Chapter 125: Jezalin's Library Squirt

As soon as she exited out of the crowded training yard, Squirt darted for the nearest shadow, Pakos held comfortably in her arms. Away from prying eyes, she leaned back against the wall, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Well. Most of the prying eyes. She could tell that both the pest and Kenna had followed her, though both were engaged in a quiet conversation that looked innocuous enough to pass as two fey just having a casual chat. They were also positioned far enough down the hall that they didn’t draw attention to her. Something she appreciated.

So she took this quiet moment while she could.

And now that she was here, she could face it.

Qzi had won.

Three simple words filled with so much emotion. He’d won. He’d won because he’d been learning from her, watching her for months now, emulating her techniques from not just sparring drills, but from the stuff she’d taught him. She hadn’t given him that blazing ant powder—he’d made it himself.

And it was… heartwarming.

Here in this shadowed corner of the hall, she sat with that light feeling in her chest for a moment. She was flattered. Impressed. Awed. Relieved. Annoyed. Frustrated. All the emotions spilled over into a complicated smile, a slight upturn of her lips.

He’d won.

Gathering herself, she shook off the feelings with a sigh, peeking out from her hiding spot as more fey passed on their way to their duties after the excitement of the training yard. Squirt stayed where she was, hidden from their view until the last of them tottered off around the corner, listening to the scattered conversations reliving the fight.

“Did you see—”

“—never expected—”

“—losing to a weakling like that—”

“—the Hunt’s influence, gotta be—”

“—the coolest fight ever!”

That one added a bit more levity to her mood. It wasn’t the coolest fight she’d ever seen, but… she had to admit, it’d been a thing of beauty.

Mad beauty, maybe, but beauty.

Once the last of them cleared out, Squirt turned, trotting off to the quartermasters to do Puds’ morning training.

Kenna followed Squirt all the way to the quartermasters, staying until after Puds’ lessons were over.

Which only meant one thing.

Trotting away from Quint’s precious countertop, Squirt shot a raised eyebrow at Kenna. It was close to training time, and thus there was no one in the quartermasters but Kenna and the pest to catch her as she asked, “Upstairs?”

Kenna’s smile warmed.

Squirt let out a huff too small to be a sigh. “Fine.” Meaning that whatever it was the lord wanted, it needed to be done with relative urgency without being an emergency. And it was a bad idea to keep a lord waiting.

Even if he had gotten drunk while playing board games with her just two nights ago.

Five minutes later, she knocked on the lord’s office door. The usual, “Come in,” was cut off by Kenna reaching the door and pushing it open. Squirt shot her a brief look before ducking into the office. A quick glance around showed only the lord in attendance.

No Jezalin.

Squirt couldn’t tell if she was more relieved or disappointed.

She did clock that Kenna kept the door open for the pest before shutting it behind herself.

The pest, meanwhile, darted into the room, shooting Squirt a brief smile as their gazes caught. He didn’t stand by her side, but back by the shelves, leaning back and smiling at her like some dopey idiot.

She turned her back on him, Pakos leaping out of her arms and allowing her hands to clasp behind her back. “You called for me, my lord?”

The lord glanced at Kenna, the two of them having one of their weird silent conversations.

It’d be one thing if they were mated, but they weren’t. It wasn’t telepathy. They just knew each other that well.

And really, one of them needed to just admit their feelings already, damnit. How they could read each other so well like this and yet fail to see their mutual affections—

Well. That was none of Squirt’s damn business.

The look between them was swift before he turned his dual-colored gaze back on Squirt. “I see things went as expected.”

Squirt’s expression flattened before slowly shaking her head at him. “And how in the world was any of that expected?”

He chuckled, leaning forward on his desk and idly tapping the top of it with one finger. “I often observe the trainings.”

She gave him a curious look.

“He’s been practicing your moves for months now.”

Oh.

Right.

How had she missed that? The man never left her side. Surely, she’d have noticed something so simple.

The irony was sadly lost on her.

What wasn’t was how the lord had managed to predict an outcome like this by merely observing Qzi practicing a particular style of combat in training in the course of his regular duties. “That can’t be it.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. “We are ready for the ritual.” His eyes flickered meaningfully behind her to the pest.

The pissant deflected.

In some ways, he was more devious and manipulative than Zhadin, and that was saying something.

Moving on, she turned to face the pink colored pest, her lips unknowingly twitching downward as her eyes caught the color of his hair, her dislike of the fake coloration visible for a split second.

He noticed.

“I…” she cleared her throat. “… would you consider offering the lord a tithe?”

The pest stared at her, a puppy-like tilt of confusion as he parsed her words. “… offering the lord… a tithe… offering a tithe.” Blinking rapidly, his face lit up. “I pay a tithe?”

“Why does that excite you?”

He shrugged with a grin, strolling forward. “I have never paid one before. How do I do this?”

Slowly shaking her head in disbelief, she muttered, “You get excited over the weirdest shit.”

He counted on his fingers. “I give you the gift of my magic, I am useful to Bartos, I am useful to you… I do not understand why I would not be excited.”

Her mouth shut with an audible click. Clearing her throat and ignoring the faint, flustered flush to her cheeks, she glanced away from him and muttered, “They want your magic to grow crops.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I can do this.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the lord.

Squirt glanced at the lord herself, finding him easier to look at than an earnest pest. She noted the objective relief in his features, the tired bags under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept since she stayed the night two days ago.

Her brows furrowed, her gaze sharp. “What happened?”

He adjusted the papers on his desk, his eyes downcast, thinking over her question before answering by neatening the already tidy stacks. “You need not concern yourself, Athereon.”

She debated pressing him further about it, but she didn’t need to. Before she could really consider it, the pest said with a soft smile, “It is okay to lean, friend.”

The lord glanced up at the pest, his hands slowing to a stop. His elbows rested on the surface of the desk, his weight slowly pressing into them, letting the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders show inch by careful inch. “I have leaned on her too much.”

She thought the lord might leave it there, his eyes having dropped to the papers before him.

But then he spoke quietly. “Reports of missing soldiers. Hundreds of complaints from residents and seasonals. An entire village wiped from the face of the map and no clues to go off of. There is always work to be done when ruling, but I confess in all of my years, I have never seen this much happening all at once.”

Squirt’s expression softened.

The silence hung between the group, but it was not weighted. Instead, it was casual. The admission seemed to be enough, the lord’s shoulders slowly straightening once more.

Squirt muttered, “You take on too much.”

The lord offered her a single eyebrow raise in answer.

She ignored it, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well… I suppose I’ll leave the pest here, then.” Though she didn’t glance his direction, she could practically feel the disappointment radiating off of the man.

He was more of a puppy than Tobias.

The lord spoke. “That would be appreciated.” His lips pursed, and for the briefest flash, his eyes turned the same amber of his beast before he seemed to wrestle back control. When he spoke, it was with strained hesitance. “I believe you have a guest waiting for you in the library.”

Squirt blinked before it hit her, her jaw going slack.

Jezalin was waiting for her in the library?

Books and a princess wrapped up in a single package.

Though Squirt didn’t notice, the others absolutely noted the blush on her tan cheeks.

The lord added, “You do not need to go if you don’t wish,” but from his tone, it was clear he knew Squirt’s heart was already dead set on the books. “But you are excused from this morning’s training at Lady Jezalin’s request.”

“Excused.”

“Yes.”

“Despite the redcaps.”

“Despite the redcaps.”

“And the greenlings.”

“And the greenlings.”

Her eyes squinted.

He dropped his eyes to the table in thought. Then, more quietly, and more measured than he’d been speaking before, he said, “I cannot promise safety, as indeed no one can. Your people will continue to struggle. But after the incident the other night, quite a few have been rather… vigilant about your people’s safety. With the addition of the redcaps, during the day when all eyes are on them, your people will be at their safest.”

He had a point.

Giving her a tired smile, he added, “Should you not wish the lady’s company, the books will be free to you.” Though his smile did not fall, there was a slight tension to it as he added, “She has expressed this herself. Should you choose to spend your time reading, you will offend no one.”

Briefly stunned, Squirt stared at him, before offering a silent prayer to the Hunt, thanking Her for this blessing.

Not one to look gifted, guaranteed reading time in the mouth, Squirt bowed as appropriate to both the lord and Kenna. She glanced back at the pest, assessing him, checking to see if he was fine with this plan.

His chest puffed out with a bit of pride, his smile practically glowing as he gave her a happy wave, his disappointment at her departure nowhere to be seen.

Idiot.

She still smiled as she turned away from him. The expression was slight, just a small upturn to her lips as she trotted over to pull the statue, escaping with a touch of glee down the tunnel.

He still swooned.

Turning the corner, she noted with a touch of surprise that Jezalin was not alone.

Still, Jezalin stole all of her focus. In the light from the thin castle window, Jezalin’s dark skin and white hair seemed to glow ethereally, the effect only heightened when she gave Squirt a warm smile. Sitting as she was, sipping tea, the regal posture alone was unreal even without the aura of power that constantly radiated from the woman.

How in the world a fallen of that caliber could be interested in Squirt as anything more than a passing fancy—

Then again, a passing fancy might be fun—

Squirt’s eyes flickered to the two others with Jezalin. Dusty sat across from her, a cup of steaming tea ignored on the small tea table they shared as he wrote furiously on a slate, writing, muttering, and crossing things out a few times. He glanced up at her once, gave her a nod, and then went back to whatever work he was doing. A book stand sat next to him, and twice, she saw him glance at it, his eyes scanning the pages carefully before he turned the page for himself, muttering again.

Lowvyn stood behind them both in a small alcove for attendants. The alcove had a counter, a basin, glasses, towels, anything that an attendant might not have on hand for caring for their lord, lady, or other. The elf shot Squirt a warm smile as well, making Squirt even more suspicious.

Though Lowvyn had never been anything but warm and welcoming to Squirt.

***

Naturally, as Lowvyn was the president of her fanclub, but what Squirt didn’t know, she didn’t consider.

***

Squirt put the pieces together herself. Kenna was helping with the ritual, leaving Dusty without his usual guard. Though Lowvyn was an attendant, Squirt could see the telltale hints of blades in the blue sash around her waist that matched her blue-tinged skin. The library was cut off from access by most whenever the lord desired.

Meaning that this was the safehouse to stick the small, squishy fey while the bigger fey did big magic.

Squishy fey like a certain vaguely irritating lord prince.

Giving each a bow in order of rank—Dusty, Jezalin, and then Lowvyn—Squirt then straightened and cleared her throat. “You wished to see me, Lady Jezalin.”

Jezalin set down her teacup, the movement fluid and graceful, not even the soft clink of the porcelain heard in the quiet room. “You’re looking well.”

“I slept well last night.”

“You do look it.” With that, the fallen stood in a single sweeping motion. “Would you be amenable to escorting me further into the library?”

Squirt raised a brow.

Dusty raised two, quickly glancing between them once, before he visibly decided it was none of his damn business and hunched closer to the slate he was writing on.

Squirt went back to ignoring him, focusing on the fallen healer in front of her. “And if I were to refuse your request and read instead?”

“As is your right.”

Squirt scoffed. “My right, sure.”

“As it is mine to admire you as you do.”

“It would not be possible for me to stop you.” Much like she didn’t stop Zhadin, the pest, or Qzi, either.

Jezalin waved a hand dismissively. “It would be simple, actually.”

“It would?”

“It would.”

“How simple is simple?”

“Tell me to leave you alone and I will.”

Squirt’s consideration was brief. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“I do.”

“Then I shall follow you, Lady Jezalin.”

The lady gave Dusty a brief nod in acknowledgement, following polite rules much as Squirt did—though from far higher up the ladder. As such, she didn’t so much as glance at Lowvyn before regally striding further into the hallway.

Once they were passed the first shelf, the regal stride of Jezalin turned into a much slower glide through the twisting mazes of the library. “I understand you took on an inferno bear yesterday.”

Squirt glanced down at the smaller form of Pakos happily sniffing this and that amongst the shelves in front of them. The lady had slowed her pace down to match Squirt’s natural gait, meaning for once, she was walking instead of jogging like she normally had to do to keep up with everyone else who was bigger. “I didn’t. I just blocked a couple of fireballs with a shield, but I couldn’t do any of that without Pakos.”

Or the pest, really, but that was a compliment, and that was a step too far for a week’s worth of growth.

“What kind of shield?”

“… technically not a shield, actually. A Withering Wood skin.”

“From Norland?”

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“I’ve read the reports.”

“… right. A healer. Reading reports on hunting matters.”

“Reading reports on reduced numbers of injuries, matters.”

“What?”

Jezalin shifted her gaze to Squirt instead of the rows of books she was guiding them through. Her gaze was steady and calm when she spoke, speaking factually instead of teasingly. “Those shields are light as a feather and require nothing more than a shape and a tanning of the hide. They blend perfectly into the Wylds and are highly resistant to magic. Many have them fashioned as a type of cape, adhered to the fabric as a ready-made shield that is easy to cast away in the heat of battle. Despite all of the skirmishes, we had estimated twice the number of casualties as our soldiers are actually experiencing.”

Squirt stopped in her tracks, staring up at the fallen. Jezalin turned to face her, her posture more casual than it had been before.

Then the news really hit Squirt. “There are fewer injuries… because they’re using what I showed them?”

Jezalin’s smile warmed. “Indeed.”

Squirt smiled softly, dropping her eyes down. “That’s… good. That’s very good.”

Jezalin’s smile faded somewhat, her expression more serious. Turning her gaze back forward, she continued walking. Squirt was a beat behind, following Jezalin around the corner. “I have a confession.”

Wary now, Squirt’s shoulders tensed, her eyes flickering back up at Jezalin’s face, studying her. “What kind of confession?”

She hummed in thought. “Not erotic, but possibly kinky in the right light?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I did admit to having a thing for scars.”

She did. Squirt hadn’t forgotten. “Stop flirting and spit it out.”

“As you wish.” She stopped by a couch in a tucked away alcove, taking a seat on the cushions and leaning forward, her elbows braced casually on her knees. The flirty smile was replaced with an oddly grave expression.

Squirt stopped a foot away from her, the fluttery humor fading to something more somber.

Like this, they were eye level.

Jezalin didn’t speak out loud. Instead, she touched her lips with one finger and pointed at Squirt with the other. As your healer, I know your every scar.

Squirt seriously questioned the Royal Physician being ‘her’ healer. And?

Including those on your mana lines.

It hit Squirt, and she froze, her expression guarded.

Pixie wings were external mana lines.

Jezalin considered the expression carefully before she continued. I’ll be blunt and spare you any dramatics. There is a slim chance I may be able to heal the scars on your wings. I want to offer to try.