The fourth floor of the library was more like an attic than a fourth floor, a large, warm space with glossy oak floorboards, richly detailed rugs, scattered armchairs, and massive skylights allowing sunlight to cascade in. Marin was relieved to find this level entirely unoccupied—though now that she thought of it, the whole library seemed rather abandoned—and hurried to seat herself on a forest green armchair so that she might read undisturbed.
She immediately began reading Land Acquisitions: Luck and Losses of the 20th Century, and much to her surprise, she found it quite fascinating. The Weinenvolk, she quickly learned, had a slight weakness for gambling—or at least that's how she interpreted it—particularly when it came to land. And, while they did gamble amongst themselves, many of their dealings seemed to be with humans. Unfortunately for most of the humans they engaged with, the Weinenvolk had an almost unbroken winning streak. As Marin reviewed case after case she could not help but to snort out a humorless laugh. Of course the Weinenvolk would win against hapless farmers—they have all the advantages of power, age, and magic.
Still, she began to wonder just why the Weinenvolk would bother to gamble, and for land in particular. It seemed so . . . ordinary, so mundane. What could the fae possibly need with farmland? Couldn't they simply purchase it?
Marin sighed, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. Just more pieces to add to the puzzle.
She was just about to set the book aside, having finished the first chapter, when something that had thus far escaped her attention caught her eye. At the end of every case mentioned, there was one phrase repeated time and time again, in almost impossibly small print: Here now, may the vines grow strong.
Questions cluttered the forefront of her mind as she tried to assess the significance of the phrase, but above them all arose a striking suspicion. Maybe, she thought to herself, this is the reason for all the gambling. The only real way to know, though, would be to get someone else to confirm it.
As if summoned by her thought, someone began to ascend the stairwell and Marin started. Immediately she snapped the book shut and reshuffled the stack at her side, leaving a book on famous fae poets on the top.
Jasper's auburn hair caught the light as he entered the attic-like space, the midday sun setting the long locks aflame. For an instant Marin forgot herself, staring openly as he locked eyes with her. She felt a blush begin to spread over her cheeks and she ducked her head, trying furiously to think of anything but a certain moment from that morning.
Amusement was clear in Jasper's voice as he broke the quiet between them. "Did you set eyes on anything you like?"
Marin's heart stuttered for a moment as she struggled to make sense of his question, her heart and mind drifting in two different directions. The books, you nitwit. He means the books and he's clearly teasing you. She did not doubt that Jasper had chosen his wording very precisely, but she was determined not to seem too affected.
"Plenty, as you can see," she said casually, hefting up her small stack of books with a bland smile. She avoided his gaze.
"Good. I'm afraid we must get going, it's past noon and it's come to my notice that you have yet to eat anything." Marin snuck a glance at Jasper and found him watching her intently with those glittering citrine eyes. Now that he mentioned it she was quite hungry.
She nodded and made her way toward the stairwell, but as she went to pass him she paused, looking up at him carefully. "Jasper," Marin began slowly, "I would like to ask you a question about something I read."
He raised a brow. "A question about poetry, then?"
She heard the challenge in his tone and nearly regretted her decision to ask him; he clearly was already suspicious of her intentions, but it was too late to stop now. And maybe he won't think much of it. "No, but I think you already knew that. I read something interesting about the land here, and I just wondered if—if the power of the vines is connected to who owns the land and how it was acquired."
YOU ARE READING
Where Vines Don't Grow
Fantasy"Marin, come to me." In a swift motion he tilted her face up toward his and closed the gap between them, eliciting electrical tingles throughout Marin's entire body as his lips firmly pressed against hers. Though she tried to protest, yelling in her...
