Without thinking about what was in front of her, Faine pushed the garlic and chalets around in the skillet pan. The golden butter melted to the cast iron made them sizzle and pop, browning into flavor blossoms themselves. She folded them together into a pile with a wooden spatula, then pushed them back out into the pan. The butter left trails of bubbles that disappeared once swallowed by the garlic and chalets.

Sweat beaded against her oil-black brow and Faine turned her face away from the smoke rising in the pan. Across the kitchen and chopping a head of cabbage was Ametrine, working quickly and efficiently. Apparently, Faine's knife skills weren't quick enough, and she was better suited for standing on the other side of the kitchen, monitoring the softening ingredients.

The only difference from that morning and the many others she had spent in the kitchens—this one was early enough that no one was sitting in the dining area. Not Eliphas, or Ilian, or Ginevra, or anyone that could cause more trouble than what they were worth. Faine hadn't yet crossed paths with Ilian or anyone else after arriving late the previous night and slumping to bed before the mortal in the next room realized she'd returned.

Eliphas's threats had gotten into her head. To make matters worse, she had to camp by Steelmaw Woods for the night as the unicorn was losing its strength to keep going. Too many hours in a trot on the trail and her legs were too weak to carry on. No one else's fault except for Faine's; she'd forced the traveling beast to get there as fast as she could to avoid Steelmaw Woods.

The howling sinwolves had kept her awake through the night and every time she drifted off, closing her eyes so her lashes brushed against her cheeks, she heard them whispering her name and stepping closer. It was her mind playing tricks on her and lying about twigs breaking, growls wavering through the brush, and the cry of a unicorn as an entire pack tore it to shreds. Needless to say, she had slept plenty the night before but woke bright and early when too many nightmares kept her from closing her eyes for another second.

There was too much silence in an empty kitchen. It was the perfect breeding grounds for Faine's mind to wander as she slid in the scalloped potatoes off the cutting board and watched them sizzle in the softened chalets and garlic. Ametrine had said something about tartiflette, but Faine hadn't paid attention then, either.

"Faine?" Ametrine called from across the kitchen.

She turned away from the stove and raised her brows. Ametrine's thin amber eyes darted from the pan back to the feliram standing before it. "Did I...was I not supposed to drop the potatoes in yet?" Faine stuttered.

"No, no, that's fine." Ametrine held out a hand to stop her from going any further than the already had. The wooden spatula was already holding raw, buttered potatoes covered in chalets and garlic that Faine was more than ready to dump out. "Did you not hear me? I asked you a question."

"No, sorry." She wiped her hands on her apron. Truly, she hadn't heard a word. "I didn't sleep all that well last night, I'm exhausted."

"Well, I asked you how Isflean was, but I guess you not sleeping well is answer enough. I suppose Eliphas's threats got to you on the way back." Ametrine gave her a soft smile. "It's dangerous to travel the kingdom alone. I've never done it myself."

Sidestepping that comment, Faine ran her finger along the wooden counter and cleaned up a line of salt that had spilled earlier in the morning. "Do you...does Silver Willow have a storage room that holds the belongings of past members?" she asked cautiously.

Ametrine's attention had already turned back to the head of cabbage. "It's on the second floor. I've never been inside; I've only come across it once as the room is at a dead end."

Before hearing the truth out of Ametrine's lips, Faine hadn't considered that she already knew where the storage room was. She did. On the second floor, at a dead-end, happened to be what she was looking for. The door was sealed shut if she remembered correctly, and Ilian had stopped her from investigating any further. Something had tugged her towards that door, maybe it was Carlton's scent or the lingering souls on the other side, but something was in there that Faine needed to see.

Ametrine wasn't as cautious as everyone else would've been with that question. To make such an inquiry was giving the young feliram a chance to expose her to anyone else in the guild, including Ilian or Celestia. But the fault of her craft was the fact that she was still young and untrained to notice this.

Faine took that as a good thing.

"Silver Willow has many secrets. Past secrets we're supposed to avoid, but those belongings are as tempting as treasure," Ametrine went on. "I'd be lying if I said I never snooped around and learned about members from decades ago."

Now she was paying too much attention. Faine went back to stirring the potatoes and added a pinch of salt for good measure. She had never been part of a kitchen before, never had to cook, and not a single private residence had a personal kitchen. That led to little knowledge on seasonings, how to cut with a knife when it wasn't aiming to stab, and an entire mess of ingredients incorporated to create a single dish. But she'd watched Ametrine enough to know that a pinch of salt never hurt.

Keeping her mouth shut was the only way for the thought to leave Ametrine's head. If Faine didn't ask further questions, it was possible the chef would forget in a matter of minutes, hopefully when she moved onto chopping carrots and halving strawberries for that night's dessert.

Jatloxl's words continued to ring in Faine's head. He hadn't lied, despite the terrible things he'd done in the past to make everyone in Rising Eternity miserable. Once he believed he was better than everyone else, it never stopped. Blood-thirst was one thing, but longing to make a fool out of everyone he believed to be beneath him was another.

After the breakfast was prepared and the dining area filled, Faine asked, "Do you know where Ilian might be this morning?" She untied her apron and hung it on the metal hook in the shape of a dragon's claw.

"Today is...well, if he's following the same schedule as he does every week then he's in the library. He's not one to stray from tradition." Ametrine scrunched up her nose, and Faine grinned. She hadn't known such a personal fact, but it made sense. "You can leave; I have everything handled from here."

Fifty years ago, Faine might've stuck around and helped Ametrine through the rest of her morning chores. The kitchen was clean enough, and the meal was prepared except for serving the members of Silver Willow's esteemed staff. The only thing left for Faine to do was brush the flour off her hands and wipe off the handprints from the outsides of her thighs.

The library was on the second floor of the mansion. From the kitchens, Faine made quick work of avoiding everyone in the halls, including Eliphas who snarled close to her ear as she passed, and trudged through the large open doors that led to rows and rows of bookshelves climbing up the walls and covering what should be the windows.

Dust hung over the red and brown spines. The lettering on many faded years ago but the golden stitching remained intact, as did the shelves that held them there. They weren't just stuck to the walls. The rows continued out onto the main floor of the library and traveled up staircases to higher levels, hanging from the ceiling and swaying in their spots.

Faine ran her fingers along a black velvet armchair behind a bookshelf muddled with bestiaries. Someone left a book behind on the cushion like they might've returned within the next few minutes, but the dust on the armrest and on the cushion said enough. No one had come back for it. The golden painted dragon on the front cover bared its teeth at Faine when she passed and continued to do so until she rounded the corner and forgot about it.

In the mess of finding Ilian, she'd forgotten where to keep track of her steps. Every shelf looked the same, and to confuse her worse, many spines were identical to others in the same spots on the shelves. Faine wondered if she might've been turning in circles until she heard a sharp whistle from overhead and looked up. Waving down at her, his ankle propped onto his knee, sat Ilian. His widespread hand cradled a book in his lap like he was holding the back of a baby's head to keep it from falling.

"How did you get up there?" Faine asked. Not a single staircase led to the platform above her head, and she hadn't noticed it, to begin with. It was hardly detectable, there were books on the outside, too, making it appear like nothing more than a cutout in the wall. Beyond the bookcase walls were two chairs and a small table between them.

"You must use your imagination to get up here," Ilian said with a shrug. "That way, I know you're worthy."

Faine flattened her stare. Fine, if he wanted to challenge her, she'd accept. If she started backing down from challenges, he might look down upon her and realize there was weakness within her bones when truly, translucence was more common.

The only way to get up there was to climb on top of the bookshelf and take the small leap from that to the raised platform. Faine looked down and discovered that, on each shelf, a row of books was missing and in the imprint of dust was a single, repeated footprint. Stairs.

A climb such as one on a bookshelf was steep, but Faine made it to the top of the bookshelf and wobbled with it. Her legs and her arms ached from pulling herself up, but she didn't show that to Ilian.

The mortal watched her with amusement in his eyes and chewed on a fingernail as if she was performing a show. Red rugs stretched across the library floor loomed in Faine's vision but the light peeling in from the window below and illumining the dust in the air was her vantage to spot the bar to her left. A hoist to get her from one spot to the next.

"Any day now," Ilian sighed.

"If you wish, I can crash into you and pull you off the side so you plummet to the floor." Faine examined her fingernails. "I'll even make it believable."

Ilian's long lashes brushed against his cheeks when he closed his eyes for a second to breathe in the glory of her sarcasm. His nostrils flared. "This is how you greet me after spending days away? After I covered for you?"

That, she couldn't contest. Faine leapt across the open space and was relieved to feel the pressure of floorboards underneath her boots. The floors were dusty, and the rug appeared to have molded with the rest of the platform, but it was better than being on the ground floor. No one could spot them up there, nestled within the bookshelves that appeared to be walls.

"Your bracers fit you well," Faine complimented. She tapped her finger against the bracer on his right arm when she sat down. "You're turning into me with every passing day. Eventually, we'll have to find you a nice set of horns."

Ilian huffed an annoyed laugh. "To be honest, I couldn't pull those off. I believe it's the ears, they're too...round."

"One fault of being a mortal." Faine turned her head and puffed out her bottom lip. "You are right though; I am the only one that can make these large and itchy horns look good. Besides Ametrine, of course."

And Kaspar.

She couldn't see the title of the book in his hands and pinched her arm for not thinking to look at it when she was below him and the lettering was visible between his fingers. Too many thoughts were pushing out the normally analytical section of her brain. Each of them involved Carlton and the belongings he might still have within the base. The storage room was right down the hall, all Faine had to do was find the time alone to discover such a treasure without stirring up too much suspicion from fellow members. Ilian included.

Ilian looked back to his book and turned the page. His face was right there, perfectly visible before her, and Faine took that as her chance to study it. Handsome was an understatement, but that wasn't shocking to anyone. Ilian's skin looked soft, but his hands were rough and callused with the contrast of being a spy and a killer.

A mortal spy and killer. She narrowed her eyes at the side of his face, resting her chin on her palm. "You really wish to remain a mortal?" she questioned.

"Of course, I do. Why are you asking me this? We've been over it more than once if I remember correctly." He turned another page. The words were too small to make out and the ink itself was faded. Whoever had written it possessed horrible penmanship. Reading it alone was baffling, understanding it was another battle.

"You're just so...you're more than a mortal to me." She tapped the claw rings against her bottom lip. "I don't quite understand it."

Ilian stole a side glance at her and arched his brow. "Did you come across a life-changing event in Isflean or has your insanity finally gotten to your head?"

"It could be a bit of both."

She slumped in the armchair. Why had she come searching for him? It was second-nature to ask where he was. Every day since she arrived, she'd known where Ilian was and what he was doing, whether together or apart. It was different when she left to Isflean and didn't know what missions he was partaking in for a week, or if he had any, to begin with. Finding him hadn't been the first thing she did and many other tasks fell down the list to ensure Ilian wasn't forgotten too long in her mind. Now that she was sitting in the chair next to him...Faine realized she had no idea what she was doing in the library.

Ilian sighed through his nose and finally shut the book. "To be truthful, I hate being a mortal. I hate being considered weak amongst the strongest in the land," Ilian confessed. "I've asked myself what the solution would be, and I've never had the gut feeling to become an immortal. I don't wish it."

"There are lands outside of Pinedon that are strictly mortal, or close to it. You'd be a king over there." Faine allowed her stare to drift slightly to the book in his lap, the back of his hand still cradled the spine. In gold lettering, across the front cover, read: Immortality and Walks of Magic. Contrary to his statement just seconds ago.

"I want to remain here; Pinedon is my home and nowhere else will accept me the way this land has." By beating him to a pulp and using him as an icon for slavery. "I don't want to move, I don't want to become an immortal, but I want to be stronger than what I am. That's nearly impossible without doing one or the other, but I've been doing some reading." He tapped his palm against the leather book.

Faine drew in a long breath. "You can't beat your enemies with book knowledge, Ilian."

"Can you be serious for, like, two seconds? I've done a lot of research on this and it'd be nice if you obliged me."

Biting back her smile, Faine said, "Fine. What is it?"

"In this book, it explains that wizards have the ability to cast a spell on a mortal that makes it impossible for magical beings—or immortals—to cast a geas on me." Ilian adjusted the lapels of his jacket. "I'll be stronger if they can't control me."

Their first encounter had included a geas. It was one of the few times Faine used that ability on another, and like every occurrence before, had hated it ever since. There was a certain connection that came along when putting a geas on a mortal and not any part of it was pleasant. For a brief moment, two souls connected, and the immortal bodied their victim and became them, searched their mind for their deepest secrets and smelled the way they smelled.

Being able to taste who Ilian was left a sour note on Faine's tongue. He wasn't aware of the geas and neither was Ginevra, despite her being there when it happened. To tell him that truth now would end any possibility of him trusting her. But there was something she could do...

"Wizards aren't the only magical beings that can prevent a geas on a mortal," Faine intercepted.

Ilian gave her a look of bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I can prevent a geas...if you so wish to have that connection between us." She gestured between their two bodies with her claw-tipped finger. Many days since she'd stolen the claw rings had her wearing them as Faine enjoyed watching the certain fear rise in the eyes of many she passed. They weren't fond of something so dangerous coming close to their face.

Ilian's eyes lit up. "What kind of connection would there be?" He turned himself completely in the chair to face her and the book in his lap held no significance with a simple click of Faine's claw-tipped fingers. Their only fault was tangling in her hair when she tried to brush out the knots.

"It's nothing more than a blood connection. You'd have a small fraction of my blood in your system, and with that, no one can put a geas on you. It's simple, actually," she explained.

"Ginevra told me that such a thing isn't possible." Ilian's brows creased together in light of the oncoming confusion. "Why would—"

Faine stuck out her hand to stop him. "Before you ask such a thing, I must remind you that as immortals, we are assholes. We don't want to even the pecking order, we wish to remain on top. As a young member of...my job—" she blinked "—I was taught that immortals should never offer this to a mortal for we're risking the chance of losing our hand on them. It's possible Ginevra received similar teachings but didn't wish to reveal that in fear of hurting you."

The truth was hard to accept and even harder to swallow. Ilian uncrossed his legs and rested his elbows against them. It was true, everything Faine was taught at Rising Eternity, a truth she nearly slipped, revolved around not helping mortals. Zebulon taught her that early because he recognized Faine's fault. She was too kind to them, too understanding, and didn't want to hurt their weak souls.

One mortal, years ago, possessed enough bravery to recognize her weakness and asked for such a gift from her. They could offer nothing in exchange but she grew tired of working in the salt mines and being forced to dance for the many immortal workers that knew a geas made her lose her senses. Faine was ready to oblige her, but Zebulon was there to stop it—and kill the mortal woman.

The lesson received was rather simple. Never give a mortal a chance to be free of an immortal's powers. They needed monitoring due to their unpredictability and potential to rise. Faine had never understood, but working for Rising Eternity molded her mind into a fog, then back to herself once Zebulon's hold on her throat weakened. This could be their secret, and the gateway into Ilian trusting her. The boss of Rising Eternity would never have to know, nor would he consider her stupid enough to do such a thing after the first time.

"I want this," was all Ilian said. Faine obliged him.