“Dayton,” Ezryn says. “Rosalina and Farron may be mates, but they love you.”
Salty tears run into my mouth, and it reminds me of home. “There’s no need for me. There’s no place for me.”
“That’s not true.” Ezryn touches my bicep, over the golden cuff that marks my bargain with Farron. I gave him access to my magic at any time as long as he never forgets the moment we made the bargain.
“A weak imitation. I don’t suspect it’s anything like a mate bond.” I give a long sigh.
“My mother used to tell me not to mourn the flower in bloom because you know one day it will wilt, for then you are forsaking its beauty.” Ezryn tilts his gaze to the horizon. “Their love for you blooms now, and you do not yet have a mate.”
I inhale a shaky breath, grasping at my seashell necklace, and manage to sit up. “Is this why you’re here? You knew I was about to break. How?”
“There are signs when a person has strong emotions caged,” he says.
And just how long have you been caging your emotions, Ez?
39
Rosalina
Carefully, I unroll the paper, taking caution not to smear the chalk rubbing. “Well, what do you make of it?”
Farron leans over my shoulder, golden glasses sliding down his nose. “It’s old, certainly. This art style is ancient. Remember the stained glass in the monastery? You can see how they took inspiration from it.”
I stare down at the paper, a rubbing my father sent in one of his latest letters. His travel companions, Farron’s little brothers, use their magic to make his letters fly through the air, finding me wherever I am. Each letter contains updates on his quest to find my long-lost mother. A mother we now know is fae.
There are so many questions. How did she disguise herself as a human? Why didn’t she tell him? Why did she leave a year after she had me?
This rubbing depicts a woman with hands spread high above her head as birds fly away. Papa’s note reads: It’s a Pacific Wren. I know it. Your mother loved those birds. She always pointed them out. It means something, Rosie. I know it does.
Farron hovers a hand over the picture. “The letter said he took this rubbing from ruins in northern Autumn. Do me a favor and grab that map we were looking at the other day.”
Nodding, I make my way across the Spring archives. Though they don’t hold quite the cozy charm of our library in the Autumn Wing of Castletree, they house many treasures. Books, records, and texts are all organized on metal shelves. High stone pillars lead up into the cavernous mountain side, and arched windows let in bright streams of light.
When we first entered, Farron had sniffed something along the lines of, “Books in a cave? The humidity!” But really, everything has been quite dry. Maybe it’s an enchantment.
Standing on tiptoes, I grab an old scroll we’d taken down a few days ago following another lead from my father. He’d sent: Can’t get the word ‘Aerantheis’ out of my head. Mean anything to you?
Turns out Aerantheis was an ancient city of Summer. Farron explained there’s a legend that it sunk to the bottom of the sea, but the Queen blessed the fae who lived there with tails so they could live in the ocean. Quite the origin for mermaids. Though the mystery still stands on how my father knew that name. Maybe Billy or Dom mentioned it to him.
Did you grab the ancient map? Not the new one, Farron says in my mind.
I have it, I send back. We’ve been getting good at chatting in each other’s minds. It’s easy to do this close, but we’ve also managed from opposite sides of Keep Hammergarden. Unfortunately, we haven’t quite figured out how to communicate when we’re in separate realms, but I’m sure that will come. When Farron and I work together, I feel like we can do anything.
I make it back to our long stone table, and his gaze slides down my body like a touch. I can’t help that the Spring dresses are so beautiful. Today, I’m dressed in an off-the-shoulder blouse with a billowing skirt, the hem embroidered with tiny flowers. My cheeks heat. Researching in a library reminds me of when we first met. He’s so gorgeous like this: vest, glasses, and floppy hair.
Farron straightens and clears his throat. “Ah yes, that’s the one.”
“I know it is,” I say, smirking.
We unroll the map, and he tracks his finger to the northern Autumn realmlands. “This must be where your father was. The ruin used to be a city called Calandorin.” Farron gets that determined look, then he taps the side of his nose. “You know, there was a legend about that place. I wonder if these stony archives will have it.”