Page 96 of First Light

“Yes.” Aisling answered her while lifting one book after another and stacking them to the side. “The former king—Robb’s uncle—was married to an Éiren queen who invested heavily in bringing scholars to Sgàin. She had a musical school here, mages in residence. She had been trained as a scribe in Anglia, so she improved the library quite a lot. It was her passion.”

“Robb didn’t approve of all that,” Duncan said. “Told Lachlan scribes, mages, and musicians attracted the fae.”

“Is he wrong?”

“No.” Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “But if you’re only concerned with hunting, farming, and war, what are you living for?”

Aisling pointed to another crate. “Duncan, can you?—”

“Happy to, lass.” He lifted the wooden box over his head, and Carys quickly looked away.

She was being an idiot. The last thing she needed was to be looking at Duncan that way. It was as if her night with Lachlan had switched on her libido, which was… idiotic to say the least.

She was a stranger in a foreign fae realm, trying to figure out who poisoned her magical twin, and she didn’t need to be looking at Duncan’s broad shoulders or the hard curve of his thighs under his kilt when he lifted that crate like it weighed?—

Dammit!

“Found them.” Aisling raised her head in triumph. “A whole crate of her journals right here.” She pointed at it while Duncan stepped back into the confusion of wooden boxes. “I think I missed them because they were covered with some maps she was working on with Cadell.” She cocked her head. “Land surveys from Northern Anglia, it looks like.”

Carys cleared her throat. “Seren liked maps?” She remembered Dafydd mentioning Cymric maps.

“She adored them,” Duncan said. “Collected every one she could find from the Brightlands when she’d visit with Lachlan. Even the old ones.”

Aisling said, “On days she didn’t have court duties with Lachlan, she and Cadell would just take to the air and…” Aisling’s hand fluttered into the air. “She was an excellent artist too. Probably helped when drawing maps.”

And Carys couldn’t draw a stick figure. It was as if all her mother’s talent in drawing had fallen into Seren’s head and not her own.

“Let me know if you need help reading them.” Aisling started restacking crates. “My Cymric is rough, but I could probably give you the basic idea.” She caught herself. “Well, after Regan has gone. While she’s here, we need to be working on my grimoire.”

“Is that like your doctoral thesis?” Carys walked over and tried to help with the crates, but Duncan pushed her back.

“I don’t know what that is, but when you’re studying magic, you must study from the magical writings of others to learn, but you’re only considered a true mage when you have written your own book of spells and demonstrated its usefulness to your teacher. For me, that’s Regan.”

“Yep, sounds quite a bit like a thesis,” Carys muttered. “What about the amulet thing?”

“Older mages still use wands to channel their magic and center themselves,” Aisling said. “But I think they’re kind of old-fashioned. Most mages my age use an amulet or a talisman of some kind to practice.” Her eyes lit up. “I heard about a mage from the court in Gaulle who was using aring, and that seems very progressive.”

“Mmm.” Duncan nodded and stacked the last crate on the top of the pile. “I think a ring would be useful. Discreet like an amulet but directed.” He shot his hand out. “Like a wand.”

Carys barely stifled a giggle. “Yer a wizard, Duncan.”

He narrowed his eyes and flipped her off, but Carys could only laugh.

“I had the exact same thought about using a ring.” Aisling’s face showed all the excitement of a true nerd, and Carys had never felt more at home. “But I don’t know if Regan would even consider it. Amulets are preferred in Éire.”

Carys could have stayed in the library for hours with Aisling, talking about magic and exploring the books, but she had a very large box of journals to read, and Aisling needed to get back to work.

Carys bent down and brushed a rolled map to one side, grabbing a book bound in red leather. “So these are my sister’s books.”

Duncan stared at the pile. “You’re probably going to need your dragon.”

“We’ll takethese to my house.” Duncan had loaded the crate filled with Seren’s journals into a wagon and covered it with furs and various household goods he’d collected from the merchants in the courtyard. “I think they’ll be safer if we don’t keep them at the castle.”

“Good idea. Cadell and I can walk to your house when we want to read them.”

“Can you read any Welsh at all?” He took the lead of the horse pulling the cart and urged the animal forward.

“I’m hoping some of it will come back. My parents usually only spoke Welsh when they were talking about my Christmas presents.” She grimaced. “My mother spoke it more than my father, but he managed. It was her first language but not his.”

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