Page 52 of The Mercy of Dawn

“And thank you for all of this”—she gestured at the table, the stacks of papers and tomes—“as well.”

“Oh, we are more than happy to help with your research.” Tobias handed her a mug. The others nodded their agreement as they each settled into a chair. “Most of the younger folks around the palace seem to have an aversion to the smell of our old books.”

“I love how it smells here.” Cyril grinned, and the three scribes treated her to a round of warm laughter. “Does the family not come down often?”

The trio exchanged glances, and Tobias sat up in his chair—their spokesperson.

“Well, Queen Runa is quite fond of the archives and has been since she first moved here. And the princes, well…” Tobias tapped his fingers on his mug. “Astor always had a nose in a book when he was a boy, just like his father did, but the duties of Crown Prince do not seem to leave much time for such pleasures now. Mikael always preferred steel to parchment, so we do not see him often. Ever, really.”

Just like his father did.

Cyril processed little after that.

“You… How long have you each worked here?”

“Right into the serious questions now, Lady Cyril?” Tobias chuckled.

Cyril’s eyes flared.

“I… Gods, I’m sorry. My manners—”

“I only tease you. Drink your wine before it goes cold.”

Cyril grabbed her mug and took a hearty sip of the soul-warming, spiced potation. Hopefully, it would get into her system fast enough to mask the warmth of embarrassment in her cheeks.

“I started my tenure under the earlier years of the reign of His Majesty’s father,” Tobias continued, and Cyril gaped. “Isa joined our merry little band just a couple of years ago. I believe you are close in age. Konnor has been here for what, seventy or so years now?”

Konnor nodded. A man of precisely zero words since she had arrived.

Cyril did not want to be rude, but she was stunned. She met plenty of old fae at the guild, but never more than a few hundred years.

If her rough math and the few details she knew about Reykr were correct…

“Were you… Were you alive when the Great Kingdom fell?” Cyril must have looked like an awestruck spring babe to Tobias, but she was too fascinated to care.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Now I’m not sure how old I look, but that was a bit before my time.”

Cyril tried to reign in her disappointment as the other two scribes traded amused glances, taking another sip of her wine.

“Can I ask you a question, Lady Cyril?”

Cyril blinked over at Isa.

“Me? Of course. And you can just call me Cyril.” She winced. “I’m not fond of the title.”

Isa opened her mouth, but she hesitated.

“In the south, do they talk about us? Moon-fae, I mean. The village I grew up in is near the mountains, you see, so we would sometimes get scholars or tradespeople passing through from Theras, I believe. They seemed to have…strange opinions of us.”

Cyril swallowed.

So far, she had seen none of what her staunch sun-fae upbringing wanted her to believe. It had only been a few days, sure, but they were nothing but kind and welcoming to her—except for the fucking intolerable prince—and she already felt a twinge of guilt. But if Cyril couldn’t trust what her damn governess taught her…

There had to be a tactful way to say this.

“I don’t think the time spent divided has done our people any good in that regard.”

Isa nodded, if only a bit sadly. Cyril didn’t know what else to say.