by M. A. Grant
“To the Thegn of the Darkest Court,” Roark calls and the Summer and Winter fae call back, “To the thegn!”
The skin on my arms prickles and the Sluagh exchange shocked glances. Never have the people of the Wylds been recognized by their fae cousins. Never have they been considered equals. Yet here we stand.
The smile Lugh directs at his older brother is fierce and triumphant, and when he looks back to me, I can’t help but mirror his expression. Lugh raises our clasped hands and declares, “To the winner goes the Iron Crown.”
My people—my Court—shout it to the gods. I close my eyes and let the rumbling echo of their words wash over me. The legend of our Darkest Court has begun.
Epilogue
One Year Later... Keiran
The Seelie queen stands in the doorway of Meðalhall, her hair braided back out of her face, and her delicate golden circlet nowhere in sight. Since the Pantheon delegates left two days ago after the end of the Accords, she hasn’t bothered with such formalities. I know now, after hosting the monarchs of Summer and Winter Courts for several weeks, that the path we three take forward into the future is not the complicated dance I once feared. After hours of sitting through meetings together, Aislinn, Roark, and I are comrades in arms at the least, tentative friends at the best.
And this must be one of those best moments, since Aislinn murmurs, “I’m going to miss Eyjar,” when I come to stand beside her. This new camaraderie is strange. The Seelie are not the monsters I’ve hated all my life, not anymore. Aislinn is kind and brilliant and the Summer Court will thrive under her steady hands. She is going to miss Eyjar, but I’m shocked to find I’m going to miss her after she takes her leave of us.
We watch the bustle outside the open doors of Meðalhall together. The Summer Court’s retainers and guards finish the last of their travel preparations. Their task would likely go faster if my huscarls weren’t arguing over the most picturesque route to take back to the Seelie sídhe and trying to convince Fuad, Aislinn’s captain of the guard, to give up her planned route in favor of theirs. Despite their best efforts, I don’t think they’re going to win this argument. The woman’s detailed maps put Armel’s to shame.
“I’ve wanted to travel for so long, and this holiday ended far too quickly,” Aislinn says.
“You’re always welcome to visit,” I tell her. “Now that the Accords are over, you can come for a real holiday.”
Her smile is sweet and shy, as warm as the last rays of the summer sunshine against our faces. “I would like that very much. You and Lugh are gracious hosts and your people...” She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t understand how our Courts underestimated them for so long. We were fools.”
“Already the stories from this visit are spreading through the Wylds,” I say. “You and Roark have done much to prove your dedication to healing the wounds of the past. The Sluagh may not believe your promises yet, but with time, they will.”
“I’m sure our agreement on the formal recognition of your Court by the Pantheon hasn’t hurt their opinions,” a dry voice behind me remarks.
Roark walks toward us. His time in Eyjar seems to have given him a much-needed break from the weight of the Winter Court’s crown. Gone are his formal, modern suits, replaced with the thick, warm weave of Sluagh garments. He’s even let his hair fall over his forehead. I’ve no doubt much of his ease comes from how quickly Smith took to our life here. The farm boy said it reminded him of home and even convinced Roark to stay two weeks longer, a surprise Lugh crowed about once he heard the good news.
“It hasn’t,” I agree.
He snorts when I don’t offer any sort of compliment in return, but settles in behind me and Aislinn to watch the farce play out as the last of the horses and wagons and trade goods are put in place.
“Lugh’s cutting it a little close, isn’t he?” Roark asks. He looks to Aislinn with a raised brow. “I thought you wanted to leave before midday.”
She shrugs. “If we have to stop for another night along the way, I won’t mind. It’s Sebastian who’s eager to get home.”
As much as I like Sebastian visiting, I understand his need to return home and continue improving the lives of others. The Seelie sídhe doesn’t require his presence, but the Green Man’s magick fits best there and there’s still so much left to do. The past year, as the powers of Faerie have rebalanced, both Summer and Winter Courts have been blessed by the resurgence of magickal power. Even the Sluagh have noticed the wealth of magick returning to nature. Some of our worst-hit lands have seen improved crops and better lives for their residents, especially as the shades who blighted the land have found their way to Tir na nÓg through the paths Lugh reopened when the Triumvirate was resettling.
“Roark?”
“Here, Smith,” he drawls, never looking back.
Smith joins us a moment later, his hair mussed and his body relaxed. He drapes himself over Roark, who reaches up to clasp a hand around his husband’s scarred forearm without conscious thought. During the battle, Mab failed to channel the ley line’s magick through the Knight’s bond. The treelike branches of pink scars from the ley line’s uncontrolled burst stretch up from the collar of Smith’s tunic and twist around the column of his neck, disappearing under his hair. He’s not self-conscious about the physical reminders of his brush with death and doesn’t bother hiding them, which has earned him more than one approving nod or comment from the Sluagh. He’ll never have to worry about taking such damage again, now that Roark sits on the throne and shares power with him.
“Are they back yet?” Smith asks no one in particular.
“Not yet,” Roark tells him. “Lugh’s doing his best to fit in all the bonding time he can with Sláine.”
I snort at Roark’s poorly disguised jealousy. Blessed Frigga, I love Lugh for his passion and daring. He’s courageous with his heart and every day I wake up beside him, I pray to the gods to help me emulate him. Since Mab’s death, Lugh has been the one to reach out to his brothers. He shamelessly uses his status as the youngest to force their compliance with his wild ideas and late-night talks. He’s devoted himself to helping them all find their footing together in this new world and they are more united now, after Mab’s death, than they ever were during her life.
He admitted last night he’s afraid they’ll lose this new bond though when everyone returns home. It’s why he took Sebastian and Sláine out for a final ride with the Hunt before they leave today. Sláine doesn’t intend to visit again until spring or summer, and Lugh wanted one last chance to clear the air with him. I’ve no idea how long their conversation will take, but I hope it gives Lugh the answers he needs before his family separates again.
“Have you asked them yet?” Smith asks Roark. It seems a private conversation, but I’m sure Smith chose to ask at this moment in an effort to force Roark’s hand.
“Do either of you have plans for Samhain?” Roark asks me and Aislinn.
She purses her lips. “Other than the Rite Hibernum, no. Aileen intends to stay in Delos longer, so our Court won’t be entertaining any guests.”
“Lugh and I have no plans,” I say.
“You’ll join us then,” Roark says. He acts as if we’ve just accepted an invitation despite his never offering us one. “I’d like to establish celebrations for all of Faerie. The stronger our ties, the better the relationships we may be able to grow between our people. And since Goodfellow’s dead, we don’t have to worry about anyone else bleeding the magick out between Courts through the emissary.” Smith clears his throat loudly and Roark huffs before adding, “Of course, it would be nice to see you all again. Court won’t...” He frowns and trails off.
“It won’t be the same without you,” Smith finishes quietly. “The last year has been lonely. Coming together like this is good.”
A happy call goes up from outside. Lugh and the rest must have returned from their ride. Some
how, that simple reminder makes this offer seem fragile, as if it will disappear if we don’t accept soon enough.
Aislinn smiles. “The Summer Court would be happy to attend your Samhain festivities.”
“I’ll talk to Lugh about it,” I promise Roark and Smith. “With your mother’s passing and the shades’ release, it may be easier for him to be in the Unseelie sídhe. But I’m sure getting the invitation from you directly would encourage him to accept.”
Roark nods and together the four of us step outside. Lugh, the Hunt, and the rest of our missing visitors ride up in short order, laughing and joking as they dismount. Their infectious joy brings smiles to the rest of the milling fae. Even Roark seems amused.
“We had a race back,” Lugh explains, though no one asked him the question. “I won.”
“You cheated somehow,” Sláine says. “Used your glamour, I’ve no doubt.”
“I’d never do that! Using glamour would forfeit the race,” Lugh argues. “You’re just upset that you were at least a horse-length behind me. It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep up with Liath.”
“No horse so small should be so fast,” Sláine grumbles, heading toward the prepared caravan and checking in with Fuad. Seb, shaking his head with a smile, trails after Sláine, though he stops beside Aislinn to talk about something. The Hunt abandon me and Lugh in favor of saying goodbye to their new Seelie friends. I don’t mind. It gives Lugh the excuse to sidle up and press the long, warm line of his body against mine.
“How’d you do it?” I ask under my breath.
“Now you’re accusing me of cheating?” he asks, eyes wide with hurt at my betrayal.
I wrap an arm around his waist and press my fingers against the beautiful line of his hip, not at all deterred by his mock outrage. “Lugh. I know you.”
He sucks in a breath when I tighten my grip, pressing against the faint bruises I left on his hips when we made love this morning. He wouldn’t let me apologize for them, and when I saw him inspecting them in the mirror, I realized he was as fond of them as I was of the scratches he left down my back. Sluggish heat stirs under my skin and I lean closer, letting my lips brush against his ear as I whisper, “Intimately.”
“Goddess,” he mutters. “You’re insatiable.” But he doesn’t move away. Instead, he grins and says, “Fine. I used glamour. He thought I was farther behind him and slowed up so his horse wasn’t winded when he got back. Never even noticed when I passed him.”
“Sounds like a morning well spent.”
He hums his agreement and returns to watching his brothers. While I’m glad for his ease, I still have to ask, “Did you have a good talk?”
“I suppose,” he hedges. “We tried at least. He wanted to know if the Triumvirate was still equally balanced between all of us.”
“And is it?”
Lugh shrugs. “I don’t feel it as much. He doesn’t either. Seems like Roark’s taken on most of it now that he can share it with Finny.” He shifts and leans around me to catch a glimpse of his brother. Roark stands with Sláine now, making a polite, yet heartfelt, goodbye. Seb and Smith embrace and talk about how best to visit within the next few weeks. “We agreed to stay in touch more frequently with him. And with Finny, since he’ll tell us the truth if Roark tries to hide anything. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Smith waves us over and we join their group. Aislinn gives us hugs before letting me help her onto her horse’s back. Sebastian shakes my hand and hugs Lugh, whispering something in his ear that leaves him serious and nodding. When they’re done, Sebastian pats Sláine’s shoulder and heads to his horse, offering the chance for a final, more private goodbye.
Sláine looks between Roark and Lugh, strangely flustered now that the moment has come. “Until Samhain, I suppose,” he says, with only a little uncertainty.
“Until then,” Roark agrees.
“We’ll see you soon,” Lugh says.
On their promises, Sláine swings himself up into his saddle. With their full party mounted, the Seelie move forward. They call goodbyes to the gathered Sluagh on their way to the main gate.
Lugh grabs my hand and tugs. “Come on,” he urges.
I follow him to one of the sets of steps leading up to the battlements. Watchmen greet us as we rush past them, though Lugh doesn’t slow his pace until we arrive at the wide section above the gate. Lugh leans on the battlement, watching the Seelie exiting below. His body’s tight with a tension I haven’t seen for months and I know he’s working up to something. When will it break through? Smith and Roark chat with Sláine as they walk him to the gate and Lugh quivers when his eldest brother appears on the other side of Eyjar’s wall.
“Sláine!” he calls down.
He glances up, surprised to find Lugh watching from above, and offers a cautious wave.
Lugh waves back. “Safe travels,” he says.
“See you soon, brother,” Sláine replies.
Roark and Smith return to their chambers, but we stay to watch long after the Seelie leave Eyjar. Long after the gate shuts and rattles the wood under our feet. Long after the watchmen abandon this section of wall completely, realizing we’re not going anywhere for a while. We stay until all the tension bleeds from Lugh’s body as he stares off into the distance, toward the point where his brother disappeared into the mountains. He hums when I undo my cloak and drape it over his back, but doesn’t move.
Maybe he wants to be alone. Except, the first step I take toward the stairs makes Lugh lift his head and pin me in place with a confused look.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“I didn’t know if you wanted company,” I explain.
“If it’s you, always.”
“Then what’s on your mind, seidhr,” I tease gently, returning to his side and resting my arm around his shoulders.
He smiles a little when he hears the familiar title. After our return to Eyjar, the Sluagh demanded Lugh return to the position. Apparently, witnessing his interactions with the shades on the battlefield impressed all the people of the Wylds, even those who had fought against us. The sight of his horned helm rising once more was one of my greatest joys as I settled into the thegnship, and his legend has only spread as he travels the Wylds to assist those Sluagh—the living and the dead—recovering from the war. The best man I know stands at my side and will until the end.
“Roark said we’re going back to visit for Samhain,” he says.
Of course Roark would phrase it that way. “We can, but only if you want to.”
“I do. I don’t think the shades will be as bad now. Most have found their path,” he explains, only to fall silent the next moment. After a beat, he says, “I keep looking for her, you know. Usually when I’m riding and hear a raven, or when I see something from the corner of my eye.”
I press a kiss to his temple and draw him closer. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t tell if it’s good or bad when she’s not there,” he admits. “That’s the only thing that bothers me. I told Sláine, and he understood. He says every time he hears someone say Your Majesty to Aislinn in a royal audience, he remembers Mother’s gone. Roark doesn’t talk about it. Finny said he put the chess sets in Mother’s chamber before sealing it. I guess he’s too busy to think about it much.”
Lugh’s hair is soft against my face when I nuzzle closer. “That’s not it,” I assure him. “Just give him time.”
“It’ll never go away, will it?”
I think of Halfur’s laugh and the rattle of my mother’s beads swaying as she moved about the house and the heft of my father’s axe in my hand. “No,” I answer, “but it gets easier.”
He fiddles with the edge of my cloak. “Do you mind me talking about her? She was awful to you, and I—”
“She was your mother. You talk whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere, and
neither are you.”
He turns at that, lips curved in a wistful smile, and presses his mouth to mine in agreement. Gods, yes, this. The only moments in this life that matter. He laughs when the kiss deepens and I groan, needier from the sound of his unbridled joy. He runs his fingers through my hair, urges me closer and closer, and I give up on propriety and hoist him up on the wall, settling between his thighs. His mouth is sweeter than mead and I drown in him. He eventually draws away, distracted by a flock of birds overhead. His head tilts back as he follows their path across the sky, and he smiles at whatever thoughts they bring to his mind.
Happy thoughts, I pray to the gods. Let him be happy here with me forever. You’ve proven miracles are possible, so bless us with this too.
We stay huddled together on the battlements, holding each other close, finally free to marvel at the wonder of our future. The world moves around us. Summer’s end means preparing the fields outside Eyjar for harvest and golden sunsets and soft blankets and murmured promises beneath the purple night sky. We’ll have crisp dawns as autumn crawls closer, with snow on the far-off mountains and cider-sweet kisses shared around campfires. There’ll be shining holly leaves with their bright crimson berries against Lugh’s hair when I crown him and laughter as we lead the Hunt through the lands on a wild Yule ride. Summer’s end has been, and always will be, the beginning of everything.
* * *
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Acknowledgements
It’s hard to believe this series is over. The intense work of the past three years has been worth every moment, especially due to the kindness and support I’ve received from my family and friends. I need to express my soul-deep gratitude.