Page 42 of The Last Kelpie

I lifted the journal carefully, intending to examine the binding more closely. As I did, something slipped from between the remaining pages—a small piece of parchment, folded once. It fluttered to the table.

Áedán reached for it first and unfolded it for all of us to see. There were only four words written on it, in handwriting that didn't match Velas's elegant script. The ink was newer, darker. Recent.

Truth yields to the tale most often told.

I stared at the words, trying to understand what they meant, truly meant, and why they were in Velas's journal.

“What truth?” Áedán's voice was quiet.

“Maybe this is Caelum's note? It could be how he developed the Velascan technique of preserving myths.” I looked at Agnes hopefully. “That's how we stop a myth from fading, isn't it? We tell their story to the world, over and over.”

“No, that isn't Caelum's handwriting, nor is that our policy. Saying the truth yields to the tale most often told is akin to calling that tale false. We spread the original tales, not lies.” Agnes shook her head. “I need to inform him immediately. And Julian.” She looked at us. “Don't leave the estate. Not until we understand what this means.” She set the journal back on the shelf, locked the cabinet, and snatched the paper from Áedán's hand.

As I watched her leave, my mind spun with questions. Truth yields to the tale most often told. It sounded like something the Velasca believed in, but it didn't feel right. Especially not when combined with those removed pages.

Áedán stared at the cabinet holding Velas's journals, his expression grim.

“Áedán?” I laid a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at me. “I'm glad you brought me here, Ethan.”

“I'm glad you're here too, but this has been a long day. Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Yes, I could use some sleep.”

Chapter Fourteen

I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows.

For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. Then it came back in pieces: the estate, the Archive, the note tucked into Velas's journal. Truth yields to the tale most often told. Áedán's face when he'd read those words, fear flickering behind his eyes.

The kiss.

I sat up too quickly, my heartbeat going from calm to frantic. We'd kissed last night. A second time. After Agnes had swept away with the mysterious note, and I had escorted Áedán to a guest room a few doors down from mine. We'd stood in the corridor outside his room, neither of us quite ready to say goodnight. The silence had stretched between us, charged with anticipation.

Then Áedán had leaned in. Slow enough that I could have stopped him. I hadn't. His mouth had been soft against mine, so careful. As if he were afraid I might bolt if he pressed too hard. My hands had found his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment the entire world had narrowed to the warmth of him, the faint smell of herbs and fresh air that clung to his skin.

When we'd pulled apart, he'd looked at me with an expression that hovered between wonder and hope. “Goodnight, Ethan.”

I nodded, too shaken to speak, and hurried away down to my room. I forced myself not to look back, but I'd lain awake for hours replaying it. The way his breath had hitched. The way his hand had come up to cup the side of my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. He had smiled against my mouth, just slightly, as if he couldn't help himself.

Now, in the morning light, I felt the full weight of my awkwardness settle over me like a blanket. What was I supposed to say to him at breakfast? Good morning, I've been thinking about kissing you again ever since I woke up?

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. The water was hot enough to scald, which helped. By the time I'd dressed and made my way downstairs, I'd almost convinced myself I could act like a normal human being.

The dining hall was already full. I spotted Áedán immediately. He sat at a table near the windows, the morning light setting his dark hair to shining. He was talking to Mei Lin, the Curator of Living Traditions, who was gesturing enthusiastically about something, and he was smiling. Not the dangerous, flirtatious smile he wore like armor. The real one. The one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. And made my heart race.

I went to the kitchen pass-through with its long counter. Condiments stood on steel plates to either side of the opening. On the lower counter on the kitchen side of the passageway, warming dishes held an assortment of breakfast food. A woman in an apron came up and filled a dish for me, heaping on my selections. I added some salt to my eggs and then went to the beverage table to make a cup of coffee. With mug and plate in hand, I went to join Áedán.

“Ethan!” Mei Lin waved me into the empty seat beside Áedán. “I was just telling Áedán about the Mid-Autumn Festival we're planning. We're going to have lanterns and mooncakes and—”

“She's trying to convince me to participate,” Áedán interrupted. His eyes met mine, and something warm flickered in them. “Apparently I'm supposed to tell stories aboot kelpies.”

“You'd be perfect.” Mei Lin looked up, her attention caught by someone across the hall. “Oh, I need to ask Hassan about the music. Excuse me!” She was gone in a whirl of brightly colored silk and long dark hair.

Áedán and I sat in sudden silence. I glanced at him, willing my heart to slow.

“Good morning.” His voice dropped into a low, sensual range.