Page 12 of Upon the Riven Throne
Mireille groaned. “Be reasonable, Thomas. It’s not as if fae secrets will be bolted to the wall with a finely engraved plaque.Here lies the knowledge of every fae conundrum known to man. Feel free to browse this register of twelve proven methods to trick a fae.” The edge of Thomas’s mouth twitched and, a bit overtired, Mireille plowed recklessly on. “Perhaps I’ll find just the one I need now: Adetailed account for working your way into a fae prince’s bedchamb?—”
Mireille squeaked and fumbled her teacup as a throat cleared behind her. There was a flash of surprise in Thomas’s expression before it smoothed to something more cordial, revealing that he had been just as unaware that they’d been approached. Mireille set her cup on the small table, then glanced at the fae now standing beside them.
The woman leaned forward as she replenished the tray. It was the dark-haired server who had saved Mireille from the shadow creature, and from the seatmate who had tried to trap her in a bargain, the night before.
“Forgive us,” Mireille said. “I’m afraid… well, I’m afraid there’s no excuse for it.”
The woman offered a closed-lip smile as she worked.
Mireille tried again. “I want to thank you for last night. It can be quite difficult to navigate court life and it means a great deal that you were willing to come to my aid.”
The woman only inclined her head. Mireille glanced at Thomas; he gave an infinitesimal shrug. Mireille reached forward, gently touching her fingertips to the woman’s hand to still her work. When the woman met her gaze, her dark eyes seemingly free from pretense, Mireille asked, “What may I call you?”
The woman placed the tea pot on the table, then reached up to tap her fingers to her throat.
Mireille gestured with her reply. “In Norcliffe, we were taught a bit of signing. Is this version familiar to you?”
The woman responded with a gesture that appeared to mean, “well enough,” then she glanced at Thomas, who held a book over his knee, and indicated for him to pass it over. When Thomas obliged, the woman pointed out the letters of a name.
“Kin,” Mireille said.
The woman inclined her head again.
“Well, Kin, I am in your debt.”
The sidelong glance she gave Mireille spoke volumes.
“Right,” Mireille said. “I will remember not to offer my debts out so easily, as well as not agreeing to any sly bargains.”
She gave a curt nod, then dipped her head as if to go.
“Kin.” When she turned back, Mireille asked, “Would the law books be on the first level or the third?”
With the smallest upward tilt to the corner of her mouth, Kin indicated her burden of tea pot and tray as if to imply she could not answer.
“I wonder,” Mireille said smoothly, “if the fae laws of hospitality would supersede any orders from your prince.”
Kin’s brow lifted playfully, then she turned to place the tray on a side table.
“Interesting,” Thomas murmured.
Mireille grinned. “Indeed.”
It was surely no accident that the fae secrets were tucked away. The morning search had been fruitless and frustrating and Mireille had no time to waste. They were going to have to use fae customs they did not entirely understand in order to gain any ground.
They followed Kin up a wide spiral staircase to a second story balcony where only a handful of bound volumes rested on a shelf. A pale stone ledge extended from the wall beneath the shelf, its supports carved into woody vines with wisteria draped over the edge. To one side rested a plush chair, beside it a small table.
Mireille bit her lip, exchanging a glance with Thomas, as they’d already checked the few books on the shelf. She said, “Anything on customs and traditions would be helpful as well, but what we would really like are the older texts. Thomas is a bit of a historian, you see, and this is his favorite pastime. I, on the other hand, could do with a primer on court etiquette and something detailing the royal code.”
Kin nodded, tucking her dark hair behind an ear as she stepped closer to where Thomas stood by the ledge, his fingers tracing carved markings that Mireille could only assume were some sort of ancient script.
Shoulder to shoulder, Kin placed her hand over Thomas’s. She guided his palm to lie flat against the stone. He started, his hazel eyes flicking to her face, then Mirelle sensed the tingling warmth of magic that rose from their connected hands.
Kin’s fingers slid away, and beneath Thomas’s palm rested bound linen pages, their script trimmed in red and gold. He went still for one very long moment before his own hand slid reverently down the page.
Kin placed her palm on the ledge beside the first book, and another rose to the surface. Her smile was soft as she crossed her wrists behind her back and strode toward the window, eyes on the distant trees.
Thomas was too still, too quiet. Mireille leaned nearer, glancing briefly at the tome Kin had apparently left for her. “Well?”
