Hyacinth (Tamlin's Healing Arc)

Chapter Twenty Eight

"White or gold, gold or white, white or gold," Cin changed the color of the roses from snow white to shimmering gold, then back to white again.

The fresh paint smell still hung thick in the air, and Cin couldn't decide which looked more regal. The white roses to match the base coat of the walls, or the gold roses to match the intricate patterns that spiraled along the walls like columns leading up to the high ceiling. The gold embellishments were meant to give the parlour a more regal feel, especially since Tamlin had decided that this newly built parlour would be where he held private meetings and conversations. The walls were as soundproof as the High Lord's bed chambers.

"Gold," Tamlin huffed, replacing the vase in front of Cin with an opaque green one before transferring the flowers.

"When did you become a master of decor?" She waved a hand over the vase, over the entire parlour, and filled the green vases with gold roses. Tamlin must have changed the vases while she had been distracted by the color schemes.

Tamlin picked up the book he had placed on the long table, sculpted from a burl elm wood tree and smoked to give it a velvety gray sheen. He shook the book. "It belonged to my mother. Apparently, she had a ton of ideas on how to decorate the Manor. She wanted it to feel like a High Lord's seat of power while still being a home."

"Where did you find it?" Cin snatched the book from his hands before he could pull it away and skimmed through the pages. He hadn't been kidding, Cin thought as she flipped through the pages. His mother had thought of everything. Cin settled on a set of pages that detailed the parlour they stood in, with the burl elm wood tree, the matching set of fourteen chairs, and the carpeted flooring. The carpet pattern was different, of course. There was no way Tamlin would find the specific carpet his mother had in mind however many decades ago.

Cin flipped the book towards him, showcasing the design for the parlour he had built onto the Manor. She tapped the page once and raised an eyebrow.

Tamlin laughed and reached out for the book. "In the basement stairwell. There are a number of books down there, among other things."

Cin pulled the book out of his reach. She remembered the stairwell and the many, many numbered sealed rooms. "You mean to tell me that you had not one, but two boxes of journals from your mother?"

"I didn't know what they were, Cin. If anything, I thought they were a collection of my mother's thoughts and daily life. They still could be," he rolled his eyes. "My mother died a long time ago. I didn't want to reopen any of those wounds."

"And now?" Cin asked. This was just another thing he would need to face and process.

"Now," he sighed, "Now I deal with it. If I'm going to deal with my past, I might as well face it all. Not just pieces."

"Very mature." Cin sank into one of the chairs, flopping the stiff book open on the table before her.

"I must be a late bloomer to only be reaching maturity now," Tamlin snorted, taking a seat in the chair positioned at the head of the table. That was his seat, it would always be his seat. In every room in the Manor, at every table in the Manor. He needed to get accustomed to it.

"Well, you've got the looks and the brawn, but not the brains," Cin shrugged, and Tamlin barked a laugh in response. "So, your mother had boxes of her books, and your father?"

"Probably, why?" He frowned, tilting his head to the side.

"Well, and this is just a guess, if her boxes had her journals and notebooks like this," Cin tapped the open book between them, "don't you think your father would have journals and notebooks about the plans he had for Spring?"