by Liz de Jager
‘How did they meet?’ I ask, expecting to be told of some exquisite Cinderella ball, but Thorn’s grin as he turns to me tells me I couldn’t be more wrong. ‘My mother rode as a competitor in a tourney to celebrate the first centenary of my father’s rule over Alba. It was a big festival with knights from all seven realms. The feasting and jousting went on for weeks. And during that time, my mother beat everyone she rode against. She was crowned champion at the end of the event and when my father handed her the winner’s crown, she laid down her sword at his feet and declared herself to him.’
‘By declare you mean she told him she loved him?’ I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. Gutsy lady!
Thorn nods and grins. ‘It was a huge risk. They had only met a few times, had never really spent time alone together and yet they had fallen in love so passionately that my mother risked exile from Alba by declaring herself in front of all his subjects.’
‘She placed all her trust in him,’ I say, feeling sick. ‘He could have turned away, told her that he didn’t feel the same way.’
‘He could have, but he didn’t. He accepted her public declaration, went down on one knee and offered her his sword in return. They were married the next summer.’
Thorn’s mum sounded insanely cool and frightening. If she rode in a tourney, it meant she was as tough and strong as any of Alba’s knights. Not quite the image I had for the High Queen of Alba.
‘Was it only the age thing that worried your Courts?’
‘No. My mother was the daughter of a poor nobleman from a small island off the coast of Greenland.’ Thorn frowned. ‘When she came to court, to be with my father, she brought nothing with her except for a handful of storm-swept islands, a group of fierce warriors and their families. The warriors – they are called Stormborn – refused to acknowledge my father and only took orders from my mother. Of course, rumours started at Court. Most of them were that she was going to kill my father and take the throne. Now and again this rumour would start all over again.’ He sighs impatiently. ‘Any fool with eyes and a heart has only to be in their presence for five minutes to realize how dedicated they are to each other. Shortly after they were married my mother surprised an assassin sent to kill him and almost died when she was stabbed. The blade was poisoned and death kept her company for two weeks before Istvan found the cure and brought her back.’
‘You spoke about Istvan before. Who is he?’ How long have I known Thorn now, I wonder, keeping my eyes on the road as we drive. Two, three days? The time we’ve spent together feels sort of meshed into a tangle of conversations, little sleep and fights, so it’s hard to be subjective but I still find it strange listening to him talk about his family and his life in the Otherwhere.
‘Istvan’s been part of our family for many years. His father sent him to be fostered by mine when he was only a baby. He grew up with my brothers and has become one of my father’s closest confidants.’ He gives a wry smile. ‘But whereas my father is all about the future and the Fae presence in both worlds, Istvan is about our glory days and our past. I sometimes think my father forgets about us, that we need his attention, and so Istvan was the one we went to when we fought or got caught raiding the kitchen gardens or when we were observed kissing a girl.’ He clears his throat and flushes. ‘Not me, obviously, but my brother Kieran, so I’m told.’
Worried that things are turning a bit maudlin, I keep my voice light. ‘All of this sounds officially insane. Your mum sounds amazing. She must not have been happy about the rumours when she married your dad.’
‘Oh, about her trying to take over as high king? There are plenty more stories to choose from. The one that’s always been my favourite is that my mum is dragon-kin. She has no small ability controlling fire, which of course makes for lots of gossip.’
‘And is it bad being dragon-kin?’ I try not to think of the golden scales shining beneath his skin or the animal wildness in his eyes I remember from the chimera fight.
‘Fae cannot be with other creatures,’ he tells me, after a short painful pause. It takes me a few seconds to realize what he means by be and my eyebrows climb up in surprise. I shoot him a wild look and his expression is one of discomfort. Something in his voice, apart from the fact that we are talking about sex and procreating, makes me listen carefully. ‘It is forbidden. There are records going back thousands of years showing that unions with other races create terrifying monsters. You call them freaks of nature. So of course you can imagine how much fun they had at Court when Eadric chose to pick on me as the downfall of the kingdom. The rumours about dragon-kin were raised once more and my one hereditary title that comes with being the seventh son of the seventh son took on a whole new meaning.’
I lift my hands off the steering wheel. ‘You lost me; I don’t know any of your titles.’
‘Oh.’ He waves airily, the gesture contrasting heavily with his serious expression. ‘I have a great many – most of them don’t mean much. But the one that gives ammunition to those at Court looking for something to cause trouble over is “Voice of the Dragon”.’
‘Really? It’s a bit pompous, isn’t it?’
His wry look makes me laugh. ‘I’m a Sidhe noble. We thrive on pompous.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
We’ve been driving for what seems hours, deeper and deeper into the Cairngorms without it getting darker, when Thorn points out of the window. I know the place is big, with its forests, mountains, lochs and rivers, but I’m pretty sure we’ve somehow driven into a pocket between the worlds where it seems to be perpetually damp and twilight.
‘We’re here.’
I look at the direction he points in and I laugh incredulously. An armoured warrior astride a horse the colour of darkest midnight is racing across the valley to intercept Olga’s car ahead of us. They spot the rider too and slow down, bringing the car to a halt in the middle of the road. We stop just behind them and Thorn gets out of the car, pulling on his new padded coat. I follow him as I button up my own coat and go stand next to Olga and Aiden, who looks surprisingly subdued in the presence of the giant warrior mounted on one of the biggest horses I’ve ever seen. The image in my mind of wisp-thin beautiful warriors on ethereal horses prancing in twin columns along a forest road is banished. This warrior is larger than life and his horse is the size of a truck as they loom over us.
My breath plumes white in front of me, as if I’m exhaling cigarette smoke, and I dig my hands deeper into my coat pockets, squishing my shoulders up against the cutting wind. I huddle next to Olga, who’s only wearing a light sweater and jeans, and she puts an arm around me, giving me a quick squeeze.
The rider, in full moulded blackened armour, complete with horned great helm, sits unmoving in the middle of the road. He has a red pennant tied to his lance and for a second I see the strong black outline of a lion rampant on the field of red before the wind ruffles the pennant, curling it back on itself.
‘Corash, one of my mother’s personal guards,’ Thorn says over his shoulder. He steps forward, moving to stand before the giant warrior astride his equally monstrous-looking horse. They face each other for the longest moment, just staring at each other, before the mounted warrior shifts in his saddle.
‘Your highness?’ The voice is muffled but I can hear the surprise in the warrior’s voice. ‘Thorn?’
Thorn says something that sounds lilting and amused in his language and the warrior chuckles. He raises a gauntleted hand and lifts the visor, revealing a craggy face and dark eyes.
‘Your mother will be pleased to have you safely back with her.’ He leans down and grips Thorn’s wrist, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. I’m impressed that Thorn takes the greeting without falling over. ‘Boy, you led us a merry chase.’
‘At least I am here now,’ Thorn says. ‘How are my parents, Corash?’
‘They are well, my prince. Your mother is seething, your father is brooding.’ His smile is wide, revealing strong white teeth against a shaggy beard and tanned skin.
He turns to look at us, his glance brief, definitely dismissive, and I have to admit that as a group we don’t look all that impressive. ‘These are the companions you brought with you? Then they too are welcome.’ His bow is perfunctory, attesting to good manners. Even if he doesn’t think much of us, he isn’t about to insult Thorn by saying so. ‘Your vehicles will be able to travel some of the distance to the camp at least. Follow me.’
‘Corash, before we go on, can you tell me if the Blackharts and the wolves are with my father?’
I catch hold of Olga’s arm and she puts a comforting arm round me as I await the answer, my heart thudding in my chest.
‘They are. Worse for wear in some instances, but then they aren’t Fae trained.’ His grin indicates a joke and I close my eyes for a second in relief. ‘Come. They were told of your arrival some hours ago. We have warm tents and food ready.’ Aiden shares my look of relief as we turn and pile back into both cars. Corash leads us off the road and the Fae still arriving to join the camp make way for him, paying deference to the queen’s emissary by dipping their heads.
‘What do you think he means by them being the worse for wear?’ I ask Thorn after a few seconds.
‘Corash likes to tease. He is the joker of the Stormborn family.’ He surveys the camp speculatively. ‘I don’t know what he means, though. Maybe they’ve been in a battle or two?’
‘At least they’re here,’ I say, feeling my shoulders relax for the first time in days. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if we’d got here and there was no sign of them.’
‘I know.’ His voice is low. ‘And you’ll be reunited soon enough. You’ve come to the end of your journey.’
I grin and nod. ‘And you’re back with your mum and dad.’
His smile’s not as bright as I would have expected, but I put it out of my mind as I concentrate on not overturning Lolita on the bumpy field. Not only is she able to corner like a dream on a tarmac road, but it feels as if she has inbuilt HGV suspension, or maybe that’s just Megan’s magic mechanic abilities.
The valley below us is the size of around eight football pitches and is packed with neat rows of thousands of tents. There’s a parade ground to one side, where armoured soldiers are doing various drills. I watch for a second, mesmerized by their coordination. Even from up here we can hear the clash of weapons against shields as they form an impenetrable wall of armour and steel.
Cooking fires are lit across the field and the scent of baking bread and stew teases my growling stomach. The wind snaps at hundreds of multicoloured pennants. And, with the light coming from the fires, and lanterns along the walkways, the camp exudes a festive air.
Next to me, Thorn points to the middle of the camp and I spot a pavilion that dwarfs the others. The fluttering pennants flying above it display a gryphon outlined on a field of white.
‘My parents’ tent,’ he says needlessly.
Corash gestures that this is as far as we go by car but instead of escorting us further, he canters off – his task fulfilled, I guess.
As I get out of the car I’m unable to look away from the expanse of tents below. It looks like the Roman army encampments I’ve seen depicted in books, only far, far bigger than anything I could have imagined. The sheer scale is breathtaking and terrifying, as is the thought of so many laying their lives on the line. In the age of the Xbox, I have forgotten how much more personal war involving hand-to-hand combat has to be.
Then a wave of sound echoes down the valley, and my magic surfaces and wraps around me in response. I feel lifted by it, my heart filling with excitement.
‘They’re using powerful magics,’ Olga says. ‘If you look, you can see they’ve forced a portal open in the Veil – the barrier that separates our world and the Otherwhere. Look. You can see the sorcerers over there.’
I eventually spot three cowled figures with their arms raised, standing in the middle of a stone circle. Olga points and I see another circle of stones a few hundred metres away. Three more cowled figures stand in a similar pose. ‘Listen.’
I close my eyes and I feel the vibration of magic under my skin and smile. ‘Fantastic,’ I say to her and she grins, nodding.
A lone figure is heading towards us up the slope. After a few seconds of staring I recognize my cousin Megan and let out a shout and run at her full tilt. We hug and I’m so happy to see her that I can’t actually speak properly. She’s laughing and crying at the same time, and it freaks me out a bit.
‘Oh, God, Kit. We thought you’d gone missing. We heard about the house.’ Her eyes well up and I find myself crying right along with her. We talk at one another not making any sense.
‘Why do you have phones if you don’t use them?’ I end up yelling.
She digs in her pocket and hands me her phone. ‘It’s dead! None of our stuff works here and we’ve not been allowed to leave.’ Then she spots Thorn and stiffens, stunned. ‘You found him,’ she says. ‘You’ve had the prince with you all this time?’
I look over at Thorn and beckon him closer to link arms.
‘I saved him from being a bunch of redcaps’ breakfast,’ I tell her. ‘Thorn, meet Megan, my cousin. Megan, this is Thorn.’
To my utter surprise Megan executes this perfect curtsy as if she’s in some Regency drama, dressed in silk and lace, rather than rugged hiking boots and a Barbour jacket.
‘Your highness, I am so pleased to meet you.’
Thorn doesn’t seem at all surprised at her curtsy. Instead he inclines his head graciously and takes her hand. ‘Miss Blackhart. The pleasure is mine.’ He bows over it, touching his lips to her hand before straightening.
Honestly? What is this? A Georgette Heyer novel? My look must speak volumes because Megan steps away from Thorn, still smiling, and I can see tiredness mixed in her mischievous expression.
‘I’m just remembering my manners,’ she tells me. ‘It’s rare actually to meet one of the high king’s brood, you know? They are A-listers in the Fae world.’ She rolls her eyes at me to show that she’s joking but there’s a streak of something beneath her jokiness that tells me there’s more to all of this than she’s letting on. What worries me too is that we’ve only been apart a few days but she looks older to me, and weary. I wonder what exactly they’ve been through here.
Aiden’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to look at him with a start of guilt, having completely forgotten about him, if that was even possible.
‘Are you going to introduce us or am I just going to smile at her all evening and no doubt die of unrequited love on a battlefield in the next few days?’
Megan’s eyes go wide at that and she looks past me, up at Aiden. I know what guys see when they first see Megan: a tall, very attractive blonde girl with masses of curls, big soft grey eyes and a wide smiling mouth. She carries herself well and, like me, she owns her height, giving her decent poise. There’s nothing worse than seeing a tall girl not living up to her tallness.
The biggest thing in the Megan arsenal is this sweet expression that hides the wicked sense of humour, intelligence and stubbornness, easily letting people think they can take advantage of her.
‘This is my cousin, Megan,’ I say to Aiden. ‘Megan, this is Aiden Garrett. You know Olga, of course.’
‘So you’re the mysterious cousin that Kit’s been so keen to get to,’ Aiden says, his glance raking Megan’s lean form, taking in her no-frills outfit and the sword hilt sticking out over her shoulder. ‘I now understand why she was so worried. You look like you need all the help you can get. Being around all these Fae must be very tiring. Have they composed many love songs to your beauty yet?’
Megan’s laugh is the lightest thing ever and she grins up at him. ‘I’ve had a few proposals even, but fortunately your brother Shaun’s been looking after me.’
Aiden lets out a dramatic groan and clutches at his heart. ‘Damn his eyes,’ he says in a broken voice. ‘You’re lost to me already. I will have to turn to Kit to console me now.’
Tho
rn is looking irritable already and keen to get going.
‘I think it’s time we moved on. I’m sure we’d all like to get dry and maybe get something to eat.’
With that he starts off down the embankment and we follow in his wake.
‘Your father will be so pleased to see you. He has been out of his mind with worry,’ Megan says to him after a few paces.
‘I very much doubt that, but it is kind of you to say so.’ Thorn’s smile is friendly but vague, as he focuses on a group of soldiers heading straight for us. Their weapons gleam in the dim light and for a second I feel an air of menace. But then they salute smartly; the leader says something to Thorn in their rapid Fae language and stands back.
‘My father sent a guard to escort us to his tent,’ Thorn translates expressionlessly. ‘Apparently there’s concern about discipline in the ranks.’
Megan nudges me to prevent me from asking him what he means. Instead, the five of us are boxed in by the guards, four to each side of us, two each to the front and back, and a further two right at the front ostensibly ‘making way’ for the small retinue.
It feels more like house arrest than protection. And I’m not a small girl, but these guys in their armour and helms look the business, making even Aiden appear a stripling.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It takes us time to make our way through the encampment. A lot of people stop to catch a glimpse of Thorn and some call out, welcoming him back. But a lot of Fae hang back and watch, their expressions dark and shuttered.
Those who do call out to him seem to like him well enough, calling him ‘the young dragon’ or more formally, ‘your highness’. The guards don’t stop for anyone and the path they clear for us is met with scowls. The soldiers’ faces are partly covered by their helmets, but their visible features show no emotion.
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something very wrong. I casually drop my hand to the hilt of my sword, as if by accident, but Megan spots it.
‘Just relax,’ she whispers, so close that her breath tickles. ‘We’re walking through the Unseelie Court’s camp. Suola and Aelfric have been arguing since she got here. Tensions are high.’