It took Idelle almost an hour to find any mention of Reynard in the records and collectives of the library. She'd asked for help from a scribe who was working nearby studying an illuminated book. He had been annoyed at first, eventually leading her to the right section, but did not know much about Reynard or where his history might be found in the records of the castle. His mind was clearly on the loops and metallics of the illumination, and so Idelle was left to fend for herself in three rows of shelves, piled high with bound books and parchment rolled into tubes.

The whole library was organized by either theme or year, but without knowing when Reynard had first come to the castle, or what time he'd done anything noteworthy, Idelle was stuck wandering around and pulling random books and papers off the shelves to flip through. When she finally saw his name on a bound book marked from almost 40 years ago, she piled the books from around it into her arms and took them to one of the long oak tables in the center of the room. Candles flickered in holders down the table in intervals, and long benches ran along the sides. It felt like stepping into a clearing in a forest, with the towering bookshelves on all sides mimicking trees and the darkness and smell of musty books the branch canopy and the scent of moldering leaves.

Thankfully, two scribes were the only other people in the library, and both were too absorbed in their own work to pay attention to Idelle. One of them, the one viewing the illumination, got up and left only a few minutes later, leaving the room even more eerily silent and empty than before.

With the light of the candles, Idelle read through what she now saw was the court records of Aelga and Aengus' father's first few years as king. Most of it was horrifically dry, relating all the visits about crops and the reports on harvests and trade. It wasn't until he had been king for a few months that Reynard appeared in the records. There were a few notes to record his name and that he had come from a small village along the coast before being knighted, turned to a baronette, and then finally given land and a real title. He'd been recommended to Aelga's father by a friend, and soon was at his current lofty position in the castle. As Idelle read, she found little to fault him, to her annoyance. He seemed to have given good advice to the king, which led to prosperity for Wynherst, and of the trips he took that were recorded in the book, all seemed legitimate and to countries that were either neutral or friendly. It didn't make sense, that someone so loyal and seemingly innocent, could be working with Yseult now. How had he even gotten into contact with her?

Idelle pulled over one of the other books, marked a few years later than the first, and began the long read through it. It wasn't until the middle, hidden among a report of taxes collected, that she found her first clue. In the recorder's shaky handwriting, she read about a man from a town only a few miles from Avonford, right on the border with Glastonbex, and how he was being fined and warned with a prisoner sentence for trying to hide his sudden and mysterious wealth from the tax collectors. The king had tried to find out how a merchant, even one as renowned, had become so overwhelming wealthy, more so than dukes. The man just kept saying it was down to luck.

But luck? At a time when there was a countrywide drought that made trade harder than ever? 

Of course, Aelga's father hadn't believed him, but the case was put to rest only the next day, when, as Idelle read, Reynard had stepped in to beg the king to pardon their old friend. After all, it was he who had recommended Reynard to the king in the first place, so he wasn't all that bad.

Idelle sat back, staring at the words. They were next to nothing. A mere blip in a long history of loyalty. Something that she was reading into, perhaps. But she knew there was something there. The man who had brought Reynard to the king was suddenly exorbitantly wealthy only a few years later, and during a time that his business should have been suffering. Who knew how long he had been hiding that wealth from the king? It could have been gained as soon as Reynard was in his service, and no one had discovered it for a few years. And, being within viewing distance of the border with Glastonbex, it wasn't hard to imagine who had given him his wealth. Could Yseult's father have paid the man to introduce Reynard to the throne? Or had Reynard made contact with the rival king through his friend?

Idelle read on, and from that point on, small little inconsistencies started to stick out to her. Reynard would give advice on trade that was not terrible, but lost the crown a little money. He advised against certain allies that Idelle could see would have, with her knowledge of the future, been highly advantageous if he had accepted. It was nothing at all that would have raised an alarm, but with decades worth of these tiny mishaps, Idelle's nerves became alert. Reynard had started out loyal, but whether that loyalty had been genuine or not was still to be seen. 

After another hour, Idelle could find no more mentions of Reynard, and so she switched over to studying the maps of the castle and Holmley. It was pure drudgery, but she knew it would help if she could know where to send her men to patrol and which rooms were the easiest to defend. She was trying to memorize a series of passageways in the castle's upper floors when she heard the door open and footsteps make their way straight to the tables. Glancing up, she saw Torran's golden hair reflecting the candlelight as he raised a hand in greeting and smiled wide.

She hadn't been prepared to see him, and her heart shot into her ribs. She pretended to nearly drop the book of maps she was looking at so that she could look away from him before the flush rushing up her neck could reach her cheeks. It was like looking at a beam of sunshine and Idelle somehow felt like it was too much in this dank and quiet library. His eyes always crinkled at the edges when he smiled, as if he was so happy it couldn't all be contained by just his mouth. It made her straightened up, the book of maps in hand, and busy herself with shuffling them into place as Torran took the seat across the table from her.

When she didn't immediately acknowledge him, he rapped the wood with his knuckles to get her attention. "How long have you been in here?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning the surrounding bookshelves. "I think you're starting to turn into him." He whispered the last bit, inclining his head just slightly in the direction of the scribe at the other end of the table. Idelle glanced in the direction Torran indicated and saw the scribe, hunched so over his book that he looked like an archway to the knowledge he sought.

Suppressing a smile, Idelle turned back to Torran. "That's mean. He studies so he can further the good of the palace and our kingdom."

Torran nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. "I know, I know. But you weren't meant to sit in silent libraries and turn a book into a part of your body."

Idelle wondered what he'd think if he'd known how much time she'd been made to spend in the library back at home, studying healing and all the other subjects her mother thought were important for a young woman of her station. It had been torture, stuck behind a desk, pouring over endless book after endless book, while the days passed her by outside. Wars were fought and won and lost, and time marched onward, all while she flipped another page and read about men from hundreds of years ago.  

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand to break up the images of the leather books in neat rows. Her lids were tired anyway with the long hours of peering at the spidery handwriting in the records. "I'm merely studying up on how to be a better Captain of the Queen's Guard," she finally said, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "A position, remember, that you forced on me."

She'd expected him to make a comical face or to come back at her with a similar accusation or a joke. She'd expected him to brush it off or laugh. Instead, his face sunk and reformed into a sober expression. The ease that she so admired stripped away and tension filled his shoulders. His hands, which had been fidgeting with his normal abundance of energy, now lay still in his lap across the table.

"That's why I came," he said. "I received a messenger today from Sir Hewe. He's heading back with the soldiers whose draft is up. The messenger was only a few days ahead of them, so you should be able to leave either tomorrow or the day after."

You should be able to leave.

The words were what she had wanted to hear for so long and yet now they echoed in the room like a heavy iron bell. Her breath came a little quicker as she imagined it, stepping out of the castle and away from Aelga and Walliam and Sabena and the rest of the Guard. Away from Torran. She could ride back to the trenches, return to the base rank where no one looked to her for guidance or advice, and continue to fight for the country she believed in. It was a scene she'd dreamed up, returning to the anonymity of the trenches, and yet now her hands shook and her mouth ran dry.

"Did you hear me?" Torran asked, his whole demeanor sagging. It was if someone had taken all the breath out of him.

"Yes," Idelle replied, surprised that her voice was just as loud and clear as always. She'd almost expected it to be a whisper or a quaver, or anything but normal. Normal.

She closed the books in front of her, stacking them up and carrying them into the rows to return them. Torran hesitated, but followed her after a some seconds, hanging back a few feet. She knew he was watching her, felt his eyes on the curve of her arms as she reached up to stuff the records in their place. Then on her back as she leaned to one side to replace the maps, and then as she paused, finished with her task. She now stood with nothing to do and all her thoughts racing.

He was behind her, but she heard him step forward and felt that he was now just inches from touching her. If it had been anyone else, she'd have spun around, demanded they give her space, but with Torran it was different. Perhaps it was leftovers of that strange floating feeling from last night, but she almost... wanted him to be there. Her mind raced, imagining him reaching out, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her to his chest and resting his chin on her shoulder. His lips so close to her neck....

She turned then, hoping to dislodge such thoughts, but only making them worse when she found herself just inches from his face and eyes that were filled with something she could not read.

"You'll be free to go. Did you hear me?" he said, voice almost a whisper.

Idelle nodded, her eyes stuck on his lips but unable to slide away. "Of course. It's what I've been asking you for since I got here." It was a statement of fact, but no longer one that carried the weight of conviction it once might have.

"I had the quartermaster pack enough supplies to get you to the new front lines. There will be enough for a few weeks there, as well. And, of course, you'll have Fionn again."

Though her heart soared at the thought of seeing her horse again, it also sank with the thought of stepping away and returning to the life she'd wanted for so long. It would be easier for everyone if she returned to being an unknown soldier amongst all the rest. Yet, now that she was faced with its inevitability, she thought of just how hard it would be to leave. All the loose ends still dangling, no conclusion to Reynard or Yseult, and no direct hand in the future of the kingdom.

Torran reached out, grasping the edge of her sleeve, gentle as if he was holding a butterfly by its wings. He stared at his fingers gripping the fabric. "You don't have to go. You can stay. Keep being Captain. The Guard, Aelga... myself. We all want you to stay." He glanced up at her and she almost caved when she saw that longing in his eyes.

She shook her head, breaking the gaze. "It's better if I go back," she whispered. "I'm a nobody and I should stay that way. For everyone."

Torran released her sleeve, taking once small step away. She couldn't help but watch him, see the sadness on his face, know that perhaps her feelings weren't as silly and ridiculous as they seemed. Not if he shared them.

She closed the gap between them, almost pressed into his chest, staring up at him. He didn't hesitate, but leaned forward, his head dipping toward hers, his lips just inches away, his breath bouncing off her skin...

The door slammed open and Torran and Idelle jumped away from each other as a scribe hustled right by them, glaring at them behind a large stack of books. He muttered something about indecent youth using the library for unholy acts before disappearing in the direction of the tables. By then, the spell was broken. Idelle was going back to the trenches and Torran was staying in Holmley. There was no changing that, and Idelle was glad that the scribe had saved them from making matters harder.

She placed a hand on Torran's arm, whispered that she'd see him tomorrow, and then slunk away feeling as if she'd surrendered even though she'd had the advantage.