A fire roars in the fireplace beside us, a variety of books strewn about. I glance over at Aislinn’s bed, which is sequestered in a corner. Her things are finely made—her bed’s deep green sheets are made of expensive, Alfsigr Ellusian cotton, and her books are crisp and new. Her clothes, while simple, are nonetheless crafted from silk and fine linen, and her comb and brush set is silver.
But these things pale in comparison to the ethereal living space of the Alfsigr maidens who reside with her. Canopied beds graced with ivory silken sheets have spiraling posts wound tight with living vines, their black-green leaves interspersed with delicate white flowers that give off a subtle scent as clean as a spring shower. Intricate tapestries done up in white, silver and black knotwork designs set off a complementary rug with a similar, darker design. A long bookshelf holds bowls of translucent crystals and black texts titled with embossed Elfin script. At the foot of one bed stands a lovely harp in the rich hues of the Tortoiseshell Mahogany tree, its strings glimmering gold.
“There are legends of Fae healers who can do miraculous things,” Aislinn tells me, pulling my attention from the Elves’ waterfall fountain. It’s set near an arching window and surrounded by a variety of flowering plants in ivory pots with black knotwork designs. Its gentle rush is pleasing to the ear and sends a soothing moisture into the air.
I direct my gaze back to my own text, pausing to run my finger along a fanciful illustration of a Sylphan Air Fae. She’s garbed in flowing, gray garments, riding on a cloud.
I trace along the Sylph’s ear. “Yvan doesn’t have pointed ears,” I note.
“Could be a glamour,” Aislinn postulates.
I point to a passage in my text. “Which, according to this, would narrow our choices down to Sylphan Air, Lasair Fire and Asrai Water Fae. It says here that they’re the only Fae who can glamour.” I pick up my mug of hot tea and sip at it, the weighty ceramic mug warming my hands. “Iron doesn’t bother him. He touches it all the time in the kitchen.”
“Maybe he’s only part Fae,” Aislinn replies absently, as she runs her finger down the index of another text and begins to flip through it. “He might still feel an aversion to it, though.”
I try to remember a time when Yvan seemed the least put off by the iron cookware or stoves, but I can’t remember ever seeing him distressed by the contact. And, unlike Tierney, he always goes ungloved.
“There are so many types of Fae,” Aislinn muses as she reads. “Hundreds. And all of them so different.”
Fantastical images from the books’ illustrations hang bright in my mind. The Laminak Fae, with their crystalline underground castles. The goat-herding Hollen Fae, their cities carved into mountaintops. Sylphan Fae, who could render themselves transparent.
“Look at these,” I marvel, pointing out an illustration. “They have butterfly wings!”
“Hmm,” Aislinn says with a nod. “Moss Fae. I’ve heard tales of them. They’re trouper Fae. Put on plays for the monarchy.”
I skim over descriptions of the Skogsra Fae, who dwell deep in the forest with the owls, and the stern Ymir Fae of the Northern Mountains, their sharp-spired dwellings formed completely from ice.
“Have you ever heard of the Vila Fae?” Aislinn asks.
“Are they elemental?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No. Candela. Color Fae. Vila had an affinity for violet. They could transform themselves into the shade. The Sidhe used them as spies. That’s why purple still isn’t permitted in the Mage Council Hall.”
“It’s amazing they were ever a cohesive group,” I muse as I flip through my text. “They’re all so...different.”
“Mostly cohesive anyway,” Aislinn comments as she picks at another book. “Except for the Solitary Fae.”
“Solitary?”
“Fae that existed independent of Sidhe Court politics. Renegades. Nomads. Like the Dryads. The Lasair Fire Fae.” Aislinn’s finger pauses. “Oh, here’s something. The Lasair Fire Fae had powerful healing magic...” Aislinn’s finger moves again as she skims down the section. “Powerful fire magic, gifted healers, fiercely independent, nomadic.” She shoots me a significant look before continuing. “Bright-green eyes...extremely dangerous...” Aislinn’s mouth quirks into a small smile, her eyes lifting to mine again. “Physically very attractive. I know he’s a Kelt, but...he is a bit attractive, don’t you think?”
I shrug cagily. “A bit,” I allow, not wanting to spark Aislinn’s suspicion about my senseless crush on Yvan Guriel. “We should put that one on the list,” I prod, attempting to sound nonchalant as I grip my mug and Aislinn scratches it down.
Fire Fae. Could Yvan be part Lasair?
“He’s so strong and fast,” I muse, remembering. “Always going off in the woods. I think I told you—for a time I wondered if he was secretly Lupine.”
I regret saying this as soon as the word leaves my lips. At the mention of Lupines, Aislinn’s face becomes instantly strained.
“How are things between you and Jarod?” I venture.
She doesn’t answer for a moment, just sits staring at the book. “I’m speaking to him, if that’s what you mean,” she says, her tone evasive. “Please, let’s not discuss it any further. I’ve made my decision. I can’t abandon my sisters and my mother. So there’s no sense talking about it.”
Troubled, I take in her wan appearance. Aislinn’s been increasingly away, visiting with her family, gone now most weeks’ ends. Partially to keep up appearances, in case anyone notices the grimoire is missing, and partially to avoid her feelings for Jarod.
“Aislinn,” I tell her, “your happiness matters, too. Not just theirs.”
Her expression becomes pained. “And how could I ever be happy, knowing I abandoned my family?”
“But you wouldn’t be abandoning them.”
She shakes her head, her eyes tight with anguish, and I know I can’t sway her right now.
I let out a long sigh. “I miss having you around more. You’re one of the few people I can really be honest with.”
Aislinn knits her brow at this. “I know. I feel the same way. But at least you have Diana...”
I feel a pang of resentful bitterness pass through me at the mention of Diana’s name, remembering something that happened between us a few days ago.
*
I was in the North Tower’s washroom, naked after a long bath, faced with the scratched mirror before me.
Gardnerians do not, as a rule, keep mirrors in washrooms. It’s considered unseemly and wrong to view oneself naked. But as I caught a glimpse of my reflection that night, I was struck by the beauty of my glimmering form. Pretending, on a whim, to be Diana, wondering what it would be like to be as comfortable in my own skin as she is in hers, I stretched my arms high up over my head shamelessly, just as Diana always seems to be doing, mimicking her unself-conscious ways.
Just as I was doing this, Diana barged into the small room. Mortified, my hands immediately flew down to cover myself as I reflexively hunched over. I felt a sharp spike of shame, even though Diana, herself, was naked. I glared at her, absolutely hating her inability to knock.
Diana paused, taking stock of the situation. “Ah, good,” she said approvingly. “You are admiring yourself, as you should. Youth and beauty are a gift from Maiya. We should revel in it.”
“Get out!” I cried, wanting to literally throw her out of the room. “You need to knock! I’ve told you this a million times! It’s like you’re deaf!”
“I most certainly am not deaf,” she huffed. “My hearing is vastly superior—”
“Get out!”
“But—”
“I said, get out!”
Diana made a great show of looking disgruntled and offended before padding out of the room in a snit. A few minutes later after my murderous feelings toward the Lupine princess had begun to abate, I heard a very perfunctory knock on the door.
“What?” I snapped. Did she ever give up? Ever?
“May I please come in and speak with you?” she announced with stiff formality.
“No!” I cried, still fuming as I pulled on a camisole and pantaletes.
After a few seconds there was another knock. “What about now?” she asked, sounding genuinely confused.
I let out a deep sigh. As easy as it is to get mad at Diana, it’s just as hard to stay mad at her. “Come in,” I relented.