations. Tradition. The word stands out to me, making the most sense in the context of the passage. Does that mean the title of the book is The Traditions of the Fae? That puts the volume in a whole new light.

Does that mean fae mates could be real? Or were real, at some point?

I keep reading, unsure how to feel about this new information and constantly asking myself why Mazus would give me these books, as I have every day since I received them. The passage continues, explaining that when the mating bond is accepted by both partners, their magic changes , though the text doesn’t explain exactly how or what this looks like. According to the book, many famous fae mates of the past decided not to accept the bond, worried about the change to their magic. Even the simple fact that the book casually references infamous mated pairs is revolutionary, solidifying my suspicion that mates are more than myth.

My mind wanders to Laurel and the prophecy about her. Realization hits me like a punch in the gut. I practically run down the spiral staircase, through the archives and to the section on Thayaria, looking for an Old Fae version of the prophecy. Finding it in an older book I scanned several days ago and deemed useless, I take it and hurry back to Genevieve’s office. Panting from the sprint, I compare the Old Fae word that has for centuries been translated as lover to the word used for mate in this text, my mind whirring with possibility. My suspicions are correct—the words are the same.

The last line of the prophecy should read Blood to blood, the Queen and her fated mate will unite what has been torn apart.

Why would Mazus give me this book? Is this even the section he wanted me to read? Does he want me to give Laurel this information? I consider writing a letter to Laurel that makes it appear I haven’t found anything useful, just to throw Mazus off my trail when he inevitably intercepts it. But that could also be what he wants. There’s no good option for how to proceed, and I slam my fists onto the table in frustration. I know that I’m playing a game with Mazus, but only he knows the rules and which pieces are on the board.

Mind ruminating, I pass the rest of the day tediously translating the text, taking copious notes that fill dozens of rolls of parchment. When the light becomes too dark to see, I consider lighting a lamp but then remember the dinner with Genevieve. Despite my eagerness to keep translating, desperate for every morsel of information on mates, I won’t stand her up. I pack up my things, taking extra care with all four books Mazus provided, then stalk down the staircase and through the endless rows that make up the archives until I find Genevieve shelving books from a cart. She notices me and smiles tentatively across the hall at me, though there’s something in her expression that seems off.

When I reach her, I notice her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are flushed, as if she’s been crying. I’m about to ask her what happened when she quickly speaks, like she knows I’ve noticed and doesn’t want me to ask.

“I have to finish shelving these before I can leave for the day, or the Head Librarian will never let me hear the end of it.” Her voice is lifeless, so unlike her usual tone. Something is definitely wrong, though she clearly isn’t ready to talk about it.

“Then let me help you,” I say softly, giving her the emotional space she so desperately wants. I take a book from her hands and intentionally brush my fingers over hers in the movement. She shivers, and I smile internally.

“You don’t have to—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“It’s no problem. I know these archives well by now.” Scanning the title of the book in my hands, I find its place on the top shelf before filing it away. We make quick work of the cart, finishing in about a quarter of an hour. As we walk back to my room, she steals glances my way, and I make excuses to bring my body close to hers or brush my hands over her fingers. The dinner tray sits outside my room, and Genevieve frowns.

“The servants should have brought that in for you. Anyone could walk by and poison your food,” she huffs, concern in her voice. I laugh as I pick up the tray and lead her inside.

“I told the servants to leave my food there. I like my privacy, and I don’t want to create more work for unpaid labor. No one is interested in poisoning me.”

Her brows furrow. “But… they are servants . Of course they should be unpaid. Their payment is paying off debts or giving back to the community for their crimes,” she says slowly, not understanding my own distaste for the practice.

I shrug. “In Thayaria, we pay our servants, and we pay them well. It’s considered an honor to serve in the palace, but it’s also a lucrative career, and the wages they earn can support an entire family. If the servants here were paid, they could pay off their debts just as easily with real coin and potentially have some left over to make a life for themselves,” I lament to her. She seems to consider my words, so I leave her to ponder. Setting the tray on the small dining table, I uncover the dishes while Genevieve looks around my room with more confusion.

“Your chambers are so small! Surely someone made a mistake by giving you a single room. I would expect the Thayarian ambassador to have a whole suite.”

Again, I only shrug. “I don’t mind,” I tell her, though she seems unconvinced. “Plus, a larger room would surely come with nobles and courtiers trying to position themselves close to me to somehow sweep the rooms out from under me. I spend most of my day in the archives, anyway. All I need is a bed and a place to eat.” I gesture for Genevieve to sit across from me at the small table tucked into a corner, and she does. She delicately lays a napkin across her lap, then serves herself a small portion of food. I frown, realizing she has the manners of a noble. I should have realized sooner that she was from a noble family. “How was your day?” I ask, hoping to probe more about what had her so upset now that we’re away from the library. She launches into a story about the Reshnar scholar.

“He’s awful and acts so entitled because the King invited him here. I spent the entire day running across the archives to fetch books for him because he was too lazy to get up himself and retrieve them. And then at the end of the day, he had the audacity to try—to put—” She trails off, and I study her blushing face closely. Unease builds in my gut, along with hot, churning anger.

“What happened?”

“Well, you know how males can be,” she says, the flippancy in her voice not matching the horror and grief in her eyes.

“Did he touch you, Genevieve?” I ask, my voice low and filled with fury.

Her eyes dart to the floor. “It’s nothing I’m not used to. It shouldn’t have bothered me.” I reach my hand across the table and grab hers, stroking soothing circles with my thumb.

“That’s bullshit. You are not an object for males to do with what they please. What happened?”

She wipes her eyes quickly. “He grabbed me from behind while I was shelving and pulled me tightly against him. His breath was so hot on my neck, and I felt—he ground against my backside.” She’s bright red now, cheeks aflame with embarrassment and shame. My blood boils. Living at Laurel’s side the last three hundred years has isolated me from the realities of the world. I’d forgotten what it meant to be a vulnerable female in situations where males have more power. I lift Genevieve’s chin to lock her eyes on mine.

“I am so incredibly sorry that happened to you, Genevieve. It isn’t okay, and you have every right to be affected by it. How much longer is he here?”

“Just one more day,” she admits, eyes filling with tears.

“Would you like me to sit downstairs in your section tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to, really, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. Like I said, this happens a lot. It’s not the first time…”

I squeeze her hand tightly. “Genevieve, I would not offer something I’m not willing to give. I’m furious that this has happened so frequently to you that you think it’s normal. If you want me there, I’ll sit at the same aethers-damned table as him with my daggers and plants on full display, if that’s what you want. I will tie him to his chair with vines, wrap his dick so tight the blood can’t flow there.” She laughs, and relief washes over me.

“Yes, I would like that.” Her voice is soft. “For you to be in the section. Not to tie him up. Or do other things to him,” she says with another giggle. I only nod stoically, like a soldier taking orders from her general.

“Was there anything about your day that was good?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood, and she smiles again. A bright, genuine quirking of her lips that makes my breath catch. I serve us both the steaming dishes from the dinner tray as Genevieve tells me of her most recent research project on Eastern Velmaran flora. Her passionate explanations last the entire dinner. I listen quietly, noting the way her lips quirk or her eyes squint when she’s trying to remember something she read.

When we finish dinner and clear the table, I spread out Mazus’s books across it. After what happened to her today, our evening is only going to comprise dinner and companionable reading. Genevieve flips through each of the books before deciding to return to The Secrets and Stories of Velmara . She pulls it to her and immediately begins reading. I smile at the clear scholar she is. We read in silence, though she makes small tuts and murmurs as we read, little noises that make my chest warm.

After at least an hour spent translating across from her, she gasps. I’m instantly behind her, crouched so that I’m at eye level, curious at what surprised her.

“What is it?” I ask, my breath in her ear sending shivers down her entire body. Her throat moves with a deep swallow. I track the movement like Lunaria tracks her prey, but I stay silent, letting her soft and delicate smell wash over me.

“Librarians are assigned a research area that we must become experts on. Mine is the history of light channeling and the Andomer family, hence my interest in the plants of Eastern Velmara, where the Andomers are from. I just read a section that—it says—contradicts…” She’s flustered and can barely get the words out. I squeeze her thigh reassuringly. “It contradicts what’s in our archives,” she finally says, slowly.

“Tell me.” My voice is all commander, but she doesn’t flinch away. I stand and slowly make my way back to my seat, my gaze never leaving hers.

“Well, you may not know this, but the light channelers were the original rulers of Velmara. Many suspect it’s why King Mazus married Esther Andomer, to strengthen his own claim to the throne. And it’s why my uncle betrothed his daughter to Prince Hawthorne—he wants the Kalmeera family to be associated with the Andomers. He doesn’t care about the Vicants. Everyone knows the Andomers have the real power.” This is new information to me. I didn’t know there was a line outside of the Vicants that ruled Velmara. My mind races with the implications. Genevieve continues, her voice unsure and questioning. “The passage I just read indicates that the Vicants, King Mazus’s line, forcibly took the throne from the Andomers in a great civil war a millennium ago. But all of the texts in the archives say that the Andomers willingly stepped aside when they tired of ruling, believing the Vicants best suited to leadership.”

“Power is rarely given up willingly.” My voice is low, and she nods. “I don’t believe for one second that a ruling family just decided to hand over their throne one day, especially one with what is considered the most powerful magical ability.”

“Now that we’re discussing it aloud, I can’t believe how silly it sounds,” she admits, blushing deeply with embarrassment. “I wonder how the Vicants defeated the Andomers. Air channeling is powerful, but almost nothing can defeat light magic.”

“What indeed,” I murmur, mind racing.

“This is—this information… Is everything in the archives a lie?” she asks, eyes wide with an emotion I can’t place. Without thinking, I’m back at her side, turning her chair outwards so I can kneel in front of her.

“No Genevieve, not everything there is a lie. But history is written by those in power, and King Mazus and his line have been in power for a very long time. Victors tell the story they want to tell, and I suspect Mazus has a prolific pen.” I take her hands in mine, and she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is so soft, and her hands feel so small in mine…

“I feel so foolish.” Her words bring me back to the present. “But there are hundreds of books that all say the Andomers willingly stepped down from ruling and preferred to settle in Eastern Velmara peacefully.”

“Don’t feel foolish.” I stroke my thumbs across the tops of her hands, comforting her practically second nature to me. Her gaze darts down to where our hands meet, studying them, then rises to meet mine. Lust heats her gaze, and I know I’ve read the situation correctly, even if I’m still not sure it’s safe for her to pursue this.

I want to kiss her bright pink lips, run my mouth over her flushed chest. But I remember what happened today, and I won’t take advantage of her vulnerability. I gently run my hand over her wrist, then squeeze her hand tightly before releasing it and standing. She looks at me with a small smile, biting her lip as she gazes up at me through thick lashes. Her amber eyes bore into me, conveying her longing and need. But today was a hard day for her, so I return to my seat. I ask her to tell me more about Eastern Velmara, and even though she continues to look at me with heat in her expression, she excitedly returns to telling me about the mystical and lush part of Velmara that runs the entire length of the eastern coast of the kingdom.