The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

by M. A. Grant

  He takes a long drink and lowers the tankard. I can’t tear my eyes from his mouth. He must notice, because they press together tightly before he finally whispers, “Lugh, I—”

  “Poet?”

  We both flinch at Olofsdotter’s call. Keiran recovers faster than I do, glancing away from me toward her and offering a polite smile. “Yes?”

  She beams at him, thrilled to have his attention before all the Sluagh here. She’s a good huscarl, competent, and I make a silent promise to myself to try to forge a stronger tie with her while we’re here. Any ally of Aage’s deserves the support of our Hunt.

  She gestures toward the waiting crowd. “Would you do us the honor?”

  Thank the Goddess Keiran understands what she means, because I don’t realize she’s asked him to perform until he sets down our drink and rises from the bench. He moves toward the central fire pit without hesitation, though he brushed his hand against my back as he left. What was he going to say?

  As Keiran approaches, the Mainlanders look wary or bored, but the Northern clans send up a rousing cheer and begin chanting, “Poet! Poet!” until he flushes and holds up his hands for their silence. Aage’s returned to his seat now, Breoca at his left, sitting close enough they can lean their heads together while speaking to keep their conversation private. Keiran’s stories will provide them the perfect cover to discuss whatever they’ve learned tonight.

  “What would you have of me?” Keiran asks the audience.

  Suggestions fly loud and fast. He occasionally points at someone to make them repeat something, and looks far too thoughtful as he considers their requests. The audience eats it up. There’s no one in the Wylds who isn’t aware of Keiran’s importance to the seidhr’s Wild Hunt. He’s a legend in his own right, and an even better one because he’s like the Sluagh in so many ways. He’s not an untouchable, veiled figure like me; he’s a folk hero, a fellow traveler, and willing to make a show of these moments of connection. At least, it’s a show until a nondescript woman in the back row with some of the Mainlanders asks, “Why would anyone wish to follow the seidhr when all he brings is war and suffering to us?”

  All the sound dies out in the room. This new quiet settles over the hall with the weight of pregnant expectation. Everyone waits to see Keiran’s reaction. Some even dare to look toward me for mine. I check my glamour again, making sure it’s woven too tightly for anyone to look past. In all our time riding the Wylds, in all Keiran’s time selling the stories of my legend, he’s never been asked such a question. He’s offered vague answers before, in an attempt to head off interest, but this is different. This is personal. This requires the type of story people will hear and either believe or reject. Keiran’s a storyteller who sometimes embellishes or twists the events, but he’s not a liar. He can’t weave a story from nothing. The woman must have known that, or else there wouldn’t be the muttered, approving remarks from her compatriots for putting Keiran on the spot.

  It’s a subtle rebellion. A way to profane the holy. A way to show the Horned King is not infallible, nor his Hunt.

  Keiran turns to look back toward Aage, a graceless movement that’s met with an encouraging nod. Whatever wordless conversation they have in that moment, it settles something in Keiran. His frame relaxes and even at this distance, I can hear his exhalation. Then he turns to me. I don’t recognize the look in his eyes, or the set of his jaw. He’s nervous, but not afraid, waiting for a sign from me.

  I nod, a slow movement I know will catch the audience’s attention. I want him to speak freely. Let there be no doubt of my support for him.

  It’s enough. He turns back and there’s no show of bravado in him now. The Sluagh lean in, even the Mainlanders, drawn by his stoicism, the quiet strength centering him in their midst.

  “You have heard many of my tales before,” he starts. “You welcome us into your lands, your homes, and you trust us to aid you in your times of need.”

  The Northerners nod, though some of the Mainlanders shift uncomfortably in their seats. Their behavior toward us has been fairly hostile, and I take cynical pleasure in the knowledge that they may regret it now when compared to other clans.

  “I tell you tales of the seidhr’s wildest victories. You see the shining edge of his knife, you feel the salt spray of monsters’ blood against your skin, and you triumph with him as he rides back to prove to you his promise has been kept. I am blessed by the gods to use my words and voice to bring you with us on these quests, to help you understand the way the gods act through our seidhr.”

  He gestures back toward me, though he never turns his face from his audience. “He is the gods’ instrument in your midst, and he bends to their will, no matter the cost.”

  The crowd murmurs their agreement and I blush beneath my glamour. He makes it sound like a sacrifice I’ve chosen, not a curse I was born with.

  “But that is not why I follow him.”

  The only noise in the hall is the quiet crackling of the fires. No one speaks. No one dares breathe too loudly.

  Keiran lets that stillness build, rise, and swell until we’re about to drown in it before he speaks again. He offers the words softly, like he’s piecing this tale together in front of us, yet his voice remains clear enough to hear at the back table. “Many, many years ago, a griffin brought its wrath down upon a village too poor to hire someone to frighten it away. The beast built its nest and raided the farms. The bones of cows and horses and pigs littered the woven branches of its death-gilded larder, and when no animals were left, the beast turned its attention to the villagers. It took two children and their grandfather before our seidhr was given a vision.”

  I remember those shades. Small and quiet and afraid, a trio waiting desperately for me. It was their care I remember most, the way they offered me the memories instead of forcing them on me.

  “You know the rest of the tale.” The crowd’s agreement sounds and dies. It was one of the first legends Keiran told about me and it’s been a favorite of the Sluagh for so long even little children can recite it. “What you don’t know is what happened after the seidhr presented its head to the village elders. The farmhouse where the victims had lived stood nearly empty, inhabited by the grandmother, a woman wasting from grief. Her village would care for her. Her village would ensure winter did not steal her life too. There had been enough suffering for the family. Yet the seidhr told us we would remain another day. He claimed he needed to rest, but in the afternoon, I couldn’t find him in his room.”

  Keiran had looked for me? I was positive he had bought my excuse before I snuck out of our room in the village’s hall.

  “There was no reason for me to return to that farm, but when I neared, I saw the seidhr’s horse in the field. I saw the seidhr skinning a buck he’d shot while the grieving woman sat in a chair beside him and wept. He soothed her pain though the gods hadn’t asked that of him. His task is not to bring war and suffering, but to help mend the wounds left by it.” His hands clench at his sides and there’s something confused and angry and joyful fighting its way out of me, clawing up into the light where I’ll have to face it and will never be able to deny its existence again.

  “I don’t know how long I watched them,” Keiran admits. “But the moment he made her laugh, I knew—”

  He turns and looks over his shoulder, finding me, always finding me in an instant, as if he knows exactly where I am at all times. Goddess, I don’t know if I can hold his gaze. I’m not worthy of such adoration. I’m not worthy of him, but he watches me as if the sun rises and sets by my command, and I want him in any way he’ll allow.

  “I knew,” Keiran repeats, low and gentle, “I could have no greater purpose than fighting beside such a man for the rest of my life. Than dying to protect him, if the gods will it. I would fall with a smile and wait an eternity to greet him at the doors of Valhalla.”

  A buzz fills my ears. Keiran turns away from me. He
’s won over the hall. They shout praise to me and him and the Hunt, and Aage waves the servants to bring out another round of drinks for everyone.

  I don’t know how to breathe. I don’t know how to look away from the muscles shifting in Keiran’s back as he lifts his hands and begins another tale as if he hasn’t just broken my heart and soul. I don’t know how to read the crowd as the evening drags on, so I hide behind my glamour instead. When Keiran’s done and Aage wishes us all a good night as we wander back to our chambers, I don’t know how to explain to the perfect, loyal man at my side that I can’t be around him right now. That I can’t face him because I’ve lied to him and broken his trust. That I let the draugr take residence inside me against his advice. That I’m not the good, honest man he thinks I am.

  “Lugh,” Keiran asks quietly, “is something wrong?”

  I pretend I don’t hear him. I know he deserves to hear the truth, but I don’t think I can give him all of it yet. I’ll give him something at least. And I have a short hallway’s walk to figure out what exactly that will be.

  Keiran

  Lugh said all the right things. He stayed in the hall, in view of the crowd, and nodded at the right times during my other stories. No one doubted his support of me. After tonight, no one will doubt how deserving he is of the title of Horned King or how valuable he still is to the people of the Wylds. His stories are alive in the minds of the Sluagh here, and hopefully his testimony tomorrow will be better received after my honesty.

  When the Mainlander asked me that question, I froze. The truth hung on my tongue, but the thought of freeing it into the world and baring my sensibilities while Lugh sat tables away was worse than facing any monster I’ve killed. At least, it was until I remembered Aage’s story. The thought of Breoca’s pain—of causing Lugh such pain—gave me the courage to look back. I saw only pride in my thegn’s face. And I saw Lugh, not as the boy I grew up with, but as the man who has held my heart for so long I can’t remember when it was I offered it to him.

  The words came easily after that.

  Now, following him back down the hall toward our chamber, regret replaces the euphoria. My honesty has left Lugh’s lips tightly pressed and he hasn’t spoken to me once, even when we took our leave of Aage. The crowd’s noise fades away, leaving nothing but strained silence.

  “Lugh,” I dare to ask, “is something wrong?”

  He says nothing.

  Perhaps I’ve broken something I can’t fix. Perhaps I should have left it well enough alone.

  Lugh waits until the door of our chamber closes behind us to drop his glamour and drag both his hands through his hair. He takes slow, deep breaths as he paces near the bed. His agitation sets me enough on edge that I stay by the door. I withdraw until my back presses firmly against the wood.

  Finally, he speaks, and I wish he hadn’t. “I should stay somewhere else tonight.”

  It’s as though the ice dams on the rivers have all broken inside my chest at once, shocking me with his cold words and drowning me in misery. “What?”

  He tugs hard at his hair and I step forward with a hand out to urge him to stop. The seriousness of his gaze draws me to a halt. “I... I think it would be better if we weren’t together tonight. After what you said out there and all, I don’t... I can’t—”

  Fuck. I shouldn’t have said anything. “What do you mean, can’t?”

  “I can’t do this anymore!” he bursts out.

  I press a hand to my chest. There’s no seax slid into my heart, though it feels as though one should be there. Lugh’s chest and shoulders heave from his desperate breathing, and his eyes are wide with a mixture of emotions I can’t begin to sort through.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, and gives up pacing in favor of slumping into one of the chairs. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m a shitty friend. You deserve someone better than me. You deserve someone who can be honest. You were so kind about it back then and I’ve never wanted to make you uncomfortable, so I’ve ignored how I feel, but hearing you tonight, all I could think was how I wish you meant it differently and it’s not fair to put those expectations on you when it’s all on my side.”

  Too much in that ramble to break apart. Feelings and expectations and back then? When was back then? “What are you talking about?”

  Lugh props his elbow on the table and cradles his head in his hand, watching me with a bitter smile. “Goddess, Keir, I never thought you were stupid until this moment.”

  The light insult, delivered so casually, stings. I shake my head and ignore the building hum of magick from the belt. I can’t risk the temptation of escaping this confrontation I’ve been avoiding for too long. Queen Mab’s reminders of my place, of my value, are inescapable. They’re so loud in my head. Only the steady cadence of Lugh’s voice breaks through them at last.

  “Please, let me say this once, because I’m so tired of lying to you and I worried you’d take it this way.” Lugh sighs and his free hand, resting on his thigh, clenches into a fist. “You act like everything that goes wrong is your fault, but this is my problem, not yours. And if my saying this means you want to leave the Hunt or our Court, I’ll make sure Mother can’t do anything to you. I’ll protect you from her so you can live the life you want.” His eyes are damp and his voice trembles and for the life of me, I can’t move from this spot, though there’s nothing I want more than to take him in my arms and feel him pressed against me while I try to comfort him. “You’re my best friend. You always will be. And I love you.”

  He says it with absolute certainty, almost resignation, and my spinning world grinds to a halt.

  He tilts his head a little when I don’t respond and the bitterness of his smile transforms into something sweeter and apologetic. “I love you. It’s my fault I can’t change my feelings for you, and if you never feel the same way about me, it’s okay—”

  I am stupid. And a coward. He was always braver than me, always taking running leaps into battle without second-guessing himself. Of course he’d do the same now. It’s past time for me to follow his lead.

  “I meant it,” I croak out, interrupting him. “Everything I said in the hall. All I want is to stand beside you for as long as I can because I...”

  The words I’m so desperate to say trail off. Queen Mab’s threats still hang over me. But I’m starting to understand what Aage meant. I’m doing her work for her. My own fears of her retaliation against Lugh, my desire to keep him from pain, have caused his injuries. His mother hasn’t dirtied her hands once. I won’t be her weapon any longer.

  The lump in my throat remains, no matter how many times I swallow. If I say this, there’s no going back. Neither of us could survive that. Yet he sits there, expecting pain, and remains openhearted and courageous in a way I’ll never know. Instead of looking scared to hear what I say, he looks hopeful.

  “I love you too. So much,” I tell him, relief flooding through me when his eyes go wide and the tears spill over his lashes and onto his cheeks. “The gods only know for how long, but I didn’t realize that’s what it was until it started to change. Everything was different and I couldn’t risk losing you.” I take a step toward him, unsure if he wants me to touch him right now, and try to finish my thought. “You’re the only thing in this world worth fighting for.”

  Lugh crashes into me, and I stagger back into the door, grasping instinctively to keep him in my arms. He’s laughing with his tearstained face buried against my skin, wetting my shirt, and nothing has ever felt more right. I hug him tighter, pressing my nose against his hair, and the sleek muscles of his back flex when he copies me, his arms squeezing around my shoulders in an effort to close any space left between us.

  He keeps murmuring against my neck, some admission he can’t seem to prevent. It spills from him unconscious and uninhibited and unintelligible.

  When I finally manage to draw a few inches away from him, he keeps talking, wor
ds low and rough and throbbing with wonderment. “Thought it was just me,” he repeats over and over.

  “It wasn’t, Lugh,” I promise.

  He gulps for air and it sounds like sobs. “You told me we couldn’t, and I was so afraid if you knew how I felt, how much I’ve always wanted you, still wanted you, you’d leave.”

  “I wouldn’t leave,” I say. “I wouldn’t. I would have told you off, maybe punched you if you hadn’t taken the hint, but we would have talked first.”

  His laugh is snot-choked and more than a little damp. “Sure. Because we’re so good at talking.”

  “We are,” I protest. “We talk all the time.”

  “When?” I’m about to tease him for not knowing how often we speak to each other, except he pulls back to watch me with the same fascination I remember from that first moment in my burning village, as if there’s nothing in the world except the two of us. “You said it changed. When?”

  “When you brought the bones of Igna’s brother back to the village a few weeks ago,” I confess. “We touched and I’ve never...it’s never felt like that before. I didn’t know it could. And since then, I haven’t been able to stop wondering what it would feel like if I...”

  Tousled hair. Bright eyes. Wide grin. “If you?” he prompts, impatient as ever.

  I grasp his chin between my thumb and forefinger, holding him still, and lean down, closing those last inches between us. His warm breath hits my mouth when I press my lips to his. No dream can compare to the reality. The kiss is soft and gentle. Lugh’s pliant in my arms and his delicate whimper echoes in my ears. His hand reaches up, fingers skimming over my cheekbone before sliding back into my hair, tangling there like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets me go.