by S. W. Clarke
I took it. “I’ll take care of this. No use wasting a good drink.”
Off they went, and the second I’d begun to finish off Fi’s mead, Eva landed before me in a rush of wings and white, elbow-length gloves and lace.
She enfolded me in a hug. “You’re here.”
“I swore I would be.” I backed up to eye her. “You look like you’re smuggling a giant cupcake under that skirt.”
She blushed into her shoulder. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“No. You look beautiful.”
She swept a hand around. “I mean, the whole thing. The wings. The portal.”
“It’s an excellent approximation,” a voice said from beside us.
Ora Frostwish approached, one hand wrapped across her waist and the other holding a thin-stemmed flute of golden drink. She wore a navy silk sheath, her body almost breakably slender beneath it. Her blue cropped hair held such a perfect edge it could definitely cut skin.
Eva clasped both hands. “You think so?”
“I do think so.” Frostwish managed a small smile at her. “I think someone’s looking for you, Hostess.”
Eva spun to where a hand waved from beside the tiny orchestra. “Oh! I’m needed for the next song.” She threw a glance back at me. “If my singing’s terrible, I won’t be offended if you plug your ears.”
Frostwish leaned toward me as Eva departed through the crowd. “Lovely girl. A shame she lacks in confidence.”
I kept watching Eva as she mounted the small stage to stand with two other actual fae. “She’s humble.”
Frostwish took a sip of her drink. “Two sides of the same coin.”
I resisted lashing her with more than my tongue. It was clear she knew nothing about Eva. But it was better to say less to Ora Frostwish; I wanted her to know me as little as possible.
Before us, the trio of singers stood in a line with Eva at the center, and as they began their song, their arms lifted in synchrony, rising above their heads. They moved with sinuous elegance, stepping and sliding in amongst each other as their arms waved like boneless lengths of silk.
“This is an ancient fae song,” Frostwish whispered to me. “Do you know it?”
I shook my head, transfixed. As was the rest of the room; everyone had stopped to watch. Students, professors, even Vickery and Loki over at the food table.
The three of them moved as though they were parts of the same whole, their mouths open to reveal white teeth as they sang a melody that didn’t sound of this world.
As it turned out, Eva was humble. She had a beautiful voice, but it wasn’t like anything I’d heard from a human. It was the ocean in a conch shell. It was exquisite, enchanting. Maybe Odysseus had mistaken fae for sirens.
The three hooked arms, each of them taking flight to spin like a flywheel above the room, their heads dropping back, one foot set atop the opposite knee. When they came spiraling back down, their arms remained interlaced. The song crescendoed, and they patterned their arms together in various braids, shifting seamlessly between one and the next.
As the song finished, they went angular, bending their elbows to form a braid of limbs before the crowd.
Clapping began around me, but I only stood rigid, staring at the fae as they remained in their final pose, chests heaving.
The symbol they had made with their arms…
I knew it.
Three interlocking triangles.
“What did you say this song was called?” I said to Frostwish.
“I didn’t.” She leaned closer. “This is called the ‘Trickster’s Triad.’ It’s the story of how the fae portal was closed during the Battle of the Ages.”
My head jerked, and I stared at her. “What was that symbol they made with their arms at the end?”
Frostwish turned lidded eyes on me. “Curious you would notice that. The trefoil knot is quite obscure.”
The trefoil knot.
I set my glass down on a nearby table, backed away. Frostwish said something else, but I was already headed back through the portal of lights and into the darkness of the meadow.
I finally had a name for it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Before bed, I waited for Eva to return. Meanwhile, I studied the symbol Rathmore had written on the page he’d ripped out from Jane Eyre.
It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the tenth. I found it had a strangely calming effect, to stare at something so small, so simple.
Three interlocking triangles, all overlapped and perfectly spaced.
Early into the summer I’d memorized the symbol so my brain could work on deciphering it while I did other things. I’d shown it to Aidan, who had no idea what it was. But I hadn’t yet asked Eva.
When she finally arrived after midnight with a sleeping Loki in her arms, I stood from my bed.
She was flushed, dewy with sweat. One hand went to her chest when she saw me. “Oh, Clem.”
I came forward. “Can you look at this symbol?”
She pulled off her gloves one by one. “Now?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” She sat at her desk, accepted the sheet of paper, examining it. “What is this, anyway?”
“It’s a page from Jane Eyre. Don’t ask. Look at the symbol in the corner.”
She brought the page closer. “Oh. This is the symbol for a famous fae-run place.”
I sat beside her. “It is?”
“Yes.” She set a finger to it. “Some sort of club, or bar…” Then, reaching into her bag, she pulled out her phone and set it before the symbol.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture, obviously.” She snapped the image, and beneath it, an internet search of similar images appeared. Including the bold, green-and-white signage off the side of a building.
I pointed. “It’s that.”
“The Hrungnir Inn. Very old, very fancy.” She handed the page back to me, thumbing her phone screen. “Says it’s in Novi Sad.”
“Where’s that?”
She scrolled on her phone. “Serbia, apparently.”
I stared at the symbol on the page. There was no question the interlocking triangles were the same as the inn’s sign. “That dance you did at the ball, the Trickster’s Triad. At the end, you made a symbol with your arms.”
Her eyes widened on mine. “My gods, Clem. I didn’t even make the connection.”
“Frostwish told me it’s called the trefoil knot.”
Eva’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Apparently it’s pretty obscure.” I folded the page. The message was clear: I had to go to Hrungnir Inn.
But when?
I flipped the page over, studying both sides for clues.
“Why is the trefoil knot drawn on that ripped-out page?” Eva asked, watching me.
“This was in the letter you gave me last spring. It was a message from Callum Rathmore.”
She gasped. “I knew there was something between you two.”
My eyes flicked up to her. “You did?”
“Well, I never said anything because I didn’t want to embarrass you. But after I saw you dance with him at the Winter Solstice Ball…”
So even she, from across a room, had sensed what I had felt.
“You have to go, Clementine.” She set a hand on my arm. “You have to go to the inn.”
“Even if I were to go, he’s not going to be there every day of the year. You gave me this last May. Besides, I’m on duty.”
She leveled me with her eyes. “If it’s for true love, I insist you take one of your days off.”
My insides constricted, and I laughed, nodded at Loki. “Keep your voice down. He’ll never let me hear the end of talk like that.”
She slipped the page from my hands. “Rathmore wouldn’t draw this symbol without it mattering. You have to go anyway. And I’m coming with you.”
When winter recess began, I asked Fi if I could take a floating day. It woul
d be my first day off since I’d become a guardian.
Fi agreed to give me the day before Christmas, and by then, Aidan knew about the plan to go to Novi Sad. He had insisted on coming instead of returning home right away.
When I’d asked Eva if the inn would even be open on Christmas Eve, she’d laughed. “Of course,” she said. “We’re fae. It’ll be the liveliest night of the year.”
Now, as she, Aidan, Loki, and I stepped through the veil and into the wintry night-time street in Novi Sad, I wondered if we would even be able to enter the inn. The liveliest night of the year sounded crowded.
The city certainly was. It bustled with activity and laughter and young people.
Entering this festive place, another part of me almost didn’t mind the inn being full. For the first time in over three months, I felt airy and light. I had zero responsibilities. The horn could sound and I didn’t have to pay it any mind.
As soon as we’d all come through the veil, we stood gawking up at an enormous old cathedral in the square before us. Its spires wanted to pierce the sky.
“Don’t suppose that’s the Hrungnir Inn,” Aidan said from beside me.
Eva laughed. “No, but these old cathedrals do take their influence from fae architecture. Those spires? They’re an imitation of the classical fae period.”
Loki shivered beside me, and I picked him up and held him close. “And when was that?” I asked.
“The start and end dates aren’t so clear.” She pulled her white peacoat tight, the gold buttons gleaming in the lights off the buildings as she began leading us down the street. “Much isn’t clear before the Battle of the Ages and the fire that decimated so much history.”
“To my grandmother’s lifelong chagrin,” Aidan said as we walked.
“Whatever gives your grandmother chagrin, I take pleasure in.” I wrapped my free arm around Aidan. “No offense to the other Norths.”
“Novi Sad’s lovely, isn’t it?” Eva gave a spin, one finger twirling above her head toward the Christmas lights strung between the buildings. “So romantic.”
“Romantic,” Loki said in my arm, “and cold as my castrated balls.”
I snorted so loud, the other two looked over. “Loki’s just—” I waved a hand. “He’s just being himself.”
“Yes, myself minus my balls,” Loki said. “Which were quite large and fuzzy before that Dutch family had them removed, if you want to know.”
“If we’re on this touchy subject,” I murmured as Aidan and Eva walked ahead, “that must mean you’re feeling vulnerable with me. It must mean you trust me again.”
“You provide me warmth and transportation.” He climbed his way up the inside of my cloak to my shoulder, where he leaned against my neck. “And food, I hope, in exchange for coming all the way out here.”
“When have I ever let you down?”
“Well, let’s start with when you were twelve, and you tried spraying my litter box with glitter perfume. And then when you were thirteen, and you tried to paint my nails orange—”
I was really, really glad Eva and Aidan couldn’t understand him. “When it comes to feeding you.”
“You never have.”
“In addition to which, I’d like to note that I didn’t have enough money to feed myself sometimes.”
He shuddered. “Gods, so many times I wished you could just conjure some chicken. Now you make nothing but bread and sugar.”
Finally, I knew what I needed to do to get back in his favor. “For you, Overlord, I’m going to learn to conjure salmon.”
That was when he began to purr. I was back in his good graces.
“Clem!” Eva said from ahead of us. “We’re here. Now, what I need you to do is to come here and close your eyes and imagine—”
I pointed at the signage hanging out over the street ahead of us. I could have sworn the word Hrungnir was written on it. Plus, the trefoil knot had been etched into the wood. “Isn’t that the inn, right there?”
Laughter and clinking emanated from inside the frosted windows, and the sounds of that fae fiddle I’d first heard at the Winter Solstice Ball.
Eva’s hand went to her chest. “You see it?”
“And hear it.”
She grinned as she came over to me, tucked my hair behind my ear. “You’ve come a long way from the fae market in our first year.”
For a moment, I remembered standing outside the barren park in Vienna. I remembered Eva’s hands over my eyes, all the sights and sounds she’d told me to envision.
Only when I’d dedicated my whole self to it had the market appeared.
And here in Novi Sad, I’d come upon the inn without realizing it was magical. It had just presented itself like any other bar I would have snuck my way into when I was underage.
Except this one contained mostly fae, a race who didn’t align themselves with the formalists. That set my heart a little at ease.
And, of course, the thought that Rathmore had wanted me to come here.
We came to the door, and Aidan opened it to usher us in. Eva passed through first, and Loki and me second.
She hadn’t been wrong; the inn was practically shoulder-to-shoulder full.
Inside, warmth and the spicy smell of liquor washed over me. Low lights illuminated fae wings all around, set so much else into gauzy relief. Some people laughed and spoke in English, and some in sang in Faerish to the fiddler’s playing.
I spied a bar at the back, manned by a fae conjuring goblets as fast as he could. Around us, most of the tables were occupied. On my right, a whole cluster of people danced together as they had at the ball to the fae songs.
Aidan came to my side. “You want a drink?”
“Of course.” I nodded to Loki on my shoulder. “And something for a cat to eat.”
Aidan passed Eva, murmured something to her, and threaded his way to the bar. Meanwhile, Eva found my hand and led me toward an empty table in one corner.
When we sat, she sloughed off her coat and her wings came free. Her gray eyes were alight like I’d never seen, her hands steepling as her elbows came to rest on the table. “Welcome,” she said, “to a fae solstice celebration.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Funny.” I glanced around us. “A fae solstice celebration looks a lot like what happens when humans get drunk.”
Aidan set a goblet in front of her, and Eva managed to lift the enormous thing with grace. She grinned. “And from whom do you think that stemmed?”
I picked up the goblet set in front of me as Aidan sat down. “So you mean to tell me everything in our world is just derivative of the fae. I find that hard to swallow.” I took a sip of my drink. “No offense.”
Whatever I’d drunk exploded like a firework as it passed down my throat. I started coughing, and Eva laughed while Aidan patted my back.
“That”—Eva pointed at my goblet—”is a weak fae brew. We prefer ninety percent alcohol.”
Meanwhile, Loki hopped off my shoulder, sat away from me with his tail curling around his legs like he didn’t want to be associated with the light weight.
“What is the concentration, then?” I asked once I’d gotten air. “It tastes like pure alcohol.” And it had a glittery aftertaste.
“Eighty-five percent.” Eva took a long, easy sip and set her goblet down. “Are you all right?”
I pounded my chest a few times with a first. “Oh, sure. If my esophagus still works, I might have some more.”
Aidan took a small sip. “Loki’s food is on the way.”
Loki slow-blinked at him. “Tell the human I appreciate his gesture, and won’t forget it.”
“Tell him yourself.” I nodded toward Aidan. “He understands cat affection.”
Loki sniffed, looked away toward the crowd now thumping to a bar song. “I’m already overstimulated.”
As we talked, I kept searching the place for any sign of one of two things:
First, the trefoil knot.
Second, Callum Rathmore.
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But I hadn’t spotted either, except that I knew this was the place from the sign outside and the knot etched into the wood.
“This must be it.” I pulled out the page from Jane Eyre, unfolded it on the table between all of us. “Do any of you see this symbol anywhere in here?”
“I’ve been looking, actually.” Eva had already finished half her drink. “From the moment we entered.”
Aidan nodded. “Same.”
“Where’s my food?” Loki groused.
As if she’d heard him, a fae with a long, unkempt turquoise braid swept up to our table, caught a glimpse of two humans, and said in English, “Who’s ordered the chicken platter for two?”
Loki stood and meowed.
Aidan raised a hand. “Here, please.”
My eyebrows went up as the elaborate platter landed on the table, and I yanked the page out of the way before it was doused in grease. “For two, huh?”
Aidan lifted a drumstick. “I’m hungry, too.”
Eva leaned across the table toward me as the other two ate. “There must be something we’re missing. Maybe it’s not the symbol at all we’re looking for.”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose the symbol was only meant to lead us here. What would be next?”
My eyes flicked down to the page in my hand. Maybe he hadn’t just meant to share a line from Jane Eyre.
Maybe the page held more significance than that.
I glanced back up at Eva. “What does Hrungnir mean, anyway?”
“I actually looked it up before we came,” Aidan said through a mouthful. “He was a jotunn.”
“A jo-what?” Eva said.
“A giant from Norse mythology.” Aidan went on eating like he was starved as Loki did the same. “He was killed by Thor.”
I sat back. Long ago, this inn had been named after a giant from Norse mythology. What was the significance of that?
Eva drained the rest of her glass. “I’m going to get another. Who wants to walk me to the bar as my winglesswoman?”
I raised my hand. “Since Aidan and Loki are both disqualified on that count.”
She smiled at me, and we stood together, threaded our way toward the crowded bar where the harried fae went on making drinks as fast as his hands could move and his wings could carry him.
