Until then, hog-fucker Piya—who had not actually had relations with a pig that Tiiran knew about but would likely claim to if he thought it would help him stay king—had not earned the library.
Tiiran hoped Piya would—rule, not romance pigs. A ruler who lasted, who was good or at least decent, and capable of appointing others who could do their jobs, was really all that most wanted who weren’t nobles from the oldest houses.Thosebeat-of-fours seemed to think they should have the throne, starting twenty years ago with the Canamorra trying to take it, which had sparked countless battles, executions, and coups, that had in turn led to a series of rulers Tiiran didn’t bother to keep track of.
The country needed peace for the sake of the palace and the people in it, and the library, and the lands far beyond the capital even though Tiiran had never seen them. They needed Piya to start having council meetings again, even if those traditionally required a Master Keeper’s attendance in the room, if not on the actual council. The only Master Keeper currently evennearthe palace was Toak. The others were all ‘resting’ in the country or elsewhere and had been ever since Queen Tye’s brief and bloody reign.
Where once Tiiran would have had to check the offices of each Master Keeper to see if they needed wood for their fires or oil for their lamps, he now went through the piles of requests meant for them and looked over the stacks of loosely bound reports from outguards. The library had received a series of diaries yesterday. Some of the older nobles, particularly the scholars, bequeathed journals or histories they’d written to the library upon their deaths. The library would receive them, read and copy them, and place the information in the appropriate areas.
He climbed up on a stool that gave him a better view over the top of the desk, and glanced up to nod a greeting to a sleepy Amie and Po as they came in, leaning on each other the way one might expect of those who had been lovers for years. Both of them waved back at him between their yawns as they headed straight to the rest area to get their breakfast.
Tiiran put the outguards’ reports in a stack for the newest assistants to copy, waving absently as another of those assistants came in. Outguards went out among the various territories of the beat-of-fours and older nobles to observe the economies of those territories as well as any other events that they found of interest. They were the eyes-and-ears of the ruler, recording information they then brought in to the library for the ruler, or other nobles, to consult if necessary. From what Tiiran understood, nobles were supposed to welcome the outguards into their lands, but many didn’t, and the outguards themselves often avoided the nobles altogether. Orin said it was easier to get at the truth without a noble in the way.
Po came out with an apple in her mouth, juggling two books, a reed pen, and a pot of ink, and sat at one of the tables, clearly working on whatever she hadn’t finished yesterday.
“There isn’t enough light in here yet.” Tiiran scolded as he sorted. “Mind your eyes.”
“I don’t want to dust shelves,” Po whined. She was older than Tiiran by two years but shifted between acting even older and like an assistant on her first day.
“The second and third level curtains haven’t been opened. Or the first.” The smaller windows were helpful for daytime reading as well, but the curtains had to be opened and closed strategically throughout the day to keep direct sunlight off the books. The scrolls at least were hidden in drawers.
Po sighed dramatically but was already up, crunching her apple as she sauntered past him toward the staircase.
“Nice hair,” she remarked, bringing Tiiran’s hands up immediately, but his hair was as neat was it ever was.
Which wasn’t very. Tiiran’s hair never had been manageable. Lanth had told him that was common for those with some fae blood. His was every texture imaginable, soft on the bottom and dry on top, too big when wet and frizzy as a dandelion whenever he got caught in the rain. He’d discovered it was somewhat easier to control when long, though that made no logical sense. He didn’t grow it to his waist as many beat-of-fours did, but when it reached past his shoulders, it was long enough to twist up on top of his head and stab a wooden hairpin through it. The ends stood out in chunky spikes, but Tiiran didn’t care as long as the rest was out of the way.
He lifted his lip to snarl at Po for the trick but she just laughed. Then her laughter stopped and she choked on a bite of apple.
She’d noticed the banner. But, wiser than Tiiran, she didn’t comment as she continued up. Tiiran returned to flipping through the stack, frowning over the gifted diaries. Those ought to go to a Master Keeper to examine. He had a shortage of Master Keepers, which was only part of the reason Toak had piles and piles on his desk of work he had yet to attend to. The rest was Toak being a steaming dungpile.
“You’re frowning,” someone with a strangely muffled voice observed from directly in front of him. “Did you need help with something?”
Tiiran’s shoulders hitched up as his frown deepened. It had to be Nikoly, who always had something to say in tones Tiiran didn’t understand.
Tiiran’s mouth was open before he had a chance to think better of it.
“Eat my entire ass,” he huffed, exasperated at his work, and that fucking banner, and Nikoly probably watching him with his stupidly beautiful eyes.
Startled silence answered him.
“It is perhaps not the wisest, or kindest, to be rude to one’s coworkers.” Lanth could have been in front of him, shaking her head in despair at Tiiran letting his worries get the best of his mouth again. It was perhaps also a bad habit to fall back into to assume every question might hold something mean or mocking and not simply be a question.
Tiiran belatedly raised his head, wincing to find not Nikoly in front of the desk, but Mattin, frozen with half a sweet bun in his hand.
Mattin stared back at him, eyes wide and luminous even in the dim library. Tiiran didn’t know how that was possible since Mattin claimed no fae blood but there it was. Maybe his brown eyes were so big they reflected all the light shining off the silver-and-glass clasps in his long hair. A beat-of-four who nonetheless worked in the library, Mattin wore his hair as long as most of the other nobles from the ancient houses, although his was usually braided to keep it out of the way.
At twenty, he was just under two years younger than Tiiran, though far more educated, as might be expected of a beat-of-four. He wore the same long robe as all the other assistants, intended to help keep their clothes free of dust and ink, but his was embroidered and a brilliant red, not gray or white or, in Tiiran’s case, brown. He was also the second shortest assistant in the library, leaving Tiiran to forever be the smallest.
That was a mark of fae blood too, allegedly.
The color in Mattin’s cheeks was visible even in bad light. He blinked his pretty eyes once, then swept a look over Tiiran’s face before swallowing the bit of bun still in his mouth.
“Oh.” Mattin licked his lips. His voice was his own again, as soft as the rest of him. “Well, if you like…”
“Morning.” This time, the interruptionwasNikoly, smooth and pleasant, yet slightly louder than he needed to be as he approached the desk. “Am I interrupting something?”
Tiiran narrowed his eyes and turned from Mattin’s somehow radiant face to… Nikoly’s chest, before he tipped his head back to look Nikoly in the eye. Nikoly’s tone had been friendly, as usual, but his eyebrows were drawn together.
Tiiran hadn’t done anything to deserve a look like that. Neither had Mattin, for that matter.
