A Touch of Death

Chapter 28

Tarran was still asleep when the insistent knocking came at his door. He groaned, debating if he should outright tell them to go away. His head was pounding, though not from the wine. He'd spent the majority of the night looking through scrolls in the castle library, attempting to uncover something that could offer more insight into Aoife's power.

The only person who could have offered him any true insight was long dead, and she hadn't spoken much of it when she was alive. In fact, she'd even outright refused to participate in the Fae Wars because of it, claiming that her magic did not exist to be used for war, but for balance. The Queen likely would have killed her for the refusal, if it wasn't for Silas keeping her grounded.

Unfortunately, due to poor handwriting and his own shoddy translation skills, he'd barely made it through a third of the scrolls before daybreak and hadn't touched any of the books. He needed sleep if he was going to recover enough sanity to be able to make it through the next evening, and he'd instructed the staff to leave him be until well into the afternoon.

"If you don't open this door in ten seconds, I'm coming in."

Aoife?

They were free to wander the castle during the day, but what was she doing here? Just as he decided to roll over and drag himself to the door, Aoife apparently decided his ten seconds were up and opened the door. In his drowsy state the night before The chain stopped her from opening it entirely, but she did nothing more than huff, close it slightly, and slip her tiny fingers through the crack to undo the pin. A moment later the door burst open again and she came bustling in with a book in her hand.

"My word, your hair is unsightly," she muttered, likely more to herself than anything.

"Has it occurred to you that in another life, you could make an excellent thief as well as a seamstress?" Tarran said with a groan, ignoring the comment about his hair. "Or that it's considered extremely indecorous for a young woman to enter a man's room while he's still half asleep?" Aoife simply sat down on the edge of the mattress, shrugging.

"Firstly, I'm approaching spinster territory by some standards. Secondly, you're speaking as though I have not had to wake you up from the sofa in the tower so you could come down and eat dinner before. You're also speaking as though you haven't passed out fully dressed. Again."

"Touché. Though you might be pushing it by sitting on the bed." He did not move.

"Right. I'm so worried someone else will barge into the terrifying Great Enchanter's room without invitation," she deadpanned. "Were you up late doing something or are you actually hungover?" Aoife asked as she flipped through the book.

"Library," he mumbled.

"As expected." She kicked off her simple shoes and swung her feet up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as she tried to find the page that Camilla had pointed out only a few minutes ago.

"Now they really will think you're here to proposition me," Tarran groaned, finally sitting up. His clothing was in disarray, red robes half falling off of him, revealing his simple shirt and pants underneath. Aoife shook her head at the sight, going back to flipping through pages as Tarran looked over her shoulder. His skin was overheated from sleeping under the blanket in all his clothing, and she unconsciously leaned towards the warmth for a moment before pulling back.

"Proposition: You read. I'll fix your hair." Aoife plopped the book down in his lap, and he only sighed.

"I suppose it could be worse."

He cracked open the heavy tome, thankful to find it was written in a familiar language. It was easy to see why Aoife needed help with this one, though. The language was archaic at best, not exactly beginner material, and the text was ornate. It was certainly readable, though.