“The library.”
He picked up a candle and handed her another, gesturing for her to follow.
He led her through the stacks, watching her expression brighten as she took in the thick, leather bound tomes tucked between living branches.
“It’s better in the daylight,” he said. “Are you familiar with the art of bonsai?”
She shook her head, lips moving as she read the titles silently.
“The library was designed when the trees were saplings, hundreds and hundreds of years ago.” He stood, came closer to her, sliding his fingers over the places she’d touched. “These ridges are where the trees were shaped using wire.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, drawing a volume off the shelf. The cover was worn tan leather, the gold lettering faded in places.
“Amhrán an Chroí,” Rowan read, slipping easily into Gaelic. “Song of the Heart.” He took the book from her and replaced it gently on the shelf, feeling warmth in his chest. Callie loved the library as much as he did. The fact made him happier than it should have. So what, she liked books—that didn’t mean they had anything in common.
She hesitated, inspected her fingernails. Finally, she mirrored his posture, leaning on the shelf opposite him and crossing her arms. “Who are my parents?”
Rowan couldn’t hide his shock. Usually it took new members of the city longer to put the pieces together. “I don’t know.” He lifted a shoulder, feeling regret bite at his gut. She was no different from any other faerie here— no one knew their parents, no matter how badly they wanted it. “We aren’t allowed to know.” Bitterness crept into his words. “The purpose of the city is to unite the children of the fae. We are to be as one. Live mar aon ní amháin.” He could tell by her expression that she didn’t know what the words meant, joining a legion of fae who’d forgotten their native language. Now they resorted to English mostly, just like the rest of the world.
Callie fingered the tie on her robe, twisting it around her index finger. “So you all live here together, but you never know who your parents are? How is that fair?” She looked past him to the shelves beyond, eyes far away in the candlelight. “My entire life I thought my parents were dead. And now I find out they’re alive—but I’ll never know they’re mine?”
The pain in the last word fell over Rowan like a sodden blanket and he took a moment to gain his composure. Hadn’t he thought the exact same things?
“Long ago,” he said finally, “there was war between our people. The Elders formulated a plan based on the idea of binding us together. Everyone is family, and therefore we fight for each other as family, because potentially every one of us could be related.” He felt the edges of his mouth tighten. “We’re one big, happy family.”
Callie’s face dissolved into horror. “But what about incest? I mean—if you don’t know…”
Rowan chuckled. “It’s chemistry. We’re creatures of nature, close to the earth, all living things. It would feel inherently wrong, not that it would specifically matter.” He leaned close to her, enjoying the way her eyes widened. “Trust me—we’re not related. Nothing to worry about.”
She snorted—actually snorted —and walked away from him. “Believe me, I’m not concerned about being related to you.”
She went to the pillows stacked in the corner, touching random surfaces as she went—the shelves, the book that lay open on the table, a cluster of dangling orbs. He wanted to go behind her, feel each item from inside her skin.
She sat, studied him, her blue eyes shuttered. Rowan wished he’d been gifted with the ability to mind read.
“Why are you being so nice, anyway?”
Rowan sat across from her, stretching out his legs. “I don’t know.”
“I never said thank you—for when the prophetess died. Thanks for taking care of me and for…for not blaming me.”
Rowan said nothing.
“What will
He picked up a candle and handed her another, gesturing for her to follow.
He led her through the stacks, watching her expression brighten as she took in the thick, leather bound tomes tucked between living branches.
“It’s better in the daylight,” he said. “Are you familiar with the art of bonsai?”
She shook her head, lips moving as she read the titles silently.
“The library was designed when the trees were saplings, hundreds and hundreds of years ago.” He stood, came closer to her, sliding his fingers over the places she’d touched. “These ridges are where the trees were shaped using wire.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, drawing a volume off the shelf. The cover was worn tan leather, the gold lettering faded in places.
“Amhrán an Chroí,” Rowan read, slipping easily into Gaelic. “Song of the Heart.” He took the book from her and replaced it gently on the shelf, feeling warmth in his chest. Callie loved the library as much as he did. The fact made him happier than it should have. So what, she liked books—that didn’t mean they had anything in common.
She hesitated, inspected her fingernails. Finally, she mirrored his posture, leaning on the shelf opposite him and crossing her arms. “Who are my parents?”
Rowan couldn’t hide his shock. Usually it took new members of the city longer to put the pieces together. “I don’t know.” He lifted a shoulder, feeling regret bite at his gut. She was no different from any other faerie here— no one knew their parents, no matter how badly they wanted it. “We aren’t allowed to know.” Bitterness crept into his words. “The purpose of the city is to unite the children of the fae. We are to be as one. Live mar aon ní amháin.” He could tell by her expression that she didn’t know what the words meant, joining a legion of fae who’d forgotten their native language. Now they resorted to English mostly, just like the rest of the world.
Callie fingered the tie on her robe, twisting it around her index finger. “So you all live here together, but you never know who your parents are? How is that fair?” She looked past him to the shelves beyond, eyes far away in the candlelight. “My entire life I thought my parents were dead. And now I find out they’re alive—but I’ll never know they’re mine?”
The pain in the last word fell over Rowan like a sodden blanket and he took a moment to gain his composure. Hadn’t he thought the exact same things?
“Long ago,” he said finally, “there was war between our people. The Elders formulated a plan based on the idea of binding us together. Everyone is family, and therefore we fight for each other as family, because potentially every one of us could be related.” He felt the edges of his mouth tighten. “We’re one big, happy family.”
Callie’s face dissolved into horror. “But what about incest? I mean—if you don’t know…”
Rowan chuckled. “It’s chemistry. We’re creatures of nature, close to the earth, all living things. It would feel inherently wrong, not that it would specifically matter.” He leaned close to her, enjoying the way her eyes widened. “Trust me—we’re not related. Nothing to worry about.”
She snorted—actually snorted —and walked away from him. “Believe me, I’m not concerned about being related to you.”
She went to the pillows stacked in the corner, touching random surfaces as she went—the shelves, the book that lay open on the table, a cluster of dangling orbs. He wanted to go behind her, feel each item from inside her skin.
She sat, studied him, her blue eyes shuttered. Rowan wished he’d been gifted with the ability to mind read.
“Why are you being so nice, anyway?”
Rowan sat across from her, stretching out his legs. “I don’t know.”
“I never said thank you—for when the prophetess died. Thanks for taking care of me and for…for not blaming me.”
Rowan said nothing.
“What will
Similar Books
