by Ron C. Nieto
With a grin, she sat curled up against the headboard and began to read. She was pretty sure Troy had meant for her to sleep when he told her to prepare for the upcoming meeting, but as he had said, it was all about the wording.
Trying to learn how to behave in a Faerie Court definitely counted as “preparing,” didn’t it?
A knock startled Lily out of a light dozing what felt like minutes later. Blinking madly, she hid the notebook back in the knapsack and called out, “Come in!”
She had been expecting Troy. Hevana entered instead.
“Herald,” she said, offering a smile that appeared sincere. If Lily’s slept-in gown, disheveled hair, or bleary eyes freaked her out, she made no comment. “The Council will start anon, and Her Majesty would have me escort you. Are you ready?”
“One moment.”
Lily took a deep breath and stood up, her body protesting the lack of rest as much as her awkward reading posture. The gown fell into place effortlessly, any evidence of wrinkles erased as the fabric swished around her ankles. Fishing for her slippers, she put them on while patting down her hair and tucking in the errant strands that had escaped their boundaries.
There. She glanced at the mirror above the vanity and winced at her reddened eyes. Not perfect, but they won’t expect perfect from a human anyway. Nothing else I can do now.
“Ready,” she said. “I just need one more detail.”
Hevana’s eyes widened when she saw what she was about to do, and she shook her head ruefully. “I can see why Kelpie would claim you, if I may say so.”
Lily gritted her teeth. There it was again, the assumption she was nothing but an object to him. A possession.
“You’re not the first to tell me,” she told the breathtaking sidhe, hoping her smile looked at least polite, if not genuine. “I don’t really understand it, myself.”
“You are a unique whirlpool of unseen depth,” Hevana said, entering the room and closing the door behind her. “Just like him. And now, we do have a little time yet to prepare for the council. Let us make it count.”
C H A P T E R XVI
Appearances are paramount. Nothing speaks louder than your posture, her grandmother’s notebook had said.
Lily drew back her shoulders, straightened her spine, and lifted her chin while Hevana knocked on the double doors to the Council Chamber and announced her arrival. The other advisers were already attending their Queen, but Lily didn’t allow it to matter.
You can’t be unpunctual where there’s no time.
And in the world of faeries, belief made truth, and truth was real, and that was all that mattered.
Lily let her belief pour into her backbone, casting in iron her spine, and strode into the chamber. She strode because she knew she couldn’t glide, not when competing against the inhumanly graceful sidhe, and so she didn’t even try. Trying to imitate them would be ridiculous, but she could—and would—show them she understood there was a difference between them and wasn’t willing to let it stand in her way.
The low-level chatter of the councilors went silent the moment she entered. All eyes turned to her, apathy and condescension morphing into shock, outrage, amusement, and curiosity.
Good.
“In politics, be prepared to be treated as nothing of consequence if you present yourself as nothing of note.” Lily could almost hear her grandmother’s voice reading her the guidelines she had written based on her interaction with Cadowain and the Seelie courtiers.
In her peripheral vision, Lily caught a hint of an encouraging smile on Hevana’s lips while passing her by, but she didn’t allow herself to get caught up in it. Her whole focus was on the Queen, and she made eye contact with no one else.
“Your Majesty,” she said, stopping with the other counselors. She inclined her head but didn’t curtsy.
“Herald.” Had the Queen smiled? Had her nod been welcoming? “Be welcome.”
It was impossible to gauge the mood of such a pristine face or to know what eyes like hers would think of her display, having seen the world go by. If it weren’t, Lily would say the Unseelie Queen had judged her and found her sufficient. She didn’t relax, of course not, but she did allow herself to take in the chamber and the other councilors.
This. This was what she had expected Winter to be like.
Below her feet, water. There were no currents and she saw no fish, but there was no mistaking the quiet darkness of the deep—the Council Chamber had been built over a subterranean loch, its surface and the walls of the cave hiding it covered in a thick layer of translucent ice-like crystal. The chamber seemed to follow the natural shape of the cave, an irregular oval, and the walls were supported by thick prisms acting as columns. At the far end, a tapestry so vibrant Lily couldn’t begin to guess its material depicted a scene much like the one before her eyes: the Queen sitting on an exquisite chair upon a raised dais, geometric designs engraved on the icy throne to form delicate patterns reminiscent of snowflakes and swirling storms all over the armrests and back. In front of her, there was a table supported at each corner by a pillar carved in the likeness of a wolf. The angle of the tapestry showed two of them, each presenting a different attitude. One stood proud and tall, ears erect and eyes attentive, hind legs flexed as if he were about to break into a run. The other crouched low, ears flattened, and teeth showing in a snarl. Curiosity and fear, Lily realized. The councilors, proud sidhe of fair skin and fairer hair one and all, stood around it, holding delicate glasses in their hands and discussing something or other with too much calculation and not enough passion to truly care. The wall at the background of the tapestry was covered with a tapestry, and it too depicted the Queen sitting on her exquisite chair, presiding her Council as her courtiers gathered about a table with no chairs.
Lily blinked and brought her attention back to the here and now.
The Queen sat on her exquisite chair, presiding over her Council, and the courtiers gathered around the table prepared to play the game.
“Statement of business,” said one of the courtiers. He stood to the left of the Queen, and his severely tied-back hair, tight-fitting, starched clothes, and straight posture made him look more like another ornamental fixture than like a person. His voice, while melodious as befitting a sidhe, held a nasal undertone that grated on Lily’s nerves from the first. “The Unseelie Court is in possession of the Wild Horn, as evidenced by the mortal who stands before us holding the title of Herald for the Wild Hunt.”
As if the courtier’s words had granted them permission, the councilors’ attention shifted from Lily to the Wild Horn.
When Hevana had suggested they prepare for the council, Lily had been weary. She had pictured Troy standing behind her shoulder, tutting at her gullible nature, telling her not to trust a faerie. However, she had thought upon the words, examined them from every angle—they had been simple enough, and they hadn’t suggested gratitude, or favors, or demands. On top of that, Hevana had smiled, and it had been the smile of someone up to no good, perhaps, but it had also been conspiratorial. The sidhe lady wasn’t playing tricks on Lily; instead, she was joining Lily’s team to play a trick on the Unseelie Court.
The wisdom of playing such a trick was debatable, but it was also the best move in the game. As Troy had pointed out, they were in play whether they wanted to or not, so their only choice was to go for the win or to lie down and wait for defeat.
Losing wasn’t an option, so Lily had accepted Hevana’s help with a nod. No new gown had been provided, so Lily still wore the same silvery-green, off-the-shoulder, breathtaking dress she had put on the night before for the dinner reception. The fabric still smelled fresh, and the creases from sleeping on it had smoothed out and disappeared the moment she stood up, but still Hevana had touched it with a fine layer of glamour. Hevana had told her it had been pulled from the very air rather than from the her own essence, and it was meant to bleed back to its origins. While it lasted, however, it added a burnish to the silver tone, a diamond-like spark
le to the green. It made the dress ethereal and resplendent, and by extension, so was Lily. Then, Hevana had undone the knots she had tied in Lily’s hair the previous evening, styling her mane into a tumble of disorganized curls too wild and too thick to belong to a sidhe lady. While Hevana turned her hairdo into a declaration of identity and principles, Lily had been working on the last detail of her attire—cleaning the mud and dust, and polishing it until the ivory glowed with warmth and the metallic embellishments shone like the stars. When they both were finished with their respective tasks, Hevana had lent Lily her own belt, of mother of pearl, and she had secured that last detail to it.
The Wild Horn itself, hanging by her hip, prominently displayed and within easy reach.
A statement.
A bold one.
And now, it paid off.
Didn’t it?
For the first time, Lily allowed herself to seek out the one dark head in the Council Hall.
Troy stood to the left of Marast, which put him in one of the corners and nearly in front of the Queen. He wore his customary plain, dark clothes, his slicked-back raven hair shorter than any other faerie, and he grinned like a devil, as if the whole situation were a hilarious joke and he couldn’t wait for the punchline.
Unapologetically different, just like her, even when he was among his kind.
When he caught her eye, a rush of adrenaline flooded her system. There was a harshness hidden behind the amusement in the glint of his eyes—today, closer to moss than to emerald—and a hint of viciousness in his otherwise relaxed stance.
And every little detail, combined, told Lily he approved of her opening gambit, even if she herself couldn’t tell how she read him with such certainty.
Playing hard, playing to win.
She smiled, and it looked like a real smile because she imagined, believed, she was sharing it with him.
“The Herald speaks for the Wild Hunt,” she said, and if her nerves were eating her up inside, her voice didn’t show it. “I confirm the Wild Horn is now before the Unseelie Queen and her chosen councilors.”
“The Council may begin,” said the stuck-up, nasal-toned sidhe.
“Our reach has been overextended,” said a stern sidhe who was clad in an honest-to-goodness suit of armor as soon as the leave was granted. “The search effort for the Horn now before us has demanded an increased presence of the Court while the mortal realm is at the height of summer, and such a display has sapped our strength. I suggest we withdraw and hold our decisions until we are fully recovered.”
“The search effort, Captain, has meant little damage to our core.” Marast, who had remained stoic so far, not even acknowledging Lily, spat the words with a rigid smile, like sweetened poison darts. “After all, your Winter Guard has not been required to assist.”
“Of course, it was your quest to undertake. The Court is well aware of the fact,” the Captain retorted. “As you insisted upon it endless times and kept refusing any assistance graciously offered.”
“Graciously offered against the express wishes of our most gracious Queen.”
“If memory serves, there were no words at all regarding the implication of the Winter Guard.”
“There were words charging me, as Royal Hunter, with the retrieval.”
“Minutiae,” sneered the Captain.
“The Queen’s words, you mean?” Marast splattered a layer of fake surprise over his smug expression, and the Captain’s hard stare intensified under a deep scowl at being caught in an obvious faux pas.
“But you did accept the assistance of Kelpie here, if I am not mistaken?” The quiet, quiet voice belonged to a smaller sidhe, his delicate features and thin frame combining with long, pale strawberry blond hair to present an effeminate, mild exterior belied by calculating golden eyes. He held a quill in his hand that appeared to have been made of an albino peacock feather and tapped it against his lips. “Surely you do not mean to imply you disregarded her words in his case?”
“Indeed not. Kelpie did not assist me in my search, after all.”
“That he did not.” The golden-eyed councilor smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “As I understand, there was no collaboration. Kelpie found the Wild Horn all by himself, did he not, Royal Hunter?”
“You offer me far too much praise, Chronicler,” said Troy. “I merely found the Herald.”
“And what a convenient find that was, if I may say so,” interrupted nasal-voice.
Troy bowed his head and grinned. “There are troves of treasure to be discovered if one ranges far and wide, away from the heart of the Court. You surely do realize there is a land beyond the Gates of Winter, Chamberlain?”
“I know the wonders of mortal and fay realm far better than you,” said the Chamberlain, his nasal tones made more acute by a fit of outrage barely under control. “Some of us have made extensive use of the library while others were content to exist and wander.”
“You did not know where to look for the Horn despite your extensive research,” commented the Chronicler, pointing his quill at the Chamberlain.
“How would I have? Do you honestly expect me to predict a bland mortal would find it? To narrow their overwhelming numbers to this one mortal who comes to us calling herself Herald?”
“A mouthpiece made of iron and one bloodline of Faerie Doctors left in the Highlands. It appears to me the connection could conceivably have been made.” The Chronicler maintained his perfect façade while he jotted something down on a piece of parchment propped in his lap, but his quiet voice became cheerful and mocking.
The Chamberlain took a moment too long to reply, and the Chronicler sketched a tiny smile when he finally sputtered a reply.
“Beyond the point. As the Royal Hunter so helpfully points out, it was his task and I was not consulted.”
Lily kept her posture from budging like it was the one shield standing between her and her certain demise, and she reminded herself she stood in the Council Hall of the Unseelie Queen.
She told herself over and over that the councilors were immortal faeries, devious and twisted beings who jockeyed for power for a living. They weren’t bratty kids, and they didn’t need their ears boxed.
Her gaze flickered to the Queen, who looked down on her councilors with a peaceful and apparently benign expression, and then she couldn’t resist seeking Troy out again.
His mask eased a little around the edges and he arched a brow, hinted an eye roll.
“See? This is what I meant about this taking a while,” he seemed to say. Except he would probably use fancier words.
Lily shrugged a shoulder, just a bit, just enough for him to see.
“I understand why you don’t like this,” she tried to tell him.
She was sure that the councilors were very much aware of her, but for the time being, they were too caught up in their bickering to plunge her into the game right away. Dealing with their usual rivals in the usual ways must have been ingrained in their routine, and Lily found she could identify those roles, those routines.
More or less.
She could see plain as day that Marast and the Captain had a bone to pick—perhaps because their duties could overlap, and they competed directly for the Queen’s favor and attention. If she had to bet, she would say that those two, with their air of ancient knights, were the ones closest to being direct and honest. Of course, direct and honest for a faerie wasn’t saying much in human terms, but they did seem the kind of courtiers who preferred to settle their disputes with steel rather than with intrigue.
At first, she had thought the Chronicler stood with the Captain, but now she thought he stood alone. His eyes told the story his mild appearance tried to hide. He seemed to like opposing people and stirring up conflict, perhaps so there would be battles and duels he could chronicle about. Or perhaps he had taken up chronicling because he enjoyed those moments of heated argument and bloody battle that changed the course of History. Regardless, Lily would expect him to find out what the Council was agreeing on a
nd to challenge it. She would have to be careful about him.
The Chamberlain reminded her of one of those old grandfatherly types, who always thought the olden times were better and who mistrusted new and foreign things. She was sure he liked his Court to stay where it was, and preferred the mortal realm to stay distant and unobtrusive, and he would resent her for so many things. Being human, being with Troy, bringing changes in the form of the Horn, heralding something as far from his control as the Wild Hunt . . . the reasons were endless, and Lily didn’t doubt he would cling to as many of them as he could.
Each of the four councilors, assuming Marast was a regular member, as he seemed to be from the endless verbal parrying thing he had going with the rest, represented a very different point of view. One was clearly a soldier, the other a stealthy lone wolf. Then, there was a cautious traditionalist and a devil’s advocate who would always exploit the weak spot of any suggestion.
This bunch won’t ever agree on anything. It must make for good counseling, since they’re bound to come up with lots of different suggestions. Lily sneaked another glance at the Queen, presiding over her bickering councilors. Unless she just picked them for the entertainment value, of course.
As if the Queen had heard Lily’s thoughts, she chose that moment to stand. The four councilors fell silent at once, and she inclined her head in acknowledgment.
“Councilors,” she said. “Notwithstanding the manner by which it was acquired, We find the Wild Horn in Our possession, and thus We require your sage advice. This Council Chamber must make a decision, the import of which not even We can fathom, and so We have invited the Herald to raise her voice and make her opinion known regarding this matter. She shall speak for the Wild Hunt, and Our faithful Kelpie shall speak for her, in keeping to a prior bargain. Therefore, there are six minds, but five voices shall offer their counsel. We shall take such counsel to heart when pronouncing the course of action.