“No. Once I suspected it, I decided I needed to get out. What’s strange is that the four books I arrived with were not in the archives. Mazus had them sent to me from his personal collection. I still don’t understand why he allowed me to find this information. It was too strange, so I had to flee. I tried to bring the librarian who helped me back to Thayaria too, but she… Mazus…” Nemesia’s voice cracks, and I almost reach for her, but I hold back, still wary.

“Admon told us,” I say instead, offering her the compassion of not having to recount the story. I decide to speak with her about this again at another time, suspecting the librarian was more than a friend. But I know better than most that some wounds have to scab over first.

“There’s more information about mates you should know,” she says, changing the subject. “According to the Old Fae book, Thayarian rulers used to always have an Andomer light channeling mate. Even then—whenever that was—no one knew why. It just always happened, and it was usually the strongest among the light channelers who mated with the Thayarian monarch.” Thorne’s hand tightens around mine, and I grip it back tightly.

“The greenhouse,” he whispers, and I turn to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Nemesia asks. Thorne looks at me, seeking my blessing to take over the conversation, and I give him a nod.

“The greenhouse here in the palace. It reminds me of Eastern Velmara, and it struck me as a strange feature here. But it was practically life saving for my friends and I during Abscission, and I’ve been drawn to it. What if it was created specifically for those Andomer mates? To help give them a piece of home.”

“That’s a very real possibility,” Nemesia murmurs, lost in her own thoughts.

“And it explains the reaction to your magic,” I whisper softly as I squeeze Thorne’s hand, but Nemesia overhears.

“His magic?” she asks. I quickly explain what happened earlier, leaving out the more intimate details. Halfway through recounting the story, I realize I probably shouldn’t be trusting her with this information. But old habits die hard, and for over three hundred years, I told her most things, if not everything. “The greenhouse must be reacting to Andomer light after centuries or even millennia of it missing,” Nemesia offers, expression thoughtful, like there’s more she isn’t saying. “I’ll keep reading the books. I can make you a translated copy of the section on mates. I haven’t even read through two of them yet.” I nod, then stand to leave, but Nemesia’s expression goes hard, and I pause. “Laurel, you should make the Council believe I’m still a prisoner.” Her voice is steely.