She forced herself to take deep breaths and to try not to think too much about all that had happened.
It worked for about a minute, then one question rose to mind. Why was she a blood rose?
It had originally been thought the blood rose phenomenon had arrived on the scene to help defeat Margetta. Goddess or destiny or whatever had intervened to keep evil from swamping the Nine Realms.
But even as these thoughts rumbled through her head, her fae senses warned her that becoming a blood rose, at this precise moment in time, meant something critical. But what?
She knew Rosamunde had become Mastyr Stone’s blood rose through a series of harrowing events. Their journey had culminated in the defeat of the Ancient Fae.
Now, Rez had battled and almost died from a vicious Invictus attack coupled with a dark fae, time-pathed poisoning.
What was going on?
Cleaned up and feeling better, she got dressed then used her fingers to work her long, thick hair into a reasonable state.
When she left the bathroom, she’d expected to find Rez in the living area, but he wasn’t there. Instead, much to her surprise, she could still hear his shower running.
The man had been through hell, though. He?
?d walked the very edge of death and survived. A long shower was a good thing.
She returned to her tumbler, poured out a little more scotch then took another sip. Glancing at the three shelves of books, she scanned the titles.
Most of them were antique-looking tomes with leather bindings. Several covered the earth country of France and its history. Earth was a massive place, so much larger, yet far shorter-lived than the Nine Realms.
Realm scholars, like her father, were experiencing a golden era with the history of so many cultures and geographies to study and absorb.
She was working on her own history of the Nine Realms but had been unable to find the right slant to interest a reading public. It didn’t help that most of their history was oral. There were a number of ancient manuscripts to peruse, but nothing like earth.
Her eye was caught by the partially opened door past the bathroom she’d just used. With her whisky in hand, she moved down the short hall and entered what she could see was a study. More books lined the west wall. A lot of books.
She hadn’t expected this, not in Rez’s home. These couldn’t be his books. He’d said this house had belonged to his parents. Maybe his mother had been a reader.
A well-used brown leather chair sat in the corner with a reading lamp nearby. On the wall opposite the books was a desk, a container of pens and pencils, a heavy-looking pewter replica of a Harley, very Rez. There was also an antique wood box, a leather desk protector, and a note pad. A stack of receipts sat in a tray.
She avoided looking through them as a point of honor, though she was tempted. Who was this man? What kinds of things did he buy? Was he more than a Guardsman deserter? Did it even matter?
She turned back to the wall of books and perused the titles. There was an entire group that would have appealed to her father. Then she saw a title that stunned her: Purpose and Materialism in Realm Life, by Joseph McCrae.
Her father’s book.
A scholarly work.
She drew it off the shelf and opened the hardback cover.
Another shock. It was signed. To one of my best pupils. Keep the faith, Mastyr Rez. Then her father’s unmistakable signature with a single oversized J and his last name in an illegible scrawl.
She touched the signature. At some point, her father and Rez had met in one of his classes. Apparently, Rez had studied under her father.
She loved, admired, and respected Joseph McCrae more than any man in the Nine Realms or on human earth. In this single line, he’d indicated Rez had been an excellent student.
How was that possible?
She closed the book, pushed it back where it belonged then left the room.
She didn’t know what to think.
When her stomach rumbled, she realized she was ready for a meal. She headed into the kitchen through a doorway across from the bookshelves and decanters. Finishing her drink, she washed out her glass. In the distance, she could hear a blow-dryer running. Great invention, that.