The Eighth Court tcotf-4

by Mike Shevdon

  At least it didn’t start howling.

  By the time we had completed the full circle and were back at the house it was dark. The evening was turning into one of those winter evenings where the sky clears, the temperature drops fast and by morning everything will have a layer of frost. A three-quarter moon edged in a halo of silver climbed over the horizon.

  Everyone was frozen. Having been warned to take warm clothing, most people had still been unprepared. Megan passed me, her fleece zipped up and her scarf wrapped around her ears.

  “At least we’ll have an appetite,” she said.

  I waited until Alex and the other youngsters wandered in at the last.

  “I’m freezing my rocks off,” said the dark-eyed girl in a broad Bristol accent.

  “Nah,” said Sparky. “We’ve seen colder than this, haven’t we, Alex?”

  Alex let them continue into the house. She was wearing a blue cardigan which barely covered her shoulders. “You must be frozen,” I told her.

  “Like Sparky says, once you’ve been really cold…”

  “Get yourself inside. Lesley has mulled wine to warm everyone up. There’ll be some time to get changed afterwards, if you want to.”

  “Damn,” she said, glancing back into the darkness. “I’ve left my outfit back at the courts. What with all the fuss this afternoon, I didn’t bring it.” There was something evasive in that. The way she said it was a little too easy, almost as if she’d planned it.

  “What are you up to?” I asked her.

  “A girl’s got to look nice,” she said, eyes wide. She looked down at her clothes “I can’t wear this, I have mud all over my jeans. Besides, all my hair stuff is back at the courts and the bathrooms here are going to be crazy busy.”

  “You can use the one in our room,” I said, but the look she gave me told me that was not going to satisfy her.

  “I don’t have my outfit,” she said.

  I knew I was being conned, but I wasn’t quite sure in what way. Sometimes, however it pays to give in gracefully. “You’ll be back in time for the swearing-in,” I said. “Promise?”

  “I’ll be back,” she said.

  “Promise,” I insisted.

  “I’ll be back in time for the party, and you can give me a hard time if I’m not,” she said.

  It was as good as it was going to get.

  There was a knock on Tate’s door.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “It’s me,” said Alex in a hoarse whisper. She opened the door enough to peer around the edge. “Are you busy?”

  Tate was lying across the top of his bed, reading a book. “You’d better come in,” he said. She could see his hair was draped forward around his face, the waves in it catching the light from the lamp. He closed the book gently and placed it on the bed. The leather cover was worn where it had been handled, as if he’d read it many times. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “The shower’s not working in my room,” she said. “I wondered if I could come and use yours.”

  “Yours is not working?” he said.

  “I need to get changed. The big party starts in a while and I’ve got a lovely dress to wear. Would you like to see?”

  “See?” he said.

  “You keep repeating things I say,” she said to him.

  “Repeating…” he said. “Yes, I do.”

  “Well?” she said, getting a little bit annoyed with him now. This was not the reception she was expecting.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your shower, is there Alex?”

  “It’s not working,” she protested.

  “Why isn’t it working?” he watched her struggle to come to an explanation he would accept.

  “It was working yesterday,” she said.

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said.

  “I’m not lying,” she said. “It was.”

  “Alex, you have an ability with water. If you wanted a shower to work, it would work.”

  “OK,” she said, flushing with anger. “I’ll go and try it again.” She turned to the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked her.

  “I’m going back to my room to see if I can get the frickin’ shower to work.” Now she sounded sulky and resentful.

  “I thought you were going to show me your dress,” he said.

  “I need to get changed. I’ll come back later, maybe.”

  Her hand was on the door handle. “Alex?” She stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “What did you really come for?” He thought she would bolt, back to her room. She stood there, hand on door handle, clothes draped over her arm. He waited, allowing her time to think.

  “I thought…” she said, still facing the door. “I thought, we haven’t seen each other all day, and you’ve been busy and me too, to be honest, and I have to go to this party tonight cause my Dad will kill me if I don’t go, so I won’t see you until tomorrow at least and I thought…”

  “Yes?” said Tate.

  “Never mind,” she said, tugging on the door handle, which seemed stuck all of a sudden.

  “Alex?” said Tate.

  “Ugh! Wretched thing. It’s stuck.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” his voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

  “You don’t?” she said.

  He scooted across the bed, so that he could sit in the edge. “Put your clothes down on the bed.”

  She placed the bundle on the bed next to him. He reached for her hand and guided her in front of him. Even sitting he was almost as tall as she was standing up. “If you use my shower, you’ll be naked in my room,” he said.

  Her tummy was doing tumbles. “I can lock the bathroom door, if you want.”

  “It doesn’t have a lock,” he said, reaching for the buttons on her shirt. He started undoing each one. They looked tiny in his fingers. He untucked the shirt from her waist. His hand slipped under her shirt and around her back and he drew her forward so that he could kiss her neck. She slipped the shirt from her shoulders and it fell on the floor.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “I’m going to be late for the party.”

  “We have plenty of time,” said Tate, undoing the button of her jeans.

  “No,” she said, kissing him full on the mouth. “I am definitely going to be late.”

  “What are you looking so nervous about,” asked Blackbird. She was wearing a teal shot-silk dress which made her look every inch the Lady of the Eighth Court.

  “Alex was supposed to be back by now,” I said

  “Alex? I thought she was getting changed.”

  “She left her outfit at the courts and she went back for it. She promised me she’d be back in time for this evening’s events.”

  “She went back to the courts?” said Blackbird, eyebrow lifting.

  “What?” I asked her. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Blackbird. “We need to be downstairs in three minutes. Angela will be waiting for us. Put your jacket on. Have you checked your sword?”

  I slipped into my best jacket, one without bullet holes. “Yes. I even polished the edge.”

  “Then you may escort me,” said Blackbird. I held open the door and as she passed she held out her arm so that I could entwine mine in hers. As we went down the stairs, keeping step, I could hear the gathering of people in the great hall. Snatches of conversation drifted to us.

  “…like some sort of demon…”

  “…all that is achieved by insects the size of your thumbnail…”

  “…he can’t have done that before, surely…?”

  The double doors were pulled back allowing us to see the newly decorated great hall. The room fell into silence. The fire crackled in the great hearth, warming the room, and I saw that Lesley had adapted some generic Christmas decorations to our purposes. The room was garlanded in green and gold, with gold baubles hanging from the ceilings and strings of white lights over the pictures and the hangings.

  There wa
s a burst of applause from somewhere near the back, and then everyone was clapping.

  “Smile,” said Blackbird through her teeth.

  “Why are they clapping?” I murmured to her.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just smile.”

  We entered the room slowly and a corridor opened up for us. We were guided around until we reached the back of the room where the double doors into the garden room had been shut to prevent the chill from the night cooling the room, though a little cool air would have been nice. We stood with our backs against the doors until the applause died down.

  I looked around, and there was a sea of faces. I tried to avoid catching anyone’s eye, but I could see Andy, the stubble from his face gone and his hair pulled back. He was wearing a lounge suit and looked handsome next to the woman who’d been wearing the miniskirt, who was now in a bright orange full-length dress and high heeled sandals. Megan wore a simple layered dress of muslin over gold silk. Even Sparky had dressed up, wearing a shirt and pencil-thin tie, standing next to the dark-eyed girl, who looked waiflike in a little black dress and kitten heels.

  “Tonight,” said Blackbird, “is a special night. It is the end of the year, and the beginning of a new year. The sun dips its lowest and returns tomorrow with new vigour. This is the longest night, and that renewal will take time, but it will come, as we all know.”

  She paused, looking around the room.

  “I have summoned you here tonight because you are special, each of you. You carry with you the hope of a race whose vitality is fading like the dipping sun. It is my fervent and abiding hope that we will bring renewal to the Feyre as the sun brings spring to the earth.”

  The applause broke out again, and it was a short while before she could be heard.

  “That hope, like the first shoots of spring, must be fostered. It must be nurtured and brought to fruition. This court — the Gifted Court — the Eighth Court of the Feyre, begins tonight with the express purpose of fostering that hope and all who embody it. It is a night of rebirth, of transformation and renewal, and therefore I would ask each of you — if you wish to become part of that renewal, to step forward now and swear your allegiance to the Gifted Court in a blood oath.”

  TWENTY

  Garvin found the Dragon Hall in darkness. He’d been expecting some gathering, some celebration of the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. Instead the hall was empty and hollow. There was no music, no gathering of friends. In the dim light from the windows, the beams and struts across the high ceiling looked like the inside ribcage of some great beast — perhaps the dragon after which the hall was named. He went to the light switch and flicked it on and off. The electricity was out. It must have tripped.

  “Lord Krane? Lord Teoth?” Garvin moved into the pool of light where the moonlight slanted in from the side window, where he could be seen.

  “It was good of you to come,” said Krane stepping into the space before the opposite window so that he was outlined against the light.

  “And at such short notice,” said Teoth, moving out against the next window. “I appreciate that this is a difficult time for you — things are so… fluid.”

  “It is no more difficult than at any other time,” said Garvin. “My loyalty is to the High Court, and always has been. What is this about, my Lords?”

  “The High Court, ah yes,” said Krane. “It’s so much easier when we are united in our purpose. At the moment you must feel pulled in all directions.”

  “I will not take sides,” my Lords. “If you’re intending to ask me for my support, then you will be disappointed. I serve the whole court.”

  “You weren’t always so dispassionate, though, were you Garvin?” said Krane.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once you did take sides,” said Teoth. “You stood against the Seventh Court on the side of the mongrel fey. You murdered our brethren while protecting those who are less than fey.”

  “I defended the High Court,” said Garvin. “And those whom the High Court sheltered. I would remind you that some of my own Warders were among the gifted, and that they fought and died to protect you and the other Lords and Ladies that night.”

  A figure moved across the next window from Teoth. “You weren’t serving the whole court, though, were you Garvin?” said a soft voice.

  “Lord Altair,” said Garvin. What an unexpected….”

  “Pleasure?” asked the soft voice.

  “Indeed,” said Garvin, measuring the distance between the windows and the door. It was a long time since he’d been here. The building had been remodelled several times, extended, then partitioned, and finally restored to something resembling the original. He tried to remember where the exits had been.

  “I lost people that night, Garvin,” said Altair. “Good people.”

  “As did I,” said Garvin.

  “Your divided loyalty cost me greatly,” said Altair.

  “It was a night I will not forget,” said Garvin.

  “No,” said Altair. “You won’t.”

  “What do you want?” asked Garvin. “I take it this is not a social call. My Lords, you keep interesting company on solstice night.”

  “Unlike you,” said Altair, “they have chosen the side on which they prefer to be.”

  “We’re choosing sides are we?” asked Garvin. Around him he could feel the prickle of power building in the room. His first thought was for escape to warn the others, but the door would be blocked, obviously. The windows, then. Behind him a shadow inserted itself into the space before the window, blocking that exit.

  All around the room, ghostly figures flickered into being, first one, then another. They were blacker than the shadows in which they stood, and outlined in numinous fox-fire that flickered like fingers of light. The circle of figures tightened around Garvin and the mouth of the trap closed.

  There was a hiss as Garvin’s staff separated into a blade and a silver shod scabbard. “I would remind you, Lord Krane, Lord Teoth, of the duty of protection owed to the Warders. You invited me here.”

  “So we did,” said Krane. “Unfortunately, things appear to have changed.”

  “The High Court is still the High Court,” said Garvin, warily watching the circling wraithkin. “The Warders are still the Warders.”

  “The High Court is one of the things that have changed,” said Altair. “Everything must die, and it has reached the end of its usefulness. It’s been dissolved.”

  “You can’t dissolve the High Court,” said Garvin. “You don’t have that authority.”

  “Do I not?” said Altair. “Krane? Teoth? What say you?”

  “I say aye,” said Teoth.

  “As do I,” said Krane.

  “You are not quorate,” said Garvin. “It’s a minority decision.”

  “No,” said Altair. “Kimlesh was stabbed through the heart with Yonna’s own bone-handled knife. It is a sweet irony, is it not?”

  “Yonna and Kimlesh are allies,” said Garvin. “Yonna would never do that.”

  “I never said she did it,” said Altair. “Kimlesh was killed by one of her own, though that fact was lost on her court who took their revenge on Yonna and drowned her in her own blood.”

  “Impossible,” said Garvin. “No one from Kimlesh’s court could harm her. It would violate the oath of allegiance to their court. It would be suicide.”

  “True,” said Altair. “But some debts must be paid. There are many ways to die, and some are worse than others. It is a privilege denied to most to choose the manner of your own death. Some would rather flee, it seems. Mellion is nowhere to be found. The Goblin Court has vanished.”

  “Vanished?” said Garvin.

  Altair continued. “At their solstice feast, Barthia and many of her court died in a tragic fire — a terrible way to go, especially with the windows and doors all sealed. I’m told that sand turned to glass, the heat was so intense.”

  “Why?” asked Garvin. “You’re destroying everything. Why?�
��

  “Sometimes there must be death in order for there to be renewal,” said Altair. “You cannot always succeed with negotiation, and so must turn instead to the sword, speaking of which, it’s time you were finally repaid for the lives you took.”

  They moved in as one. Garvin’s sword flashed in the darkness, and blades rang together. A shadow darted in, and the silver end of Garvin’s staff found an eye. There was a scream and a sound of crunching bone. One of the shadows fell back into darkness. Without breaking step his blade swept around, clearing space, opening up the fight as he moved across the circle, forcing his opponents back. If he was going to break out, it had to be quick. He could not win a long fight against so many. The circle of ghostly figures distorted into an oval. He carved diagonal arcs of glinting light as he worked his way towards the door. His sword rang each time he parried a cut, the long staff clattering against steel as he pushed to break the circle, which now tightened and bunched as he neared the door. With blades stabbing in from all sides, he whirled to deflect each attack, but with so many, it was inevitable something would get through. An initial stab drew a gasp of pain, a slice across the arm another. The circle turned with slow menace around him, slicing, stabbing; wearing him down.

  In a desperate attempt to break the circle he pushed away from the door. An upward slice produced a satisfying cry and he pressed the advantage into creating an opening, but it was all taking too long. The advantage was short-lived as another moved to take their place, and he was forced back into the ring. Now, one after another beat forwards to cut at him. It was a ring of slicing, cutting blades each falling in different time or stabbing in to catch him out. He cried out in anger as an opponent’s sword found its mark in his side, roaring at them in defiance, finding enough space to whirl around and take the head clean off one of the stabbing shadows. It was a reckless move — others lunged in, piercing his undefended flank. Relentlessly the circle closed, the blades hacking down, until it was a ring of rising and falling steel with only silence at the centre.