“Here we are,” the princess says, with a final bow, interrupting the obvious follow up question about where Dare and her cousin are now. “I’ll leave you with Master Cyreus. He’s a good male and truly gifted. He’s taught me a great many things.” Her cheeks darken slightly. “You shouldn’t need to worry about being disturbed while in the library. Not many of our court still value reading.”
That last is said sadly as she turns and leaves that I have to crush an errant pang of sympathy for her as I push open the door and come face to face with a green-haired fae for less than a second before Lore is in front of me.
“Merrow.” I’ve never heard such anger in his voice.
The fae in question raises webbed hands in surrender, showing off more apple-green scales across his arms. “Redcap, I pose no threat.”
Lore doesn’t believe him. He sinks down, palming a second blade. “Pet, take my hat and run.”
“Lorcan. This merrow already has a cap,” Kitarni murmurs. “He has nothing to gain from stealing yours.”
“I swear to Danu, I bear you and your mate no ill will. I am simply a scholar, hired to teach.” The merrow bows. “My cap was a gift from a dying friend many centuries ago. I mean no harm, and even if I did, I am no match for your skill.”
The hat he’s wearing is soft and crocheted, barely pink. The vast majority of his hair is tucked away inside it, with only a few strands slipping free to frame his face.
“Titania,” I whisper under my breath, caught in the middle of a standoff. “Want to explain what’s going on here?”
“Merrows are sea dwellers,” my grandmother explains, popping into existence. “They normally cannot come on land. A redcap’s hat contains their soul, the soul of a land-dweller—and there is enough magic in one to give them the ability to walk on land too. In the past, merrows would ambush ships and drown redcaps for the privilege, and as no redcap can survive without their cap… It has led to some serious animosity between the two races.”
They can’t survive without their cap? Then why does Lore keep giving me his?
In front of me, my Guard is still surveying the room like he expects more merrows to jump from the towering shelves full of scrolls, but the scholar is backing away.
“I didn’t know where you were with your reading, my lady Nicnevin,” he says. “I’ve prepared lots of material for you, but if you’re already making good progress…”
“She is,” Kitarni says, clearly following his lead and trying to pretend that Lore isn’t a hair's breadth from murdering him. “Nicnevin Rhoswyn is a fast learner.”
Taking a deep breath, I put my hand on Lore’s shoulder. “I promise, I won’t let him touch your cap, but I do need to learn.”
“Princess Ciara suggested me because I have the magic of imparting,” Cyreus admits, as if I should know what that is.
“He can literally bestow knowledge,” Titania explains. “It’s a sought-after gift. With his magic, whatever he teaches you will stay with you.”
“I’m quite good,” he promises. “If you permit me to help, I believe you may be nearly fully literate by the time you leave here.”
“Is that not cheating?” I ask, even as everything in me begs to take him up on his offer.
“It won’t last,” the merrow admits. “My magic fades over time, but once I’ve imparted the knowledge to you, assuming you begin reading regularly, you’ll be practising without even noticing it. By the time it does wear off, you won’t know the difference.”
“You’ve already worked hard to master the basics,” Kitarni says. “And besides, were you not saying only a little while ago that there was simply too much to learn? This is a gift—one far better than I would’ve expected from Eero and his daughters.”
I hesitate some more, during which time Lore finally relaxes enough to pull me into his side.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, pet.” He nuzzles my ear, and it feels oddly like he’s staking a claim. His hat clinches a little tighter around my head. “No one will force you.”
He’d kill them if they tried.
“And what does the princess ask in exchange for this gift?” I ask, because I don’t believe any of this can be so simple.
“Nothing,” Cyreus answers. “You’ve already done more than you know for fae like me in this court. I swear to Danu, there is no debt.”
“An illiterate queen serves no one,” I mumble, eyeing the scrolls on the table. “Very well. I accept.”
Thirty-Nine
Caed
Siabetha. Fuck, I forgot how damned hot the Summer Court is. The sea breeze is the only thing about this city that’s bearable, and even that’s only a fleeting relief when you factor in the sticky humidity. There’s no escape from Prae’s whining either. She despises the hot weather and seems to think she needs to remind me of it every few minutes.
