Stolen Away

by Alyxandra Harvey

  “Queen? But I have classes.” She immediately felt foolish for saying that out loud. This was an education she would never get anywhere else. She could memorize dates and the customs of other cultures from dry textbooks or she could observe them for herself. As a queen. “Do I have to wear a tiara?”

  He chuckled. “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “But I could?”

  “Yes.”

  “Weird.”

  “My lord.” A man with a long white braid approached them and bowed. He wore a lace cravat and a velvet coat long enough to brush his boot tops. She coveted it immediately. “All is ready.”

  The crowd parted before them as Strahan took her to the end of the hall to a marble table in front of the crackling hearth. Women in Victorian gowns moved aside, their hems sweeping the carpets. On the table was a black glass bottle, a silver cup, and hawthorn branches, dainty white flowers clinging prettily. It was as if she were moving through a dream; the colors changed, the light haloing shadows like velvet. Silence fell softly. Antonia shifted nervously from foot to foot. A house hob in a red vest handed Strahan the chalice.

  “Strawberry wine,” he murmured in her ear. “For May eve.”

  She knew she should be more frightened, should ask more questions, but she felt light as cobwebs. It was kind of nice.

  His eyes burned into hers. “Did you bring the vows I gave you?”

  She nodded, pulling them out of her pocket. He turned to the courtiers for a moment, suddenly regal. “I present to you Antonia Hart, soon to be my consort. Our union will bring fruitfulness and abundance to this court for seven long years.”

  There were smiles, clapping. Antonia lowered her voice. “Why me?”

  “Because I love you.” She shivered, his voice touching her all over. “And you belong to this place more than you know.”

  “I do? How?”

  “Your great-great-great-grandmother had a lover from the Deer house; it’s why your branch of the family has the last name you do: Hart. ‘Hart’ is just an old word for deer, beloved.”

  She didn’t know if it was true, but it was a lovely story and not as dull as most family trees. A lady in a tight corset sprinkled them with hawthorn petals. The vows were said and seemed to echo gently from one end of the hall to the other.

  “By the May moon and the hawthorn, I crown you.” A silver-dusted crown of hawthorn branches was placed on Strahan’s brow.

  “By harvest moon and deathcap mushroom, I crown you.” A wreath of red berries was set on Antonia’s hair.

  There were other words spoken in a haunting language she didn’t recognize as a red velvet ribbon was wound around their wrists, binding them together. She repeated the words, growing more pliant, melting, coming apart like warm wax. When he offered her the wine, she drank even though it made her light-headed. It was sweet on her tongue, and when he kissed her, sweeter still. It was like fire and summer rain.

  When they broke apart, the ceiling hung heavy with flowers and leaves of every description.

  • • •

  Seven years later brought another celebration to the rath. Antonia had grown accustomed to the travel between worlds and was so fiercely in love that even stepping into Fae didn’t faze her for very long.

  There were changes of course, most obvious being Strahan’s clipped tones as tension mounted within him. The Seelie courts noticed, watched him carefully. He wasn’t the first to cling to the crown when his seven years came knocking. It was custom, after all, for the king of the Seelie courts to pass the crown to another; at least the sacrificial death was no longer required. Everyone agreed he’d acted as a good and proper ruler.

  Antonia walked toward the main hall, holding another kind of secret entirely in her belly. She’d never taken on the custom of corset and bustle; still, she wore a fine velvet dress and wished her sister could see her now. She’d tried to convince Jasmine to join her under the hill but with no success. At least, between the two of them, they’d been able to construct the illusion that she was a wild child with restless feet, rather than an abducted or vanished daughter.

  She found Strahan brooding in his chair, his hair mussed. There were tight lines around his mouth. He hadn’t aged, looked virtually the same as the boy who brought her iced cappuccinos on hot summer days when she was sixteen. She tried to find that boy in him now, but it was a struggle.

  It made her sad to think of it. She hoped her news would bring him some measure of joy.

  “Strahan.”

  He barely looked at her. The Grey Ladies showed their skeletal teeth snidely, hovering behind his chair, blowing cold air through his hair.

  “Strahan,” she repeated.

  “What?” he asked crossly, coldly.

  She might have shivered if she hadn’t already learned not to show weakness in the hall. “The guests are arriving.”

  “Guests,” he spat. “Vultures.” But he straightened in his chair, his eyes hot and arrogant. The silver hawthorn crown was on his brow, glinting in the lamplight. She didn’t know why it suddenly made her nervous and uncomfortable to see it. She made her expression blankly polite and stood behind him to welcome the representatives of other Fae courts, mostly royalty and a few advisers.

  There were Deer girls and packs of dogs, some of whom shifted into princes and princesses. There were ladies in corsets slit to allow a fan of glittery wings, small hobs with fine sequined cravats, water fey, and the frail Winifreda, who always watched Strahan hungrily. He confided in her, lately sending her on private errands he would not speak of. The other kings and queens sent their own trusted people to Antonia, with long letters full of concern. She fed them into the fire and never mentioned them, though they stayed with her.

  There was honey wine in every cup, and a small, gnarled man with cloven hands was beating the ceremonial drum. Above the rath, twilight fell. Inside, it was all soft lamplight and rising tempers.

  “It’s time,” the representative from the Bluebird clan said firmly, her violet skin shimmering.

  Strahan remained in his seat. The Swan house stood at his back, white feathers tied to their hair. “About that,” he said softly.

  “You’ve had your seven years.”

  He lifted one shoulder negligently, let it fall. There were mutters, agitated whispers. He lifted his chin. “Do you deny I’ve done right by my rule?”

  A Deer woman shook her head, the pelt cloak over her shoulder finely brushed. “We cannot and do not deny that. But you know the way it’s done. The king must make way for another, or the land will not flourish. Our own queen gave up her crown to another, just last moon.”

  He snorted. “The power over the Deer clan hardly compares to that over all the Seelie courts combined. There is still so much I would do, could do, with a little more time.”

  The Beetle queen, Cartimandua, wearing a shiny black bustle dress like a carapace, nodded. “I agree, the tradition is antiquated and does us no honor.”

  It escaped no one’s notice that she was in the sixth year of her reign. The seven-year time span was only enforced over the high king or queen, but many of the houses followed a similar pattern.

  Ronan set his cup down. He had a grim mouth and a powerful wife at his side. The dogs in the hall lifted their heads, scenting the charged air. “Strahan, it’s not your decision to make. It’s too much power to have for long; we all agreed on this, centuries ago.”

  “Seven years,” Strahan mocked. “Barely a moment.”

  “Then take it up with the council. But the fact remains, the crown is no longer yours.”

  The Grey Ladies wailed, and ice crackled over the lamps, freezing the honey wine in the cups. The dogs growled in reply. The hawk on Ronan’s shoulder flapped his wings and shifted into Ronan’s son. Lucas drew his sword. Strahan only looked amused.

  Antonia put her hand on his arm. The muscles were tense as bowstrings. “You still have the Swan house and all your allies. Why not rest now?”

  He looked down his nos
e at her with a kind of condescension he’d never shown her before. “You are too mortal to understand.”

  She drew back, stung. “I haven’t been too mortal to live as your wife.”

  He tried to make his heart cold against her. There was too much at stake and she wouldn’t stand by him; he could see that already. With his hands full of power, he could do so much for the courts. What could he do with love? Write sonnets and play the lapdog until he grew into a doddering old man. He’d seen it happen, could see it happen easily enough.

  At least with the Grey Ladies and Winifreda, the rules were simple; there was no danger of growing muddled with desire. Mortals never fared well in Faery; he’d been an impulsive fool to marry Antonia, for all that she’d done him proud in the last seven years.

  “Don’t be tiresome,” he told her, barely glancing at her. He didn’t have to look to feel the hurt emanating off her. One of the wolfhounds tucked his nose into her palm. She’d always been a favorite with the hounds and the hawks; small wonder Ronan was glaring at him.

  “Step down, Strahan.”

  “No.”

  “Then I call council,” Ronan declared.

  Strahan raised an eyebrow imperiously, though in the private chambers of his chest, his heart lurched. “That will take some time,” he said calmly.

  Ronan nodded, unsurprised. “We expected this might happen. You stink of greed and fear.” Winifreda bared her teeth. The dogs answered in kind, with warning growls that filled the hall like a swarm of bees. “I’ve already alerted the council,” he added grimly. He withdrew a silver branch hung with bells and shook it once. Strahan paled slightly but didn’t otherwise react.

  The first to arrive was Cu, a grizzled wolfhound, tall as Ronan’s shoulder. Silence greeted him. When he shifted, it was into a tall, lanky old man with white hair to his elbows. His eyes were husky blue, piercing. The Hound clan bowed, and even the actual dogs rolled briefly on their backs, exposing their bellies. Other houses were headed by old Cu as well: Fox and Wolf and Coyote.

  Next came the stag king, Kern, his antlers emerging from a human face and wreathed with oak and holly. The Deer girls looked shyly at him through their lashes, and Sava the Deer Queen inclined her head.

  Talia wore a cloak of many feathers, and Lunae arrived in a cloud of butterflies and bumblebees. The most ancient of them all gathered rarely. The other monarchs, even the high ones of both Seelie and Unseelie courts preferred not to catch their attention. Their justice was sharp and sliced through all other magics and oath.

  The gathered courtiers pressed against the silk-papered walls, trying to stay unnoticed and yet still be able to hear the goings-on. The council hadn’t been called in its entirety in nearly two hundred years.

  Cu was the first to speak. “Who has called us?”

  They knew very well who had called them, but traditions died hard among them.

  Ronan stepped forward, Lucas eager at his side, brimming with injured honor. “Ronan of the house of Talia,” he declared. “The high king refuses to relinquish the summer crown.”

  Strahan stood, unrepentant, the Grey Ladies sighing around him. “I can do more,” he said simply. “I will do more.”

  Kern folded his bare arms, muscles bulging. “Perhaps. But not at this time.”

  Strahan’s eyes flickered like the blue center of a particularly violent flame. “I won’t bow to you. And even you lot haven’t the power to take my crown from me.”

  Kern’s voice was soft, nearly gravelly. “You’d make the land suffer for your ambitions?”

  “For the good of the courts.”

  Talia sniffed disdainfully. “For the good of your ego, you mean.”

  He drew himself up and power sparked around him like fireflies. “You are in my court now, where I am king.”

  Behind him, with the hawthorn crown at his brow dripping with ice, stood the houses of Crow, Swan, and Beetle. The Deer, Hound, and the rest of the winged houses stood near the council. The remainder pressed themselves farther against the walls, inching toward the arched doors.

  He flicked his wrist once. The Grey Ladies widened their mouths to form caves of dark and cold. Frost seared the walls, the gowns, the lamps, even the antlers of the stag king. Snow and wind whipped through the hall. The battle was swift and bloody. Claws and beaks and teeth joined the other weapons. The deer kicked out flashing hooves. Blood dripped into the drifts of snow. Roots cracked under the pressure of ice.

  Strahan had enough of the high king still in him to engender loyalty, even when logic and tradition might have told them differently. Beneath the sudden winter, roses bloomed.

  The council stood grim-mouthed, and Strahan laughed softly though sweat sheened his neck. Antonia shifted uncertainly between the two, surrounded by snapping dogs trying to protect her, sensing her secret.

  Cu growled, hackles rising. “Enough.”

  Strahan turned his sword in his hand. The lace at his throat fluttered. “I can keep this up indefinitely.”

  Kern’s antlers nearly touched the ceiling roots. “We shall see.”

  Something unspoken passed among the council. When Cu nodded once, light poured out of them, bleaching the edges in the hall, setting fire to the shadows.

  Strahan threw his arm up to shield his face. “Trickery,” he called to his armed followers. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  But the light touched everything, seeped through silk and skin, muscles and bones, corsets and cravats. There was no escaping, no hiding.

  “The Swan belongs to my court,” Talia declared, her voice deadly. “And I do not support the House of Strahan. Stand aside,” she added, staring at him.

  “I will not.”

  “So be it.”

  The council raised their left hands as one. The light flared like a bonfire traveling through the air. The Grey Ladies writhed. The Crow queen spat, her silver and jet beads sparkling. The hawthorn crown burned Strahan’s forehead, and he thought he could smell his hair singeing, but he refused to take it off. He wouldn’t allow them the satisfaction.

  Antonia, on the other hand, had dropped to her knees and was clawing at her wreath. Under the impossible light and snow, he saw the sleek branches turning to silver, the berries into carved garnet beads.

  “No,” Strahan shouted furiously. “No, damn your eyes!”

  Cu wasn’t sympathetic. “You chose, High King. We cannot separate you utterly from your reign, but justice would have your queen gifted too. From Beltane to Samhain, you may rule, though few may follow.” He continued smoothly. “From Samhain to Beltane, Antonia will rule freely. You, however, are bound to this rath, Strahan, and to your oaths.”

  In Rowanwood Park, the pond boiled for a brief moment, the tiger lilies on the banks shedding burning petals and smoke.

  Chapter 17

  Eloise

  Present day

  When I came back to my surroundings, the midwife was still rocking in her chair, smoking her pipe. I felt as if I’d been dreaming for days, but the liquid in Mother Hazel’s cup was still steaming. She nodded at me. “Got what you came for, did you?”

  I knew my eyes were bright with excitement. “Thank you, Mother Hazel,” I said, using her honorific title. She totally deserved it. I was practically buzzing with energy, with the need to do what must be done.

  “Easy, girl,” she soothed, chair creaking. “You’ll wear yourself out before you even get started. That’s the trick to Fae magic: not using it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  She grinned. One of her back teeth was missing. “Aye, lass.”

  I shook my head but I was smiling. I felt too glad to worry about it, as if I’d been eating champagne-soaked strawberries. I practically leaped to my feet. “I think I know what Antonia needs,” I said. “I saw it. I have to go.” I rushed back in. “Thank you,” I called again before rushing back out.

  It was hot as an oven, but I barely noticed the heat for the first time in days. I ran between the trees, following
a narrow trail back to Mag Mell. Brittle leaves crumbled under my feet. The animals were listless in the woods, drowsy as they poked their heads out to watch me pass. A hare wiggled her nose at me, and I was nearly certain she could turn herself into a girl. I thought of Nicodemus, of Cala suffering for water. I’d be able to help them as well. I was practically laughing as I emerged onto manicured lawns with hedges trimmed into curious faces, half-animal, half-human. Shriveled berries covered the flagstone walkways. The mansion towers rose into the bleached-bone sky. It was so hot and dry, like the desert. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a flying carpet or a genie’s lamp.

  I found Lucas pacing between two hedges, one shaped like an old wolfhound I now recognized as Cu, and the other like a blue jay, complete with blue-and-white flowers, though a bit wilted. He was frowning, kicking pebbles. I knew that look, I’d seen it on Jo often enough. “Are you pouting?”

  He looked up sharply. “Eloise.”

  I grinned. “Lucas.”

  He tilted his head, nostrils flaring. “You’ve been to see Mother Hazel, then.”

  I skipped like a schoolgirl and I didn’t even feel dumb doing it. “I feel great.”

  “I see that.”

  I fell against him, laughing, out of breath. He was close, so close I could see the crinkle lines at his eyes when he smiled. He looked into my eyes for a long time, the pale green irises searching. I smiled tentatively. His palm stroked down my spine.

  Then his gaze slid sideways. “You can come out, Meg.”

  Meg strolled out of the bushes, unrepentant. There were brown-edged leaves in her hair. “Imogen’s done with you?”

  “For the moment. You know how she is, she worries.” He looked down at me. “We should go back. You’ll have to make your formal declaration.”

  My euphoria faded a little. “I have to get back, now that I know what I’m looking for. Besides, they already agreed to help me, didn’t they?”

  “I know, but they’re a traditional lot, especially now. The other Seelie courts gathered while you were visiting Mother Hazel. You’ll have to stand before them.”