She glances at the titles stamped across the spines, then paraphrases the contents of the worn leather tomes without even opening the top book. “Intersection points. Soul-bound bonds. And … the awry.”
“You’ve read them.”
She taps a French-manicured fingertip to the book on top of the pile —The Potent History of the Soul Bound.
“I’ve skimmed this, but the other two were … required reading. For a time. I imagine Armin had a better grasp of the text than I do.” She looks me in the eye, her violet gaze drilling into me. Then she says, without a hint of grief or anger, “I was the spare heir. Not powerful enough.”
“Not ‘not powerful enough’,” I say, trying to be considerate while broaching a complicated subject. “I’ve spent the last four weeks finding out every little thing I could about you. Other than what appears readily enough on the surface, such as your charities and your public appearances as the so-called face of the royal family, more-personal information was somewhat … difficult to obtain.”
Mirth nods, still perfectly agreeable. “I’m not ‘not powerful.’ Tell me how you know. Besides the eyes.”
“These books, and what other research I managed to accumulate before the matchmaking event, reenforce the … perception of the awry, in general. Things such as the brighteror lighter the eye color, the more access an awry has to their essence … to all essence.”
“And my eyes are almost as bright as my father’s. As bright as Armin’s. Both known to be exceedingly powerful telekinetics. I could still be a dud, though. A genetic anomaly.”
I nod, deliberately settling back in my seat in an attempt to defuse some of the tension now lightly threading through our conversation. “The public consensus is that you’re simply more circumspect than your brother or father.”
“Than my brother was,” Mirth says.
“Yes.”
“But you know differently.”
“Yes.”
I hesitate, but for just a moment. I don’t want any secrets between us, between any of us. I want all of us within the bond group to be able to trust each other. Otherwise, I’m fairly certain we won’t function in the way I now know — from my research — that we will need to function.
I suspect Mirth’s trust will be the most difficult to nurture. Mirth might have the most to hide. Just as she usually tucks all her power away.
“The records of the royal guard aren’t generally open to public purview,” I say, starting by stating the obvious so Mirth can understand how I retrieved the information I now think I possess. “And anything having to do with the royal family isn’t subject to warrant or court order.”
“It’s rare that the family denies such requests, though,” Mirth says, perfectly pleasant. “From any governing or law-enforcement entities.”
I nod to acknowledge that caveat, even as I continue with my main line of thought. “The presence of such a record indicates that an investigation took place, though. Or that charges were made that required supporting documentation.”
“Of course …” Mirth frowns, still unaware of the connections I’ve already made. “But you aren’t the public, Lord Hereford. You can request any and all of the royal guard’s records. Though … you also aren’t one to advertise your intent.”
“No.” I smirk, just a bit pleased that Mirth has me at least partially figured out. “I’m not.”
She taps the stack of books with her fingers, as if she needs to keep me focused. She doesn’t. I’m near obsessed with the topic, with her. “But we were speaking of the awry and my power specifically. I’m not seeing the connection to the royal guard?”
I nod. “I was … annoyed that I missed the connection between Bolan and Rian Callaghan. It’s common knowledge, if not publicly known, that Bolan’s father, James Yates, died protecting Prince Armin and his mother. The statement issued by the royal guard to the public was officially released three weeks after the incident.”
“That’s an extra security precaution.”
“I know. But the families involved, whether they lost a father, like Bolan and Livi, or if their family member was wounded in the attack, were informed immediately. And taken care of immediately. The records of such compensations or other considerations are meticulously organized. However, they hold no mention of Rian’s mother. There are two later mentions of Rian. That he’d taken the position of head horse breeder and was run through the corresponding security assessment, and then a … shift in his security level about a month before the matchmaking event.”
Mirth flushes prettily, confirming what I already guessed — that she started her relationship with Rian then, and the royal guard had done their due diligence behind the scenes. Both putting him through another level of scrutiny, then opening the ease of access between them. I wonder if either of them noticed.
I continue, “While the royal guard is circumspect, a mother and child in need of funds or other help isn’t the sort of thing that would be wiped from their records.”
“What is the sort of thing that gets wiped from their records?” Mirth’s question is cool and calm, but it still slices through me.
I hesitate again. I can get fixated on puzzles and problems, and this conversation can easily wait for weeks or even months. For when everything is much, much more settled. But my instincts say this is important.
I hesitate only because in my desire to know everything there is to know about Mirth, I might be crossing a plethora of boundaries.
“I blinded my trainer when my powers first came in,” I say bluntly, seemingly changing the subject. “I was a late bloomer. For my bloodline, at least. My parents weren’t yet certain whether I would wield light or not.”
