The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

by M. A. Grant

“Yes. I received word this morning from messengers they sent ahead.” Breoca yawns and flicks a hand toward the piles of papers in front of me. “Should be in there somewhere. Our troublemakers are feigning ignorance of their crimes.”

  “Too bad their allies here have been making asses of themselves. Their discontent is obvious,” Aage says.

  “At least we know who to watch,” Breoca mutters, fishing his boots out from under the bed and pulling them on. “It’s always better to know where the blade is coming from. Can’t wait to put an end to all of this though. The sooner you’re safely back in Eyjar, the happier I’ll be.”

  “The happier we’ll both be,” Aage murmurs and the smiles they exchange are so full of unspoken promises, my cheeks burn and I have to look away. I sit down in one of the chairs and clasp my hands in my lap, mind racing. If I were a strategist, I’d be trying to figure out how I missed the signs of Aage and Breoca’s relationship over the years we’ve known each other. If I were a devout subject of Queen Mab, I’d be gathering what details I could to provide her with leverage should Lugh’s diplomacy with Aage fail. Instead, all I can think about is how those silent exchanges I’ve observed for so long—eyes meeting across a space, bodies leaning in toward each other during hushed conversations—are all too familiar. The urge to see Lugh itches against my ribs and I hope this meeting will end quickly so I can go find him.

  Aage joins me at the table after Breoca leaves. A single glance at me gives away my tension. He gives up shuffling the papers before him to settle back in his chair instead. “You didn’t know,” he says with utter calm.

  “No. But it makes sense.”

  “Does it?”

  “You’ve always been close,” I mumble. “I guess I never thought anything of it because...” Because I could never tell where one ended and the other began, and because I never connected that to anything physical. Their devotion didn’t need a label. I simply thought their relationship offered glimpses of the future Lugh and I may someday have.

  “Because of my wife?” Aage taps a finger against the chair’s arm, as if he’s searching for the right words. “Breoca and I were together before I met Liv,” he says. His words are low and careful, but I’m not sure of his purpose for sharing this. “He’s the one who encouraged me to woo her. I never dreamed she’d accept my proposal. She took Breoca’s place in my bed and he took his place as my right hand. For a while, I was perfectly content. I couldn’t see how he was hurting, or how he tried to hide it from me.” His lips curve in the ghost of a smile, one brushed with fondness and bitterness in equal measure. “Liv suspected, but she loved him too and didn’t want to come between us.”

  “Did it change after her passing?” I whisper, afraid he’ll close himself off. We were such close friends long ago. Only now, faced with a secret I never knew he hid, do I realize how our paths have led our hearts and minds to such different destinations.

  Instead, he laughs. “Gods, no. Long before that. We were in a battle and Breoca threw himself in front of me. Bastard nearly died from his injury on the field. We returned to Eyjar and Liv commanded I stay at his side until he regained consciousness. The moment he opened his eyes, I knew I couldn’t keep him at arm’s length anymore. And when I turned to call for Liv, to confess to her and await her judgment, I found her sitting on the other side of his bed, watching us both and smiling. From that moment on, we three shared everything. Our kingdom, our bed, our lives.” He shrugs. “I would try to explain how powerful, how grounding that is, but you already know.”

  Deny it. Deny it all. Only choked noises escape me and Aage waves his hand.

  “Keiran, I may not have ridden with you for years, but I’m not so old I can’t remember those days. The two of you have always been inseparable, and only a fool would be unable to read what’s between you.”

  “There’s nothing,” I begin, but Aage’s frown silences me. Under his watchful gaze, the lie is too rancid to utter, especially after last night’s upheaval. “I can’t.”

  He leans forward. “In the name of the gods, what could possibly make you keep this from him?”

  Thank the gods, an easy answer. “The queen.”

  Aage straightens and his eyes narrow. “Has she hurt you again? Either of you?”

  Of course he would know. Aage was like our brother, a gentle, supportive man who filled the void left by Prince Sláine’s cool dedication to his role as High Prince and utter indifference toward his youngest brother. Lugh thrived under Aage’s attention, and when their friendship grew too close for Lugh to continue lying, he held to his courage and admitted his true lineage. He even offered to give up his title. Aage refused, claiming Lugh’s visions were a blessing to the Sluagh. His continued support only increased Lugh’s loyalty to him.

  Hearing Queen Mab mentioned may make Aage angry, but his ill temper is on our behalf, and that makes it easier to admit, “No. She hasn’t hurt either of us for a long time. But she...”

  Why is it so hard to say this aloud? Why can I speak stories of Lugh’s power and glory in front of complete strangers for hours, but here, in front of a man who, with age and experience, has become more my uncle than anyone else, the words to describe my own story dry up in my throat?

  “Has she threatened you?”

  I shake my head and try to focus. Queen Mab is woven so tightly into her sons’ lives it’s impossible for me to look at my relationship with Lugh and not see the telltale marks of her interference or influence. “I remain in Faerie for no other purpose than to protect Lugh and to keep his connection to the Court strong. If I fail in either of those duties, she will sever our bond and cast me out.” Admitting it aloud feels like I’m ripping my heart free from my body, but I press on. “She tolerates me for Lugh’s sake, but I am human and of no value in her eyes.”

  “You are one of the worthiest men I have known. Do not believe her poison.”

  “Oh.” It’s the most diplomatic response I can manage. Aage doesn’t speak, giving me the time I need to collect my thoughts. His silence is attentive though and I know he’s waiting for me to finish explaining. “I would not risk her wrath,” I finally say. “Not when her retribution could hurt him.”

  “And you think your self-sacrifice, your efforts to protect him, don’t?”

  Denials come to my lips, but never fall free. I’d never considered that before. Lugh’s never given any indication that he’s unhappy with our life as it is. Still, Aage said Breoca never gave him any sign either...

  Aage notices my sudden doubt. “When I asked Lugh to continue to serve me as the Horned King, he hesitated.”

  “He did?” I whisper. That night he decided to take it on, Lugh had told me about their meeting and his feelings about keeping the title, but he never mentioned this.

  “Before he accepted, he asked if I thought the gods would be offended if he pretended it was a useless role when he was in his mother’s lands. I told him the gods see a true heart. He agreed then. He promised me he would honor his duty, no matter what I heard from Court rumors. I’m beginning to understand why he said that, if this is how Mab attempts to control him.

  “Lugh doesn’t need protection,” he declares, staring me down as if he suspects I’m going to argue with him. “He hasn’t for a long time. Your fear of Mab clouds your judgment. Stop treating him like the boy you knew and recognize him for the man he has become.”

  And, as if he hasn’t completely upended my world, he leans back in his chair and says, “We need to discuss what’s coming.”

  “Oh?”

  “There may be attempts on my life. On Lugh’s. The old ways have been twisted to meet other needs and some forget the respect certain offices deserve.”

  “It’s forbidden to shed blood here,” I say. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Rebuild his legend,” Aage says. “Tell stories about his accomplishments. Force them to remember what Lugh i
s capable of.”

  “He’ll buck against shifting the attention to him. He won’t want to undermine you or distract people from the purpose of the Assembly,” I point out.

  “Swaying public opinion before our meeting is beneficial to me. I have never made a secret of my trust in the Horned King or his work throughout the Wylds. If you can secure a higher opinion of Lugh’s work, my own reputation will benefit.” He grins, and for a moment, he’s young again, wearing the expression he had riding beside me and Lugh into battle against some new creature. “I’m not completely selfless, Keiran. Will you do this for me? For him?”

  I hope I hide my fear about what my failure may cost them both when I answer, “As my thegn commands.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keiran

  By the time we’ve finished talking and planning for tonight’s feast, it’s mid-afternoon. Aage’s quiet as we walk, which I appreciate. It’s hard to recite tales when I’m lost in my own head. The words slip away, replaced with new truths that ring through my mind and demand my full attention. Queen Mab is not here. Her threats cannot stop me from declaring my feelings to Lugh.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m asking a question I’ve never dared utter aloud because I fear the answer so deeply. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

  Aage doesn’t seem surprised by the question. He isn’t gentle or bracing either. “You will never know unless you ask him,” he says.

  I want to shrink away and finally breathe with relief at the same time. If he had tried to placate me with kind words about my worth, I wouldn’t have believed him. If he had tried to speak for Lugh, I would have discounted him. Instead this—this blunt reminder that I am responsible for my own fate—is exactly what I need to hear. I wonder if he’s had this very conversation before with Breoca or Liv, and if he ever dreamed his life would be so blessed by the answer he received.

  We’ve reached the midpoint of the hall when a clamor from outside reaches us. The rise and fall of boisterous voices echo into this space, dancing up to the rafters before swooping down again when contented laughter breaks through. I listen for the peal of Lugh’s voice, but don’t hear him.

  “The hunt must have gone well,” Aage muses.

  “Gods willing,” I agree, eager to reach them.

  I must do a poor job of hiding it because Aage chuckles and gestures toward the door. “Let’s see what they’ve brought us.”

  We find the hunters surrounded by other retainers and workers, who’ve taken a break to hear about the hunt. Aage chats and jokes as he examines the kills. Two deer, a handful of game birds, and about ten different stories about who missed the biggest animal. I kneel and brush my hand over the deer’s pelt, sending up a quick prayer of gratitude for its sacrifice. All around me, the crowd mingles, their voices overlapping until I can’t hear anything through the cacophony. I catch bits and pieces of conversations, but none of them mention Lugh or the Wild Hunt.

  And then from my side, Aage tells me quietly, “Poet, the seidhr has returned,” and I can’t control how fast my head whips up to search the crowd.

  I find him without thought and discover Lugh’s found me too. He stands in the afternoon sun, face split with a wide grin, and I can’t look away. Can’t breathe. Under the illusion of his glamour, dirt smudges his cheeks. Tousled hair the color of fallen leaves hangs about his face in sweaty strands. His shirt is torn and dark blood stains the fabric. His shoulders are broad and strong, bunched with muscle after years of brawls and fights. The pale deerskin of his pants clings to his legs, wrinkling as he strides toward us.

  I’ve fought at his side almost my entire life and today, with Aage’s counsel still twisting through my thoughts, I realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen him. It lances me with a desire I can’t deny. He’s there, right there in front of me and my entire body burns with need; I can’t move for fear of giving that fire away.

  “What did you find today?” Aage asks.

  Lugh gestures behind him and I finally notice Drest, the poor bastard, bowed under the weight of a massive stag. A few others help him drop it to the ground and everyone circles closer, eager to hear the story. Lugh ignores them, handing off the moment to Drest, and looks between Aage and me. “The gods blessed us with a fine kill,” he says. “Should help feed this rabble.”

  “Indeed, it should,” Aage says. “Don’t you agree, Keiran?” He starts when he finds me still crouched on the ground.

  “Yes,” I croak. “Well done.”

  I force myself to rise. A tiny smile plays over Aage’s mouth and his eyes are soft in the way I imagine my brother’s eyes would have been if he were alive to offer me counsel.

  “Keiran will inform you about tomorrow’s proceedings,” Aage says to Lugh. “I’m sure there’s much he wants to discuss with you.”

  He crosses the space between us and reaches up to clasp my shoulders.

  “Keiran,” he whispers, too low for Lugh to hear, “our lives are too short for such pain. Talk to him. Promise me this.”

  I shake. I thought claiming anything more than friendship from Lugh was as impossible as reaching into the darkness of the heavens to pluck down a star. Yet I find myself reaching for one anyway. Fear and joy and responsibility and love mix so potently they threaten to take my knees out from under me. These thoughts are dangerous. I want to skate my fingers over Lugh’s cheek and wipe away the dirt there. I want to take him in my arms and taste his mouth for the first time. Yes, these thoughts are dangerous and I let them transform me with the hope of a new future at his side, rather than the fear of losing him.

  “I will,” I tell him.

  Aage gives me one final, gentle shake, and leaves us to rejoin the hunters. Lugh tilts his head and watches him leave, smile faltering just a bit. “What was that about?”

  We exist isolated in the midst of the crush, surrounded by exuberant hunters and their eager audience, and my racing thoughts drown out everything else, even my speeding pulse. You’ve grown up and I refused to see it. You’ve been carrying the weight of our friendship by yourself and it’s my fault. I want you, and you alone, out of everyone in the world, and Aage finally helped me see all of it.

  “Later,” I tell him. “Right now, I want to hear about your hunt.”

  Lugh

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think Keiran had been about to say something else outside. I’m not sure what his later means, or why he changed the subject so quickly, but he looked so eager to hear and so happy to see me, I couldn’t deny him.

  Still can’t deny him. It’s why we’re sitting next to each other at this small table to Aage’s right, so close our knees keep bumping and our shoulders brush every time we reach for something. He doesn’t shrink from my touch. If anything, he leans into it, tries to maintain contact. A faint flush colors the apples of his cheeks above his beard, and he keeps darting glances at me from half-lidded eyes. I wish I could grab him by the back of the neck and ask him to tell me what he’s thinking. Because when he smiles at me like this, I wonder if the lines we agreed not to cross aren’t in the same places, if they’re slightly mismatched, just waiting for one of us to point out the glaringly obvious flaw in our perceptions.

  Instead of giving in to that foolish desire, I focus on the change in the Sluagh around us. Tonight the hall inhabits a different landscape, full of laughter and good humor. It’s a far cry from the polite, quiet meals we had when only the Mainland clans were present. Aage eats his meal, but takes frequent breaks to wander and work the crowd. He checks that the lowest retainers are comfortable in their chambers and have full bellies. He arranges a meeting with the huscarls in the morning, before those charged arrive to face the assembly. It’s a bold move, one that forces the clan heads to acknowledge his place of power over them, though he won’t force them to make decisions without the last three clans present.

  By now, everyone knows they were the
last summoned and rumors flew during the afternoon’s hunt as to why they’ve been set up for this public humiliation. It’s not against the laws governing the Sluagh assemblies to embarrass them in front of their peers, but it’s damn close. Aage is toeing a line he needs to be prepared to cross if things go badly. Watching him wander the hall now, I’m certain he’s planning for a worst-case scenario. Breoca sits with Cybel, Armel, and Drest at our table, though he sometimes pauses in conversation to listen to a murmured comment from Aage as he passes.

  “You’re distracted,” Keiran comments when he refills my tankard with the aromatic mead Kermode brought from his village. “Is it your helm?”

  A carefully worded way to ask if my glamour’s too taxing. I take a sip, enjoying the honeyed sweetness spreading over my tongue, and shake my head. “No. I haven’t felt stronger since we began traveling to Eyjar. Haven’t slept better, either.” This land isn’t tainted; there’s no sight nor whisper of shades anywhere near us. Truly a blessed place.

  Keiran freezes and the way his eyes flick over my face, inspecting me, makes me wonder if there’s something I’ve missed. “Even last night?” he asks.

  “I think I woke up once, but I don’t remember,” I admit.

  He sets down his tankard and I notice it’s nearly empty. “Do you want more?”

  “None left,” he mumbles, the words hollow. Keiran rarely indulges in drink, claiming it compromises his ability to guard me effectively. I’ve seen him quaff a wide variety of ales and liquors, mostly by necessity rather than choice. The only drink I’ve ever seen him stop and savor, the only one he voluntarily asks for more servings of, is mead. It reminds him of home.

  Hoping to brighten his strangely somber mood, I hold my tankard out toward him. He shakes his head. “No, seidhr.”

  “Keiran, just drink it. We both know what’s mine is yours.” Especially my heart, though you’ll never take it.

  His gaze darts from my face to the tankard and back. His fingers brush delicately over mine when he takes it and his careful reappraisal of my expression steals my breath. His lips press to the tankard’s rim, right over the place I had drunk from. I’m left achingly exposed and suffused with such heat he must feel it through our clothes.