by AK Mulford
“It doesn’t matter anymore, regardless.” She waved off the thought.
“King Norwood should bend to the Northern Court if he knows what’s good for him,” the fourth person said in a scratchy, thick voice.
“That’s blasphemy,” the female balked.
“You’re telling me if Vostemur walked in here you wouldn’t bend the knee to him?” the male’s eyebrows rose as he replied.
Remy’s magic stirred at the name of the Northern King. The conversation faded under her ragged breathing and her heart pounding in her ears. She needed to get out of there before she started glowing red. She pushed her way through the crowd, making her way toward the opened archway and the empty balcony beyond.
She was halfway through the crowd when she felt the air shift. Her whole body froze a second before the screams started.
The room filled with shrieks as the crowd pushed back against her, away from the center of the grand hall. All eyes held fast on the scene before them. Remy craned her neck to see past the tall male pushing in front of her.
She saw the flash of metal armor first. Three males stood in the center of the room. Clad in full suits of armor, they faced the dais. The one in the center held an empty burlap sack, the contents of which were strewn about his feet. Remy’s stomach roiled. They were severed heads.
“What is the meaning of this!” thundered King Norwood from his throne. A line of Eastern guards formed a step below the dais, protecting the King.
“Presents from King Vostemur,” the tallest guard boomed. The three of them were impossibly tall, seeming like giants in the fae crowd.
How could Remy have missed spotting them amongst the courtiers?
“King Vostemur would like to remind you—” the one holding the burlap sack had a heavy, grating voice, “—that this is what happens when you try to claim back disputed territory. These heads are from Valtene.”
Gasps echoed around the room. The throng of fae pressed in closer together like a flock of scared sheep. Remy tasted the fear, thicker in the air than muggy days in Saxbridge.
Valtene? Remy knew that name, but how?
In a split second she remembered it was a Western Court town that bordered the Northern Court. Was the North moving its borders into the Western Court?
“The same will happen with Falhampton if you do not heed his warning,” the tallest one said.
“Falhampton is an Eastern town. It has been for centuries!” King Norwood stood at last. He was tall, nearly the height of Fenrin, his lean build hidden by his heavy black coat and furs. The king glared at the armored soldiers.
“It is a Northern town now,” the tall soldier said. “You have one week to withdraw your troops, or you will be gifted more presents from King Vostemur.”
The Northern soldier spoke the words so lightly for the weight of his threat. It was tantamount to a declaration of war. Remy’s eyes kept darting back to the graying, twisted faces on the floor. She thought of how close she nearly came to the same fate when she was in the Western Court. Her heartbeat punched into her ribcage.
With his beady black eyes, King Norwood stared down at the soldiers for a long time. Remy waited for the orders for the Northern soldiers to be seized, but that order never came.
“Get out of my palace. Now,” Norwood finally said in a low, biting tone.
The soldiers sketched mocking bows. “Enjoy your presents, Your Majesty.”
The crowd parted, giving them a wide berth, and the soldiers stalked out of the hall. Their eyes were shadowed by the helmets that covered half of their faces, but she saw their smirking lips. No one touched them as the fae granted them free passage out of the castle.
The crowd began to murmur as the soldiers left, but King Norwood’s voice could still be heard, cutting above the rising din.
“You!” he shouted, pointing into the crowd. Remy followed the point of his finger and saw Hale. His face was hard, his brows furrowed as he stared up at his father. Talhan stood close to the prince’s side. “Get your soldiers, I need to speak with you. Now.”
The noise of the room rose into frantic chatter. Remy continued her push out to the balcony, skirting past the five rotting heads without looking at them again. The cool autumn air hit her, pulling her back to her senses.
Breathe, she instructed herself.
She should not have come here. The second she saw that invitation, she should have gotten back on that boat and left for the Southern Court. She had lost all sense of self-preservation not only to find the talismans but to be near Hale. That magnetism would be the death of her.
Shadows shrouded the sweeping palace gardens as Remy gazed out over them. Wandering further along, she moved away from the bright windows and into the quieter dimness of the balcony. With each step, she felt her pulse slow.
She needed to get out of the Eastern Court at once. They were wasting their time here. They needed to get the amulet of Aelusien and find Baba Morganna. If Vostemur had grown so bold that he did not question sending severed heads to a neighboring kingdom, then war was at their doorstep. Norwood, fearing repercussions, only proved Vostemur’s power by not killing the Northern soldiers. Vostemur must be close to cracking the blood bond on the Immortal Blade then, if he was becoming so bold. Remy had to get to it before he did.
The thought stabbed into her side like a blade. There was no time to question her path anymore. The world would not wait for her to be ready.
Remy made her way to the very edge of the balcony, where a small stained glass lantern perched. She stared into a flickering candle, watching the colors dance across the stone railing.
She stared for a long, silent stretch into the candlelight, trying to imagine any successful outcome to the Northern threat, but she could not. Every twist and turn favored Vostemur. Every time she thought she had a plan, another snag would unravel it. She needed the High Priestess of the red witches to tell her what to do.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” She knew that rough voice without even turning.
“It’s not a witch’s candle,” Remy replied, staring into the flame.
Whatever Hale’s father had told him, it had been quick. She did not know if that was a good or bad thing.
“I know.” Hale moved to her side, his eyes dropping to the dagger belted at her hip.
“I see Carys isn’t the only one who has been spending my money,” he laughed, guessing correctly who had obtained the dagger for Remy. “It’s an extravagant blade—I should take it out of Bri’s wages.”
“No, I . . .”
“I won’t. It suits you too well, anyway,” Hale cut in before Remy could protest anymore. She would offer to pay for it herself, but she had no money. Hale took another slow sidestep toward her. “You look beautiful.”
Remy kept her eyes averted. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She should have simply thanked him, but she couldn’t, not after what Hale had admitted on that boat.
“What did the King say?” Remy changed the subject.
“I will wait until we are elsewhere to tell you the finer details, but it is not good.” Hale rubbed his hand down his face. Remy wanted him to continue but knew he wouldn’t. It seemed like the walls were listening in this castle. “Of course he did still find the time to scold me for my general behavior, drinking and partying too much, the usual.” Remy had seen little of that side of Hale at all. Only for one night in Saxbridge, and that had all been a strategic show. It wasn’t the first time she had heard of his bachelor lifestyle, though.
“Renwick seemed to think that sort of behavior is normal for you too,” Remy mused. “I presume you have slept with many women?” Remy couldn’t believe she had asked that out loud. She had wondered it, but perhaps that quick chug of wine had loosened her tongue.
“There have been some dalliances over the years, though not as many as everyone seems to think.” Hale chuckled.
“Have you ever slept with Carys?” Remy felt like she had leapt off a cliff. She had wanted to ask th
at question so many times, but she never had the courage.
“No.” Hale regarded her for a moment before he continued. “You should have seen Carys when I invited her to join my crew. She was so . . . brokenhearted. She found a purpose again during the battles at Falhampton, but . . .” He rubbed his thumb across his pointer finger. “I may have been partial to a bit of philandering once upon a time, but I would never toy with someone like that, and definitely not someone whose heart is already broken. Besides,” he said, turning those gray eyes to her, “she was never the one for me, anyway.”
Those dangerous eyes made Remy a fool. She wanted to bare her soul to them. She wanted to spill every secret to those eyes, not caring if it consumed her.
“I don’t think you should be out here with me,” Remy breathed, breaking that spell. “You don’t want the King to see us together.”
Hale looked at his hands, let down. That hint of sadness shredded her. She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t shove him away.
Remy remembered what Belenus had said to her. Everything Hale touches ends in disappointment. Remy didn’t want to be another disappointment. She knew in that moment it was no longer a choice. Consequences be damned, she would follow him anywhere, even into hell itself. She rose onto her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on Hale’s cheek. He turned to her with surprise.
“Remy!” Carys called from the doorway. “I’m here to save you from an evening of royal boredom. The King’s councillors want to speak with you, Hale.”
Hale’s shoulders slumped by Remy’s side as Carys hooked a thumb toward the staircase at the other end of the gardens. “Let’s get out of here.”
Remy turned to look at Hale.
“Go.” He chuckled. “Save yourself.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Highness,” Remy said in a teasing tone.
“Hale,” he said in a vacant voice. “Only ever Hale to you.”
“Hale,” Remy said in a soft, breathless voice.
She watched the way his name on her mouth made him go still as she stepped away from him.
Chapter Eighteen
Carys and Remy neared the townhouse in the human part of the city. Remy’s fingers twitched with a sudden urge for magic. Her senses prickled at the silence. It was too quiet. They had walked through streets filled with equinox celebrations, but when they turned down this alley, it was dead. Every door was closed and every window on the street had shut their curtains. It was early in the evening still, the following day would be a day of rest, and yet the street seemed frozen.
Remy followed Carys warily back to the door of her sister’s house. Morgan opened it before Carys could knock. The halfling looked agitated but otherwise fine.
“All well?” Carys asked, adjusting her chest in her emerald dress for the hundredth time to keep anything from spilling out.
“Yep. Just as you said.” Morgan opened the door further and allowed Carys and Remy to enter. “Three of them came, nothing I couldn’t handle.”
They turned to their right, into the sitting room where they had slept. The room looked ransacked. Their packs lay emptied on the wooden chest, clothing and trekking gear strewn about the floor.
“What happened?” Remy gasped, looking to Morgan. The halfling stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.
“Eastern soldiers said they needed to search the house for an unknown reason,” Morgan said with a long-suffering sigh.
They had come for the Shil-de ring. They wanted it that badly.
“I’m so sorry.” Remy set her jaw to the side. This was her fault. She brought this chaos into Morgan’s life. Her eyes whizzed up to the ceiling. What about her children?
“It’s fine,” Morgan waved her hand, following Remy’s silent thoughts. “Carys warned me. I’ve been dealing with fae assholes my whole life. I sent Magnus and the kids to his parents’ house for the night.” No one would blink an eye at a halfling’s home being raided. They would all blame her for it, anyway. Morgan slid her blue eyes to Remy. “They found nothing.”
Remy felt the talisman’s magical pulse against her chest. She had brought her totem bag with her, tucked between her breasts and her corset. She thought about Belenus’s wandering black eyes. He had kept looking at her chest. Remy realized far too late that he was not admiring her figure but sensing the magic of the ring.
“I’m sure they’ll come back once they notice you’re not at the ball,” Morgan said, eyes boring into Remy’s chest. Remy wondered if the halfling sensed the ring’s magic, too, or was simply perceptive.
“That’s why we’re not staying,” Carys said, shimmying out of her dress. The fabric pooled around her ankles as she unabashedly stepped out of the circle of emerald. Picking up the dress, she laid it over the armrest of the couch. “Sell these dresses, Morgs, it’ll be a good bit of coin. Sorry about all this.”
“Anything for you, little sister,” the halfling said, that motherly warmth edging back into her voice. “Especially if you leave me with dresses that cost more than Magnus makes in a year.”
Carys looked at Remy. “Get changed—we’re going to Lavender Hall.”
Remy had assumed Lavender Hall was the name of a bar or restaurant, but as Carys led her further into the shadows, she realized they were heading into an abandoned part of town. The surrounding buildings had fallen into complete disrepair: shingles missing off the roofs, doors bashed open, windows smashed. In the center of this derelict part of town was a looming dark temple.
Not a single brazier was lit, but in the moonlight Remy could barely make out the giant edifice. Built like a five-tiered cake, it poked above the line of houses. Black stone columns held up the raised entryway of the structure. The two giant wooden doors displayed elaborate flower carvings that were painted in violet and gold.
It was an old violet witch temple, Remy concluded upon seeing the door. The violet witches, natives of the Eastern Court, had made astonishing perfumes and exquisite scents that did all sorts of magic: ensnare a person’s mind, bring money or fame, and even cure ill health. Like all the covens of witches, the magic often passed through the female bloodline. Female witches were the ones who had more magic, and the violet witches lost sight of that balance of things. They created magical scents that encouraged the womb to produce female heirs, thus creating more magic for their order, but within a generation there were so few male witches that their numbers dwindled even with polygamous pairings becoming common. It was rumored that the High Priestess of the violet witches cast a spell on her coven in an effort to control them, though Remy knew of no such spell. The younger generation of violet witches resented the mandate from their forebears to produce more witchlings and bucked against their overbearing predecessors by refusing to reproduce. And so the violet witch numbers shriveled into near nothing. They abandoned their temples and scattered like the wind across the east.
That was over eighty years ago. This temple was an old relic now.
Remy climbed the stone steps and followed as Carys pushed her way inside those enormous violet doors.
Moonlight beamed in through the high arched windows. The illustrations of flowers and Mhenbic symbols on the vaulted ceilings seemed to dance in the glowing light. Marble icons of the long-gone witches looked down upon the stone floor. An amethyst-colored rug split the room in half from the doors to the pulpit at the far end. Rotting, rectangular banners draped from either side of the raised, carpeted platform. A shrine covered in dusty candles and smooth stones sat in the center.
The temple remained untouched, unlike the surrounding area. Remy wondered if the humans misinterpreted the runes painted on the doors for curses. Humans feared witch magic and didn’t know how to read their Mhenbic symbols.
Remy followed Carys down the long aisle between the wooden pews and past the pulpit into a small back stairwell. Carys moved like she had done this many times before. They climbed five flights of creaky, steep stairs. Remy groaned, adjusting her pack, wondering again why she had to br
ing her heavy load when Carys had left hers behind.
“If you think this is challenging, you’ll never make it up the Rotted Peak,” Carys jeered.
Remy frowned but didn’t reply. They reached a small landing where a ladder rose into the ceiling hatch, already open to the night sky.
Remy said nothing as she followed Carys onto a circular roof. Waist-high stonewalls surrounded the rooftop, and beyond them . . . the sight of the city took Remy’s breath away. The view was even more spectacular than from the palace. Remy went to the edge of the wall, leaning over as she looked down all five stories of open air to the ground. Her legs felt wobbly again when she realized how high up they were. But her racing heart calmed once she looked at the glowing lights of Wynreach. The celebrations of the equinox ball seemed to still be going strong at the castle far on the hill. It was lit from every side by giant fires, and the colors of the glass windows seemed to glow with the firelight from within the castle itself.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a male voice rumbled next to her.
She hadn’t realized that Hale was beside her. So entranced by the flickering lights of the capital, she had not noticed that the Twin Eagles and Hale were already on the roof.
“Hi,” Remy said. In her mind, she rolled her eyes at herself. It was all she could think to say after that moment on the balcony, otherwise she would spill all her words and feelings to him.
“Hi,” Hale said back with the smirk that sent shivers dancing around Remy’s body.
Hale leaned beside Remy, watching her rather than the view. She looked over his face: those thick dark eyebrows, those full soft lips, that hard sculpted jawline. Remy had only been away a handful of hours and yet . . . she had missed him. She had missed looking at that gorgeous familiar face, hearing the deep timbre of his voice, smelling his ocean air scent.
The position they took next to each other was so similar to the day before on the Crushwold river boat. It felt like a lifetime ago. His parting words from that morning seemed to stretch between them, just as the feel of the stubble on his cheek still tingled across her lips from that fleeting kiss on the balcony. His affections were real. Her affections were real. She prayed Hale’s fae ears could not hear the pounding of her heart.