Ray reached the forest edge. The silence was deafening, it was as if the entire forest had witnessed his shame. Even the small folk were quiet, though he could see their glowing yellow eyes watching him from the shrubbery. He hesitated at the opening of the lighted path. It curved and twisted into the forest before disappearing behind a bend.
"I best get on with it, I suppose," he said to himself.
"What about Lady Thornton?" a voice asked. The voice was like a light touch, easily ignored, but it sent shivers up his spine.
Ray flicked his gaze to the left. A petite woman was standing at the edge of the forest. Her auburn hair was a tumble down her back. She had a heart-shaped face and large luminescent yellow eyes. She wore a cloak made of white feathers. She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him.
"Tabitha, my feathery spy." He smiled. After everything that he had gone through that night, he could not summon the energy to send her away. "Lady Thornton is no longer my concern," he said in dismissal. He took a few steps onto the path.
"But you are concerned about her welfare, are you not?" she said in her feather-soft voice.
He looked over his shoulder at her. She could not be any taller than his chest. She was the size of a child with the shape of a woman. Her white gown clung to her curves, accentuating the swell of petite breasts and small hips. These were all distractions from the topic at hand; the bald truth was: he was concerned about Lady Thornton's welfare. He thought his feelings were the spell Isobel had placed on him. Inexplicably he had grown to care for Lady Thornton during their brief time together. Isobel wanted Catherine, and he knew from experience that when she wanted something, she would not give up. Under different circumstances, he would not have voiced his concerns. But if he could not remain to guard Catherine, someone must.
"I am, and I can no longer protect her. I must face the council." He imagined Lady Thornton's round, pale face, and large innocent eyes. Maybe it was some strange form of kinship he felt for her, or maybe it was because he had hung all his hopes on her. Whatever the reason, he did not like the idea of her falling into Isobel's clutches.
Tabitha bobbed her head; it was an owl-like gesture. He could tell she did not often take human form. "I will watch over her. She will need someone she can trust at her side."
He turned around so he could face her fully. "Why would you do that?"
She lifted a delicate shoulder. "Because I am like her, a part of the Otherworld, but separate."
He wanted to ask her more, but time was running short. The council may make his punishment more severe if he put it off any longer. He bowed to Tabitha before turning back to the road. He heard the flutter of wings and the screech of an owl, but he did not turn around. The human world was behind him. Lady Thornton would find a way to manage. He had his future to worry about now.
The audience hall was deep in the forest, farther even than the king's grove. It was a dark and secret place used only by the Thorn Court, the higher beings. The lesser creatures of the Thorn Kingdom were subject to their own individual rule. The council hardly ever convened since the king had gone to slumber and then only in special cases, Ray being the special case in recent years. He passed through the forest past Fae dwellings; some were built into large trees as his was. He spotted red doors set into large oak trees, sconces just above the doors flickered in the night; he walked past illuminated windows, and the shadows within turned to watch his progress. Others doors were hidden in tangled vines woven together to make walls and ceilings. Doors cracked open with thorny hands reaching around from the darkness within. Bright green eyes watched him go like dozens of gems. Some of the Fae lived in the tops of trees. They parted branches to peer down at him. None would move to greet him. He was marked for death, and they would not tempt the council's ire to give him a kind word.
He heard the whispers, nonetheless. The small folk had crawled out from their hidey holes to taunt him.
"Turn back, coward."
"It is not too late to run."
"How dare you show yourself before the council empty-handed."
He did not lift a hand to refute them. It would be easy to be a coward and turn away. As it was, he felt as if every step took all his concentration. If he ran, he would become an outlaw, a rogue leeching off whatever magic he could find. He would be cut off from the life-giving river that flowed through the forest and gave them all life.
He had reached the entryway to the audience hall. The wind caressed his skin. He tilted his head back. An archway of interlocking branches blocked out the moon and stars. To either side of him were rows of trees. The trees whispered to him, but they did not mock.
"We have witnessed your sacrifice to the Thorn Kingdom. The trees live long, and they do not forget," a voice like a brush of wind through the leaves said.
Ray bowed his head, humbled that the tree spirits would wake from their long slumber to give him encouragement. When the Fae died, they returned to the earth. Their spirits joined the great river that nourished the trees. The voice that spoke was that of his ancestors. In the old days, the trees communed with Those Who Dwell in the Thorns, but they had been withdrawn from the Fae for a long time. The trees kept their secrets as they slept, just like the king.
"Thank you," he said, touching the trunk of a nearby tree. The wind blew through his hair and brushed the vine-like strands against his cheek. It was a goodbye, he suspected.
The trees' encouragement gave him the strength to continue on.
The tunnel made by the trees ended at a long, wide hall. Here the trees were closer together. It was impossible to see where one tree started and the other ended, their trunks had grown together and their branches intertwined, creating a latticework that rose to the sky in an arched canopy. Moonlight broke through the branches at the top, and shafts of light fell onto the ground. When humans had walked in the Otherworld, they had tried to replicate the design in their stone structures that they called churches, but it never held the same majesty as the living breathing sanctuary held. At the far end of the hall was a throne made of thorns. Intertwined branches scattered with thorns formed the throne. The thorns themselves were a hand-span long. They were sharp and deadly, representing the power of the Thorn Kingdom. Now the throne lay empty as their king was trapped in his endless slumber. Ray walked up to the throne and knelt down before it. Flanking the throne were three men to the left and three women to the right. They all stared down at him with grim expressions.
This place once held magic and music and laughter. If he listened closely, he could hear the laughter drifting on the wind, the sound of the music, and the endless revelry. Not any longer. When the king fell asleep, so did the Thorn Kingdom. They were rotting from the inside. The Fae were never meant to live without music, dancing, or light. They indulged in the dance once a month now and no more. Even the dance had lost some of its magic. The wind blew through the hall, bleak and cold.
"Raynall, you have been summoned by the council to report on your quest to find the heir to the Thorns. I can see that you have come alone. Does this mean you have failed?" said the man who stood closest to the throne.
Ray kept his eyes glued to the floor though the voice which spoke was familiar and despised.
"No, she is here, she's just invisible." He glanced up at the man standing before him. He had long corded hair, the front locks tied back. On his brow he wore a circlet with a green stone, marking him as a member of the council. He wore a long robe in a similar green color. He glared down at Ray, his jaws clenched.
"Now is not the time for jokes," a woman said, stepping forward. She had hair that was long and golden curls. She had ivy tied up in her hair, making a crown on top of her head. Her face was pale and smooth as alabaster. On her head, tangled with the crown of ivy, she also wore a circlet with a yellow gem, which sparkled like her unusual golden eyes.
Ray gave her a lopsided grin. "Auraleigh, you are cruel. How long has it been since we danced naked together with nothing but the stars to lig
ht our way?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Silence." The first man with the green jewel slashed his hand and glowered at Ray.
The wind picked up, and the trees around the clearing swayed in the sudden breeze. They seemed to groan and moan. Ray stood up. I will not face them as a cowering subject. Nothing I do will change their minds. He kept his posture relaxed but watchful. It would not do to seem afraid, they could sense fear, and they used it to their advantage whenever possible.
"Father," Ray addressed the man with the green jewel, "I have come before the council to report that Lady Thornton is not the heir to the Thorns. Though she joined the forest dance, she did not manage to wake the king."
"I knew you would fail," said a man with bright red hair. He wore a circlet around his neck, with a large ruby at the hollow of his throat.
"Cinaed, you're as pleasant as ever," Ray replied.
Cinaed bared sharp pointed teeth at Ray but was held back by the man next to him. The third male councilor had golden skin and long dark hair. He kept it loose to frame his long face. On his head he wore a crown made of a bird's nest. On a chain around his neck was a white stone.
"Why did you come here empty-handed? You could have fled," he said to Ray while keeping a restraining hand on Cinaed.
Ray's eyes flickered in his direction. While his father was immovable and Cinaed was too impulsive, Faron was calculated and cunning. Of all the council, he feared Faron most of all.
"I remain loyal to the Thorn King, that is why," Ray replied. He met Faron's gaze, and they assessed one another.
Faron tilted his head, let go of Cinaed, and stepped back next to his fellow councilors.
"When you stood before the council last, we informed you that there would be no more leniency," said the woman beside Auraleigh. She had nut brown skin and long silky black hair. She had a generous bust and waist. Her clothing was a royal purple that clung to her skin, showing all her curves. Her gem was purple as well, and it was in a choker at her neck.
Diare was the type many men would want to take to their bed but regret it afterwards. She had full lips that were painted red and long lashes that framed purple eyes. Ray smiled at her--he knew the vicious streak that hid behind her voluptuous form. He also knew she loved flattery.
"Diare," he purred her name. "You know me well enough to know I never fear the future. I am sure you will administer a just punishment."
The third woman laughed; it was a burbling sound. She turned gray eyes to him. "You think to use your charms on us, Thorn son?" Liadan was slippery. Her hair was a muted gray, and her skin was pale, with dark black eyes that had no bottom. Her gown was set with river stones, which also circled her neckline. On her head she wore a circlet with a blue stone.
"You've caught me. Now that you've all had your chance to speak, may we move these proceedings along? I am a busy man."
It was traditional for all the council to speak before meting out any judgment. It was a tiresome process that if Ray had any say in, he would have had done away with a century ago. If the Thorn Court loved any one thing, it was ceremony.
"You should humble yourself before us, son," his father said in a deadly calm voice.
"I suppose there are many things I should do," Ray replied.
"Not for much longer," his father said. It appeared he had been chosen as representative for this hearing. How do I get so lucky? Ray wondered.
"You were exiled as gatekeeper because you led the guardian's daughter into the forest dance. You begged a second chance, so you were tasked with finding the heir to the Thorns. You failed at that task."
The words were flung to wound. By now Ray was beyond caring. He was never meant to succeed, he could see that now. They had only given him that chance because his father was on the council. He would not get any third chances. His father was staring down at him, a hard glint in his dark eyes. If there was ever a man not inclined to smiling, it was his father, Carrick. He could not stand the disgrace Ray had brought upon their clan. It was time to face the music.
"We have discussed your punishment, and it has been decided you will walk through the caves of trials. If the gods see fit, you will return to your place at court. If not..."
Ray could not even muster a sarcastic response. No one survived the caves. It was a death sentence.
"When am I to face the trial?"
"We will summon you when the time comes, until then you will be assigned to guard the new guardian of the forest."
This was a shock. He thought for certain they would punish him straight away. From the tight white lines around his father's mouth, he knew this was not his father's doing.
"The new guardian? The old one has only just died. You work rather quickly."
Carrick ignored his jibe. "Catherine Thornton is the new guardian. She was not the king's daughter, but she is of the blood of the guardians. We have chosen her to guard the gateway. In light of her husband's failure, we believe someone of stronger Fae blood will do a better job."
Ray laughed. He could not help it. He had failed to find the heir, but at least he had found a proper guardian. And for now they did not seem to be aware of Isobel's escape. If he were lucky, he could keep that a secret or else his punishment might be escalated.
"Does this amuse you?" Faron asked. There was a glimmer in his eye, and Ray got the distinct impression Faron had something to do with his short reprieve.
He's the most dangerous of all. If I live, that may be a problem. Out loud he said, "More than you know, Faron." And he laughed again.
Chapter Thirty
"My lady, you've hardly eaten a thing," Mrs. Morgan admonished. Catherine looked over her shoulder at the housekeeper as she picked up Catherine's untouched breakfast dishes. She had taken her meal in her room. She could not face the halls where Edward had died. The enormity of this empty home was suffocating her. She would have stayed in her room forever if the funeral were not today.
"I am not very hungry," Catherine said. Her eyes were downcast. Mrs. Morgan had changed since Edward died though she could not pinpoint why. For that matter, all the servants' attitudes had changed. Miss White had been positively chatty when she came to clean out the fireplace of ash that morning, and Miss Brown had been very attentive without the slightest hint of malcontent. Since Miss Larson disappeared, Miss Brown had taken over as her lady's maid, and she was doing up the last of Catherine's buttons as Mrs. Morgan had come to clear away her dishes herself--that was parlor maid work. The housekeeper had more important things to do. What is her motive? Is she trying to secure her place in the household after she threatened me? Catherine did not have the heart to dismiss her. She wanted nothing to do with Thornwood or its staff. She had written to her mother and awaited only a reply before she would head back to London and home.
"You should eat more, my lady. I would hate to see your health decline. Lord Thornton would have wanted you to stay in good spirits," Mrs. Morgan added.
Catherine nodded in response. It seemed none but she remembered anything about the night of the ball. Catherine alone was burdened to remember every gruesome detail of that night. She had been down to the foyer the next day, and where there had been gashed wood panels, fresh polished wood gleamed. The broken vases and spoiled artwork had been replaced as if there had never been a battle between two monsters just beside it.
"Miss Brown, I will finish attending her ladyship," Mrs. Morgan said.
Miss Brown ducked her head and slipped out of the room, leaving Catherine and the housekeeper alone. Catherine turned and held her breath. She was waiting for the penny to drop. She had been expecting this for days. Let's get this over with.
Mrs. Morgan inhaled and exhaled heavily. "This is difficult for me to say." Mrs. Morgan fixed Catherine with her gaze. "My family has served the guardians of the Thorns for generations. When you arrived, something about you felt... off. His lordship was not himself when he returned, and I knew you had bewitched him. I tried to send you away, and I would expel
you from this house had they not chosen you as the next guardian..."
Catherine's stomach dropped. "I beg your pardon?" Catherine asked. She had assumed the staff was ignorant to the Thorn Dwellers and their peculiar customs.
Mrs. Morgan pressed her lips into a line. "Do not pretend. I know you have been courted by Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. I saw one of them bring you to your room late at night. I do not know what pact you made with them, but I will see it undone. My grandmother was a hedge witch, a powerful one, and she taught me enough. I will break your hold on this place. One way or another."
Catherine's head was swimming. "I am not the guardian. That cannot be possible." She clutched onto the vanity for balance.
"Believe me I am as baffled as you. I have scoured the family records. By all accounts, the next in line should be Lord Thornton's cousin Henry Thornton. I can only assume because he is in India he is beyond their reach."
Catherine nodded her head. "I want nothing to do with this place. I plan to leave as soon as matters are settled here."
Mrs. Morgan's frown deepened, but she said no more on the subject. However, her disapproval was written in every line of her body. "Is there anything else, my lady?"
"No, thank you," Catherine said and turned away to hide her shaking hands. They cannot possibly keep me here. I refuse.
Mrs. Morgan bowed at the waist and left Catherine alone. The door slammed shut, and Catherine sank down onto the edge of her bed. Her hands were shaking as she balled them into fists on her lap. A few errant tears rolled down her cheeks; she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She took a few moments to compose herself. When she felt she could manage to face her guests, she went to the mirror and examined her puffy red eyes and her rosy cheeks. At last I have some color, she thought sardonically.
She exited her room for the first time in days and headed down the stairs. The carriage had been brought around, and she climbed inside to ride to the church where the funeral service would be held. Being inside the carriage brought back terrifying memories of that night Edward was attacked. She was able to manage them with an effort, but it left her wondering. If I had remembered, could I have saved Edward from his fate? It was thoughts like these that had troubled her since his death.
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