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  He didn’t want to wait, even though Tristan’s wedding trip was to be short. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to visit the palace when Tristan wasn’t there—if he’d even be let in. Was he allowed to visit the palace uninvited? Bria was there, but it seemed wrong to use his baby niece as an excuse to try to see Faelen again.

  Writing was a possibility, though. He could send Faelen a note. And hope for a favorable reply. With the idea shining bright in his mind, Maxen pulled a sheet of paper from the center drawer of his desk and began to write.

  Faelen hadn’t been living in the palace for very long, yet he was already more comfortable there than he’d been anywhere else. Before Etan and Tristan’s wedding, he and Alexander had settled in, making the suite they’d chosen to share a home. Faelen was planning on meeting with some of the university’s language scholars soon, but in his quest for something to do in the meantime, he’d promised to help Etan and had stumbled on a whole new world of information.

  Philip had said he might be able to help Etan, and by extension Savarin, the most powerful sorcerer in Tournai. Perhaps in more of the world than that. Faelen hadn’t met Savarin before, and he found the sorcerer to be almost blindingly handsome and just as intimidating in the intensity he brought to his work and the study of magic. Savarin was working on something that involved the royal family’s Talent and its relation to the security of Tournai.

  There was so much Faelen hadn’t known about their Talent and how it affected Tournai.

  Everyone had heard the legends of Tournai’s cats—the fierce, man-sized creatures that had appeared and saved Tournai from conquest hundreds of years ago, and the promise that they would return, that they would always keep Tournai safe. What only the royal family—and those very few they chose to trust with their secret—knew was that the legends were based on truth. The Talent that ran in the royal family’s bloodline allowed those who inherited it to transform into cats. Some of them could turn into the large, fierce-looking cats that the legends were likely derived from, but others became smaller cats (Elodie’s looked like a fluffy kitten), and still others never inherited the Talent at all.

  Faelen had known that much his whole life; all royal children did in case they inherited the Talent. None of them were aware of exactly how their Talent worked, but they knew to keep it a secret. Etan had decided to learn more and had started gathering everything he could—every scrap of legend, every family story—to give them more of an understanding. Around the same time, Savarin had realized that the spells protecting Tournai from magical attack were weakening, and Philip and Amory tasked him with finding out why and fixing it. Faelen had been unaware of the spells, but Etan explained them and their connection to the family’s Talent—what he could anyway. Neither he nor Etan had a Talent for sorcery as Savarin did, so the mechanics of the spells were beyond both of them.

  As best Faelen could understand, the spells had been set centuries ago, at a time when the country didn’t have good relationships with its larger neighbors. Spells for protection didn’t generally remain in place anywhere near as long as these had, but these were tied to the royal family’s bloodline and the Talent carried within it. Savarin had seen nothing like it in all his years of study and practice, which surprised Faelen more than anything else. The implications of the link were intriguing and a bit worrisome. As long as the Talent manifested itself in their family, Tournai would retain its protection from magical attack. Which explained the law requiring blood heirs for the throne and royal titles. And the insistence on secrecy about their Talent.

  If anyone found out about their Talent and the link, the consequences could be dire for them and for Tournai.

  Savarin had strengthened the spells with help from those family members possessing the Talent a month or so before Etan’s wedding. Faelen regretted that he and Alexander hadn’t been present to help. But Savarin had succeeded, the protections were back up to strength, and everyone had come out of it all right. Savarin continued to study the spells, trying to understand more about how they were constructed and if they could be expanded to keep Tournai safe from other types of attack as well, and Etan continued his research into their Talent and the history of the spells themselves.

  Which was where Faelen came in.

  Etan’s other work for Philip and Amory and as an occasional lecturer at the university kept him busy, and he needed help. With his talent for research and history, Faelen seemed a good fit for the project, even if it wasn’t in his own area of interest. Even more important, Faelen was allowed access to the family’s private archive, which contained their most confidential records and was kept secret from all outsiders.

  The archive only allowed certain people inside, or the spell that secured it did. It was keyed to their bloodline, but not even everyone in the family could get beyond the door.

  When Faelen entered the archives for the first time, he was in absolute awe. He’d been happy to help, but now, he had to force himself to leave every day. They were a treasure trove of information and quite beautiful as well.

  The nondescript door in a far corner of the labyrinthine palace library opened at Faelen’s touch and led to a steep set of stairs spiraling upward to another door into an octagonal room. It was windowless but for a stained-glass skylight in the domed ceiling that cast jewel bright light on the table in the center of the room when the sun was out. Shelves filled with books lined the walls.

  Etan was off on his wedding trip with Tristan, and Faelen was left to work in the archive alone and provide what help he could to Savarin if needed. He didn’t mind it—well, he might if Savarin got too demanding, but that hadn’t happened yet. He liked the quiet time he spent in the archive each day. It had become one of the places he felt most at home.

  He’d spent most of the two days following the wedding wandering through the rooms. Just when he thought he’d found the extent of them, he’d come up on something else—an alcove leading into another room, a door half-hidden behind a bookcase—and his explorations would continue. The records went back hundreds of years, the archive’s spells preserving them, even if they were a mess.

  Etan had prioritized searching the archive for information about their Talents and the protection spells and hadn’t had time to begin reorganizing the vast number of records stored in the warren of rooms spreading out from the octagonal reading room. Everything had become woefully disorganized while Great-Aunt Nerilla had been in charge, so Faelen decided putting it back in order would be his task when he wasn’t needed for anything else. He was meant to be working on it now.

  But there was just so much.

  Faelen trailed his fingers along the edge of a shelf filled with what looked to be diaries or journals. There was so much history in these rooms, family history. He wanted to learn all of it. Organization and cataloguing would be slow going if he stopped to read every word of every document, but he couldn’t help reading beyond what it took to identify where they needed to go. One day, he would immerse himself in the history here. He promised himself that, even if it took him and Etan years to finish.

  He returned to the main room with an armful of books and set them gently on the table. His notes sat in neat stacks, waiting for him to add these new volumes. Before he could get started, footsteps sounded on the stairs. The tread was easily identifiable, and sure enough, the door opened to reveal Alexander. Etan had seemed slightly surprised that Alexander had been allowed into the archive when he’d tagged along the first time Etan brought Faelen up. Alexander had as well, for that matter. Just because Alexander could enter the archives didn’t mean he spent any time there or chose to help. Faelen didn’t blame him—Alexander had his own interests and projects.

  “What brings you up here this afternoon?” He’d assumed Alexander would’ve gotten cozy somewhere, as rain had been pouring for hours, pounding against the skylight overhead. The light globes in their sconces around the room provided enough illumination to see by, but the day still felt dark and dreary.
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br />   “To see you, of course. This came for you.” Alexander handed him a folded letter before flopping down in a chair across the table.

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to bring it up though. I could have gotten it later.” The letter was sealed with blue wax, the symbol pressed into it a stylized ship, not a noble crest, and it was addressed to him in a neat but unfamiliar hand. He looked up at Alexander with narrowed eyes. “You just want to know who sent it.”

  “Perhaps.” No perhaps about it, the expression on Alexander’s face said clearly enough.

  “Bored?” Faelen asked, not unsympathetic.

  Alexander shrugged slightly. “I can’t settle on anything.”

  “Aren’t you working on a new project?”

  Another shrug. “I’m having trouble focusing on it. It’s all hypothetical anyway.”

  Faelen studied Alexander with some concern. He was used to his twin’s restlessness, but it wasn’t like Alexander to sound so dispirited.

  “Are you going to open your letter?” Alexander asked before Faelen could say anything.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t just open it yourself.”

  Alexander looked honestly shocked, and maybe a little hurt too. “I would never.”

  He immediately regretted suggesting it, especially considering Alexander’s demeanor. Alexander was curious to a degree that couldn’t be good for him, but he wouldn’t go that far. “I know you wouldn’t.”

  Faelen broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it, smoothing out the paper. The same neat handwriting covered the page. He skipped down to the signature first and felt a zing of surprise.

  “Who is it from?”

  “Maxen.” Faelen blinked at the name scrawled at the bottom of the page, the signature so different from the careful hand the rest had been written in. He looked up at Alexander. “You know, Tristan’s brother.”

  “Your admirer from the wedding.”

  “Not my admirer.”

  Alexander rolled his eyes. “Fine. The man you spent so long conversing with at the wedding. Is that better?”

  “Much, thank you.” Faelen forced back a roll of his own eyes.

  “What does it say?” Alexander grinned. “Or is it private?”

  Faelen shot Alexander a quelling look and turned back to the letter. “He just says that it was a pleasure to meet me and that he enjoyed our conversation. And that he hopes I’m enjoying my new home here in Jumelle.”

  There was a knowing glint in Alexander’s eye, but it was shadowed by a concern that Faelen hated to see. He knew he was different in that he didn’t have the infatuations and attractions that Alexander and their siblings—and everyone else Faelen had ever met—had, but he didn’t like that Alexander treated him as if there was something wrong or he needed to be shielded. Even if men sometimes pushed a little too hard and made Faelen uncomfortable, he could handle it. Maxen hadn’t pushed, though, despite his attention toward Faelen during the ceremony.

  But Alexander only said, “And why wouldn’t he? You’re an excellent conversationalist.”

  “In several languages.” Faelen grinned.

  “True. I can’t keep count of how many it is now. And don’t worry about reminding me.” Alexander waved a hand dramatically, but he laughed. And, really, Alexander hadn’t forgotten anything. “Will you see him again?”

  “I…” Faelen fumbled for a moment, taken off guard at the question. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see him at some point. We’re bound to cross paths.”

  “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

  “I know, but I don’t have another answer for you. Maybe I’ll see him again?”

  “Do you want to?” Alexander asked. “Or do you need me to say something? If you want him to leave you alone…”

  “If I don’t want to see him again, I’m perfectly capable of telling him so.” He wasn’t ready to tell Maxen that, though, or at least not yet.

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  Faelen reached across the table and patted Alexander’s hand. He hated to be at odds with his brother, even so mildly. “I know. But I’m fine, really. I think I’ll write back to him. I’d like to get to know him, see if we could be friends.”

  “And if he wants to be more and you don’t? If he can’t accept that?”

  “Then I suppose we won’t be anything. His loss.” Faelen shrugged. Maxen intrigued him; he couldn’t remember ever feeling so comfortable with someone so quickly. Talking with Maxen had been easy and good. It was an odd feeling, and he wasn’t sure if he should trust it or run from it. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, though. He didn’t seem to be that way.”

  “All right. It sounds as if you’ve made up your mind to see him.”

  “I’ve made up my mind to write to him.”

  Chapter Five

  Faelen wrote a note to Maxen that night. He’d tried to write earlier, but Alexander kept hovering, and Faelen had enough trouble deciding exactly what to say and how to say it without Alexander reading over his shoulder. Even shut in his bedchamber, sitting alone at the little writing desk, he doubted he got exactly the right words, or the right tone, or anything—but he wasn’t quite sure why he was so worried about it. Finally, he folded the paper and closed it with green wax and his seal and resolutely left it propped on his desk to send out in the morning.

  He blew out the candles on the desk and pulled the blue drapes closed over the wide windows. As he walked across the room, his feet sank into the rugs laid over the polished wood floor. He climbed into the large, soft bed, snuggling down under the blankets, getting cozy. The raw damp that had settled over Jumelle that day was miserable, but at least it had waited until after the wedding to turn unpleasant.

  The wedding reminded him once more of Maxen, and he stared up at the bed’s canopy in the flicker of firelight. Faelen had enjoyed their time together far more than he would have dreamed at the time—light, social chatter so seldom turned into something meaningful. Their conversation seemed meaningful.

  Would his note set the right tone? Had he been too formal or not formal enough? He’d told Alexander he wanted friendship, and he did. Alexander was his other half, the person who knew him best and whom he knew best. His cousins had built their own close family group in the palace, and Faelen hoped that perhaps he and Alexander might become a part of it. But he’d like something other than that too.

  Faelen turned over and curled up on his side, closing his eyes. He’d see what happened when Maxen received the note.

  What happened was that Maxen sent another note. Short again, and nothing too serious—some tidbits about his day, a story about a friend he had to pry away from his books—but Faelen was happy to receive it. He wrote back once more, and before he realized what was happening, he and Maxen were exchanging notes that became longer and longer each day. He learned more of Maxen, his work, his family, his likes and dislikes, and he traded the same type of information back. Debates over books or poetry. Complaints about the weather. Mostly normal, day-to-day things, but every so often something more slipped through—some hint of frustration or disappointment on Maxen’s part at his family, barely there, but it pulled at Faelen.

  His work in the archive continued. Savarin had a question that sent him off on more specific research, which was intriguing and absorbing. He spent time with Alexander and Flavian and Amory—Philip, Cathal, and Elodie too, but not quite as much—and enjoyed getting to know the men his cousins had married. Sharp Flavian with his well-hidden sweetness and gentle Amory with his core of iron strength. He’d absolutely fallen for Julien and was thrilled that the two-year-old seemed to love him back.

  Through it all, he anticipated each letter from Maxen, looking forward to them, wondering what his words would bring that day. And yet, he was stunned when Maxen asked him to meet him for lunch. Somehow, he’d forgotten they could meet if they wanted. He froze for a moment over the note—shorter than yesterday’s had been, as if the real purpose of it was the invitation, an
d perhaps it was. He sat back in his chair, the paper still in his hand.

  There was no reason for them not to have lunch together. Faelen would likely enjoy it very much. So why was he so nervous? Best not to think about it. He quickly pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the desk drawer and wrote a short reply, accepting Maxen’s lunch invitation for the day after tomorrow.

  The day Faelen was to see Maxen again dawned gray and dreary, but not rainy, at least. He’d always rather stay snug and dry indoors in wet weather, perhaps even use his Talent and drowse in the nest of his blankets. He wouldn’t have canceled his lunch with Maxen if had been raining, but he wouldn’t have been happy to leave the palace either.

  He dressed carefully, but appropriately, for lunch with a friend, in a jacket and pants of the softest wool. The rich sapphire blue complemented his coloring, and the touch of lace at the collar was elegant. He bundled his curls back into a loose knot, using a set of silver combs to hold them in place, since he’d be working in the archive until he left and needed it out of the way. Then he studied himself in the mirror for a moment. He wore Teilo’s fashions, not Tournai’s. He’d stand out, but he didn’t care since he felt good in the clothes.

  “Faelen?” Alexander came into Faelen’s dressing room without knocking. “There you are.”

  Alexander was still in his dressing gown, ruby-red velvet gone worn at the cuffs and slightly ratty at the hem because Alexander loved it and refused to find another. He rubbed at his eyes.

  “You’re up early.” Early for Alexander, that was.

  “I’m going to a lecture at the university this morning.” Alexander didn’t look happy to be awake, but the lecture was obviously intriguing enough for him to rise early after his usual late night hours.

  “I didn’t realize you were already involved at the university.” Faelen had yet to speak with the deans. He’d completed his basic studies and was well into more advanced work with languages at this point, but his work was more individualized. He wasn’t certain if the university would accept him as a scholar or if he wanted it to. Did he want to lecture at this point, especially with his work in the archive?