15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

C yril wasn’t sure how Runa still felt uneasy in the palace.

It crawled with guards now, as it had every day since Rika’s death, with each station or post doubled or tripled. There also was not a single moment since that terrible day that Cyril hadn’t encountered at least a handful of patrolling guards while she walked from place to place. They even made sweeps through the archives now, much to the apparent annoyance of Tobias.

It was unsettling, she was sure, to know something so heinous happened in your home, but Cyril had never witnessed such a level of security before. She slept well at night, at least.

Beside her, Mikael was the picture of stoic indifference as they wove through the hallways leading from the lounge, his eyes trained anywhere but in Cyril’s direction. He exchanged nods of acknowledgment with each guard they passed—six, she counted, in that short time—but did not say a word to her.

Cyril didn’t mind.

When they finally made it to the main atrium, she stopped and looked up at him. “You don’t have to walk me the entire way.”

Mikael smiled at her, a bit bitterly, and laughed.

“Oh, no, I do. If my mother finds out I didn’t, which she will because she has eyes and ears everywhere, she will kill me, find someone to stir my corpse back to life, and then kill me again. So please, Lady Cyril”—he gestured vaguely to the stairs across the atrium—“after you.”

Cyril struggled to school the amusement out of her face.

She kept walking.

“Do you usually train the guard?” she asked, though she didn’t have a fucking clue why. It had to be the wine, urging her to fill the silence. “I…I appreciate the invitation.”

“I usually do, yes.” He eyed her for a moment. “Like I said, it was my mother who thought it was something you might enjoy.”

Right, because he never would have invited her.

He seemed like the type to have some archaic views on the places where women belonged, and combat training surely wasn’t one of them.

“That was kind of her,” Cyril said, a bit more quiet, as they started up the stairs. Just a few minutes and she’d be back in her room, and freed of this awkward excuse of a conversation.

“It was.” He paused. “I have a question for you, Lady Cyril, if you’ll humor me.”

She looked back at Mikael, trailing a couple of steps behind her. This entire interaction was downright civilized, and it was really fucking weird.

Cyril forced a wry smile and said, “It’s not about my hobbies again, is it?”

A flicker of surprise lit up his face and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, I’m afraid not. I was wondering…” He hesitated. “Is your uncle always such an asshole, or is this just some special act we’re being treated to?”

Oh.

“He…” Cyril weighed her words carefully as Mikael stopped beside her at the top of the stairs. “I wouldn’t list acting high on Dion’s strengths, if that answers your question.”

She hoped it did, desperately, and loosed a quiet breath when Mikael nodded slowly. Not a conversation she felt like delving much further into. Besides, she knew the prince had witnessed what happened with Dion in the hall the other afternoon.

That gave him everything he needed to know.

Mikael looked past her and caught the eyes of the guards standing watch over the residential wing.

“Will one of you see Lady Cyril through the rest of the perilous journey to her room?” he asked, and a trio of nods and chuckles followed suit.

Mikael looked down at her and smiled a bit more warmly than she remembered seeing him do before. Gods, the wine here had to be ten times stronger than it was back home.

“Goodnight, Lady Cyril. Enjoy your reading,” he said, hitching ever so slightly at the waist. More respect than she ever thought she’d get from him.

“Thank you, Your Highness. Enjoy, ah…” She couldn’t remember for the life of her what Runa said he’d be running off to do. “Goodnight?” Cyril grimaced.

Amusement tugged at his features, but the prince only nodded and sauntered his way back down the stairs.

Section 4—The Physical Tolls of Ascension

Part c. Impacts to Self-healing

All fae—regardless of their status of Ascension—possess innately superior self-healing abilities when compared to their mortal counterparts and other documented races. This natural process is only further enhanced once a fae has achieved their Ascension and taps into their full wellspring of powers.

During the process of Ascension, however, fae undergo a transitional period during which their self-healing abilities enter a state of stasis. This stasis can last anywhere from mere hours to days and seems to directly correlate to the amount of energy spent by the fae’s body during the moment of Ascension.

For fae who undergo a more subtle transition, it may only manifest as a few hours of feeling unwell. For those whose transition results in a more complete release of energy from their bodies, the results may be grievous.

Stasis will leave them at a heightened risk of permanent injury, as well as the possibility of death. The most common causes of death for fae during their healing stasis are blood loss, from injuries sustained during the outburst of energy, and exposure to the elements, as they also experience a reduced ability to self-regulate their body temperatures.

The phenomenon of Ascension Death is most commonly seen in male fae, who are prone to…

Cyril had run through this passage four times now and still wasn’t sure if she trusted the connections her mind was forging. She'd even flipped through two other tomes that Isa lent her on Ascension, and they all said some subtly differently worded version of the same thing.

And if that were the case…

Gods , she didn’t want to assume, but…Dion's scar.

It had to be.

For as long as Cyril could remember, the brutal and wicked thing cut down the right side of his face was a point of fascination for her. But it was a topic he refused to discuss, as did anyone at the guild. All she ever knew was it had to be something grievous, with how quickly her own feeble and mixed body healed.

But now, reading these texts, it made so much sense.

Or at least she thought it did.

If the tomes were to be believed, it was uncommon, but not unheard of, for a fae’s moment of Ascension to be an explosive sort of thing. Like buildings leveled and mass casualties sort of explosive. Typically in fae that had strong affinities for magic before they even ascended.

She knew Dion fell into that category.

What made little sense was why it was such a sensitive topic for him. A fae’s moment of Ascension was supposed to be a point of pride, a crowning achievement in their life. She knew hers would be, if it ever came.

Dion could be embarrassed, she supposed, that he’d lost control and injured himself so grievously. He was a painfully proud man, after all.

Cyril slumped against the back of the sofa and rubbed her eyes until colors bloomed behind her eyelids.

She’d let herself get tied up in this for hours now, the fire long since dwindled and lamps running low, and hadn’t found a lick of what she actually wanted to find in these tomes.

The theorizing about Dion was fun, sure, but pointless when she would never get an ounce of truth from him. Just like she would never find the sort of reassurance she was seeking about herself.

A fool’s dream, she knew, to hope that one of these texts might conveniently contain an excerpt on Ascension for mixed fae of not entirely fae background. There were endless references to full sun-fae, full moon-fae, and fae that were a mix of both, but no mentions of what a pinch of nymph blood might do to complicate things.

At times like these, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if her mother was around, what sort of bits of knowledge she would have taught Cyril.

She didn’t let herself dwell on those thoughts for long.

Maybe she’d find time to ask Runa about it, discreetly. The woman seemed inclined to humor Cyril, and she had a feeling her knowledge was vast.

And maybe she might dig up a kernel of truth about Dion as well.

The next week blew by far faster than Cyril thought it would, as remarkably uneventful as it was. Not a bad thing, she supposed, even though there was no denying her disappointment with the lack of developments in the investigation.

At first, the prospect of it just being herself and Dion again after her other uncles headed back to Brynnhold had been a bit anxiety-inducing, but he made himself scarce. Thought it was best that he spend most of his time in the city with them, to help with the ongoing investigations.

Cyril didn’t question it, especially not after he was less than discreet in his dismissal of her own contributions to the investigation.

Truthfully, approaching Dion the morning after his little outburst in the dining room was the last thing Cyril wanted to do, but her fear over stoking his anger any further outweighed the overwhelming urge to steer clear of him. She thought giving him a heads up about her plans to join the guard with their training would be nonnegotiable, and that maybe he’d even appreciate the assurances she wanted to give him that she would still make time for her research in the archives.

How wrong she’d been, though, when Dion just smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry about it, Cyr. You missing a few days of reading won’t be what unravels the investigation.”

After that, Cyril didn’t bother trying to talk to Dion again before he left.

The good news was, things were peaceful at the palace with everyone away, and she would take every damned day of it she could get. The space to breathe finally gave her a chance to fall into her own routine.

Every morning at the bleary blink of dawn, Cyril would drag her sleepy self down to the stables to see Attie. The stable hands expected her now, too, and her saddle was always sitting outside Attie’s stall when she got there—usually with a couple of apples.

And every day they rode for hours .

Cyril learned quickly that she wanted nothing to do with the hot and muggy afternoons of late spring in Reykr, and much preferred to ride the trail when it was still laden with swathes of cool morning mist. It was a bit of a novelty for her, a daughter of the south and sun, to steep herself in the lush greenery and fog, but she told herself Attie preferred it too.

And when her thighs ached and her lungs burned ruthlessly, they called it a day. She’d wash up and eat quickly, then head to the archives.

Even though Dion had rendered her findings on elemental cleansing useless, and suggested she redirect her research , Cyril kept going back to it.

In part because she enjoyed going against his wishes, truthfully, and Bron’s encouragement might’ve had something to do with it too. The runes weren’t there for no reason, and she’d be damned if she didn’t find out why.

It helped that she enjoyed seeing the scribes. And if they had any displeasure with her visits, they certainly didn’t show it.

Most days, Isa would flat-out abandon whatever task she’d been doing to clear out a spot for Cyril and retrieve the file of notes they graciously agreed to store in the archives for her. She still hadn’t heard Konnor speak a single word, but he smiled and waved at her every day, and Isa assured her that was an exceptionally warm display for the muted man. Cyril took her word for it.

It was Tobias, though, that she spent the most one-on-one time with.

Despite her protests that he did not waste all of his time teaching her the intricacies of the old language, Tobias was the most fluent of the scribes, and the man did not take no for an answer.

So, every day, he pulled up a chair at her table and imparted bits of his wisdom on everything from pronunciation to regional nuances, and even debated variations on common words, as she poured over tome after tome.

The breadth of his mind was astonishing, frankly.

Tobias also had the most uncanny ability to sense when Cyril's mind had reached its capacity for the day. Just moments before her eyes went cross and the runes on the pages in front of her became a giant smear of ink, he would excuse himself. Cyril wasn’t sure where he would disappear to, but it was never for more than a few minutes, and he always returned with two steaming mugs of tea.

That was when the history lessons would start.

Mostly little facts about the palace and its grounds, which parts of it he saw built, and what the decor has looked like over the years. He even delved into little stories about what Lars was like as a child—painfully quiet, apparently, which Cyril almost didn’t believe—and how his sons compared to him.

All fascinating things to hear, but today?

Cyril came armed with a question for him.

One that she’d been too afraid to ask…well, anyone, truthfully.

She waited until he’d taken the first sip of his tea before she sprung it on him.

“Tobias, can I ask you a potentially stupid question?” Cyril winced.

“ Stupid ?” He blinked. “I doubt it is anything of the such, but I’m happy to entertain any of your curiosities if I can.”

Gods, he really was a far too kind and patient man.

The best she’d ever get from Dion was a judgemental, “Try me.”

“Why are moon-fae called moon-fae?” she all but blurted out. “I…I understand sun-fae, I think. Our lands are hot and dry and steeped in the sun. But it is sunny in Reykr, too, and plenty hot from what I’ve seen already.”

Definitely a stupid question.

She felt her cheeks burn as she kept fumbling the words out.

Tobias only smiled at her. All warmth, no judgment.

“It was many eons ago, but the people of Reykr were once children of the night,” he explained, “our lives guided by nothing but the moonlight and sea of stars. Obviously, that is not entirely the case anymore, but we still find ways to pay homage to our roots. You’ll get a good taste of it on the solstice in a few weeks, I’m sure.”

“Is the solstice different here?”

Gods, Cyril hoped not.

Summer Solstice was one of her favorite days of the year, and they did it really damn well in Helia. She was so desperate for a night to unwind that didn’t involve being stuffed in a lounge that she never considered the possibility that Reykr might not celebrate their holidays the same.

“Only in the sense that the festivities do not start until well after nightfall,” Tobias said, and Cyril breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll see that is the same for all our celebrations too. We still have great respect for the night, so they always take place in the evenings, preferably out under the open sky, and they rarely end until we are freed by the mercy of dawn’s first light.”

Tobias chuckled, like maybe he struggled to make it to dawn a few too many times in his life. Cyril could only imagine how many solstice celebrations he’d seen.

“Well, I’m looking forward to the solstice even more now if it means I won’t be stuck out in the sun all day.” Cyril smiled, and Tobias chuckled again, shaking his head. She was sure that was about as boisterous as the man got. “And thank you for answering my question.”

“Of course, dear. You needn’t be afraid to ask things of the like in here. You said yourself that the time our people have spent divided has done us no favors, and I am glad to do my part to rectify some of that.”

To that, Cyril could only nod.

This wasn’t the time or place to unpack the full breadth of just how true that statement was. Tobias didn’t push it any further either. He just sipped his tea as Cyril did hers, and didn’t say another thing until his eyes snagged somewhere behind her and he tipped his head.

He looked back at her as he said, “Have you not been dining with Their Majesties? It just dawned on me you’ve been here well past dinner most days.”

“Oh, no.” Cyril breathed a nervous laugh. “Everyone else is gone now, and that’s…well it’s a bit too intimate for me.”

On the first day that Dion was away, Cyril hadn’t even given it a second thought when Runa checked if she would join them for dinner. Truthfully, she was looking forward to possibly broaching the subject of ascension and nymph blood with the queen after they ate.

Cyril just hadn’t realized that them entailed Runa, Lars, and Mikael.

No one else.

Astor and Reyna were off visiting her family, and the rest of the guardsmen had all gone back to their usual evenings spent in the barracks or at home with their own families.

A private dinner for four with the Kallans was a bit more intimate than she was comfortable with.

Lars and Runa had been absorbed in conversation with each other almost immediately, leaving Mikael and Cyril sitting across from each other in silence. On and off for their entire meal, the prince observed her in a way that had her wondering why in the hells the dining room was so hot. It felt like every time she looked up that cocked head and glacial blue stare were fixed on her.

She almost wished he’d go back to asking her grating questions.

Cyril had eaten the rest of her meals in her room since then.

“I just prefer the quiet, and being alone,” Cyril added, as if she even needed to justify herself to Tobias.

“I understand completely.” He nodded.

“It reminds me though,” she winced, “that I won’t be around much for the rest of the week. There is training with the guard, and I think it runs all day. I might still come in the afternoons if it doesn’t, but—”

Tobias waved his hand.

“Train and rest, and don’t worry about this all for a few days. The books and I will be here when you are done.” He started stacking some tomes they had spread across the worktable. “It wouldn’t do you any good to be tired on your first day, either, so go get a meal in you and turn in.”

“Is that an order?” Cyril chuckled.

A sliver of amusement passed through his face.

“Why yes, Lady Cyril, it is.” Tobias jerked his chin towards the door. “Get a move on.”

Cyril did not need to be told twice.

She waved goodbye to Isa and Konnor—and mouthed an apology to Tobias when the youngest scribe yelled her goodbye back—and headed back up to her room. Dinner was already waiting for her there, along with a generous pour of wine, and she wasted no time diving into them both.

Then came the task of trying to fall asleep at a reasonable hour.

Even after laying out her base layers for the next day, and spending a bit longer than she should have sitting on her balcony, Cyril couldn’t sleep.

Mikael’s warnings about the training not being glamorous be damned. She was excited . He didn’t know the first thing about just how unglamorous the training she had received back home at the guild was.

The arrogant prick probably thought she wasn’t cut out for whatever was in store for the recruits, or that she’d turn tail as soon as she broke a sweat and got dirty.

Cyril looked forward to proving him wrong.