by AJ Lancaster
“Ah, I think you might be somewhat stuck with me now,” he said sheepishly. “I’m not quite sure how that happened. I didn’t know it was even possible.” Was she angry with him? Stormwinds, of course she’d be angry with him. Hadn’t she told him they needed to make a clean break of things, and he’d gone and done rather the opposite. But a surge of possessiveness washed over him suddenly, and he knew it wasn’t just from Stariel.
“Our sister and the entire Court of Ten Thousand Spires is caught in stormwinds-bedamned stasis because of you, is what happened!” Rakken spat. “Are you happy now, Hallowyn, with what your selfishness has wrought?” He wrenched at his trapped legs again, but they didn’t budge. His eyes narrowed. “Let me go,” he demanded of Hetta.
“I will, if you stop trying to attack Wyn,” she said. “What happened to your feathers?” She frowned at Lamorkin. “And who are you?”
52
Consequences
It took some time to get Rakken to agree not to try to kill Wyn upon release. Hetta was tempted to leave him stuck in the earth till he calmed down completely, except that this would probably mean waiting several lifetimes, judging from the way his eyes glowed with rage, greener than emeralds.
Eventually Rakken bit out: “Fine. Fine, I won’t rip his damned feathers out. But this isn’t over, brother. Not until we get Catsmere out and free the Spires. You owe us that.” His voice was a snarl. At least he had the sense not to reach for his magic. Even if he had, Stariel had grown used to dealing with unexpected lightning.
“Yes,” Wyn agreed soberly. He went to say something else but then closed his mouth instead. Hetta agreed with him—any other commentary would just make Rakken angrier, and then they’d have to start this over again.
Wyn didn’t meet her eyes, and anxiety worried at her insides. He’d explained what had happened in ThousandSpire in the carefully measured tones he used when he was trying to contain his emotions, and she could tell he was still holding the leash tight. What must it feel like, to have your land-sense torn out of you and replaced with another’s? Even before she’d been Stariel’s lord, her connection to the estate had been a fundamental part of her identity. And it’s my fault this happened. So much for letting him go. The knowledge threatened to tilt her world on its axis, and she pushed it aside to consider Wyn’s brother.
“Just remember I can re-quicksand you if I want.” It had been instinctive, in the moment before he’d leapt for Wyn, but she mentally marked down the trick for future use next time her relatives were particularly irksome.
Rakken bared his teeth at her, and with a sigh, she let water seep into the earth around his legs, softening it. He pulled his legs free, flaring out his ruined wings for balance, and she had to put a hand over her mouth to stop a choke of laughter escaping, because he looked quite ridiculous, with his feathers shorn and mud up to his thighs. He glared at both Wyn and her, closed what was left of his wings with a snap, and stalked off without speaking, as if he didn’t trust himself to keep his promise if he didn’t immediately remove himself from the vicinity. His posture didn’t change in the slightest as he crossed outside the bubble and into the rain, as if nothing as trivial as damp registered. She could feel his magic trembling with the force of his anger as he strode towards the distant Indigoes.
Lamorkin tilted their head at her. Wyn had explained that his godparent had no primary form, but it was still unsettling to watch Lamorkin’s shape shift restlessly. The fae had emerged from the portal as a cross between a stormdancer and a bear, but now their wings had grown paper-thin, their limbs elongated and many-jointed as an insect, and their skin was covered with tiny glittering scales. They watched Hetta with unblinking beetle-black eyes.
“You want to speak to my godson alone,” they said, their voice resonant in a way that wasn’t exactly unpleasant, though it was disconcerting.
“Er, yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
They smiled, their mouth stretching wider than it should as their flat features extended, growing into a muzzle. “I do not mind. I shall enjoy viewing this faeland.” Their paper-thin wings buzzed suddenly against their spine.
“It might be better if you didn’t let the locals see you,” she said apologetically.
Lamorkin’s eyes narrowed. “Very well.” The buzzing of their wings increased, and they took flight like a dragonfly, hovering for a moment before zooming away over the landscape.
The sudden absence of other people echoed in their still cocoon. Around them, the rain began to increase in strength, the wind picking up and howling across the fields.
She rubbed at her head. She’d figure out how to introduce Lamorkin to the rest of her family later, after she’d dealt with the most important thing. Her heart in her throat, she turned back to Wyn.
He stretched out a hand, the physical gesture a manifestation of a more metaphysical one, because Hetta felt his new connection to Stariel flex in response. “I need to find Irokoi. He clearly knew what Cat was planning, so he may know how to undo the stasis.” He took a careful breath, still staring down at his palm as if it were the most impossible thing in the universe. “And he might also know how to find the High King, since he is eldest. If, that is, you still want…”
“Are you angry?”
He looked up, surprise clear on his face. “Angry? No. I am…amazed.” He tried out the word slowly. “I never dreamed—I don’t know how this is possible, but angry is the very last thing I feel about it.” There were shadows in his eyes, and a deep, yearning vulnerability. “Are you angry with me for it? I’m afraid I’ve added to rather than subtracted from my complications, but I cannot truthfully say I am sorry for this particular one, though I know I ought to be.” Again, there came that metaphysical stretching sensation, as if he couldn’t resist testing the connection. A warring mixture of delight and guilt flickered in his expression.
She wrapped her arms around him. “Stariel couldn’t have grabbed for you if I didn’t want you here,” she said. He stiffened as if unsure he deserved this treatment before relaxing into it with a long sigh of relief that mirrored her own. It felt like coming home.
Stariel quivered in an expectant sort of way, like a dog that had successfully retrieved a wayward stick and would now quite like to be thanked for it. She ignored it, as panic tried to find gaps in the wall she’d built between herself and the knowledge she didn’t particularly want.
“We can call it our fault, if you like,” he offered softly, drawing a small circle on her lower back.
A burble of hysterical laughter threatened to choke its way out of her, and to her great annoyance, she started to tremble.
His embrace tightened, and he looked down at her in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just—that’s a very apt phrasing. Our fault.” She swallowed. “I think I know why Stariel was so enthusiastically trying to throw us together, before. In its own strange way, it was trying to give me what I wanted: a way to keep you. It wanted to create a connection between us, and then I think it used that to wrench you away from ThousandSpire.”
She wasn’t sure whether or not to be angry at Stariel for that. On the one hand, well, it had worked, worked in a way she hadn’t dreamed possible. ThousandSpire couldn’t steal him from her now no matter how many pragmatic political reasons there might be to let it do so, and part of her was fiercely, unrepentantly happy about that regardless of all the complications it would mean. On the other hand, to find her faeland was making extremely intimate decisions based on its idiosyncratic interpretation of her emotions rather than on actual instructions was troubling and probably another sign she wasn’t doing this lording business right.
Wyn canted his head. “I have been sensing your energy along the leylines more strongly, since Meridon,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of that as a side effect of intimacy, though.”
Hetta closed her eyes, briefly, still not quite believing it herself, but Stariel was only too happy to provide confirmation.
&nb
sp;
She shook her head. “That’s not why. I wouldn’t have known—shouldn’t have known yet—except Stariel’s been trying to tell me ever since I crossed the border.” The words came tumbling out unevenly, sticking in her throat and dislodging in bits. She was trying to be calm and sensible about this, so why was panic the only emotion she seemed to be able to feel, rising up in a slow, inevitable tide to drown her? I didn’t plan this, and I don’t know what to do, Wyn. Help.
“It took me a while to work out why. I mean, it’s much too early to announce, really, and it might not, er, stick. And I know I said I’d taken precautions, but Stariel might’ve interfered with that, or it might’ve just been bad luck, or maybe I just didn’t take into account our respective magics well enough, and I’m sorry for dropping this on you, but it’s been dropped on me, and we’re definitely going to need to find your High King sooner rather than later, and not just because of ThousandSpire and Queen Matilda—”
Wyn was frowning. “Forgive me, but I don’t entirely follow—”
Hetta took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read my book! I hope you enjoyed it.
The Court of Mortals is the third book in the Stariel Quartet. I am currently hard at work on the next book in the series, The King of Faerie. If you’d like to be emailed when it’s released, please click here to join my mailing list.
Please consider reviewing The Court of Mortals on Amazon or Goodreads, even if you only write a line or two. Reviews mean a lot to authors, and I appreciate every one!
Acknowledgments
Being a writer and indie publisher can be a lonely undertaking, and I owe thanks to the following people for making it a little less solitary:
My beta readers, Erin, Rem, Carla, Kirsten, and Cilla, for your enthusiasm, critiques, and occasional impassioned shipping debates. Any remaining plot holes are my own.
Steph, you are a fount of brilliant marketing and social media advice. One day I’m even going to manage to implement it! In the meantime, thank you for your unflagging moral support.
A shout out to Verve Café, who are under the impression I do Very Serious Professional Work on my laptop while I’m there (no one tell them!). Speaking of coffee, an extra thank you to Kirsten for all those Saturday morning latte offerings. You may keep coming to my house.
Carla, who has so far managed not to strangle me despite the ten thousand or so forgotten half-made cups of tea. You are the best sister in the world.
And last but very much not least, a huge thank you to my readers, for reading and recommending my book, for leaving reviews, for sending me emails, for making and liking posts, for tweeting tweets. It wouldn’t be nearly as worthwhile without you!
About the Author
Growing up on a farm in rural Aotearoa New Zealand, AJ Lancaster avoided chores by hiding up a tree with a book. She wrote in the same way she breathed—constantly and without thinking much of it—so it took many years and accumulating a pile of manuscripts for her to realise that she might want to be a writer and, in fact, already was. On the way to this realisation she collected a degree in science, worked in environmental planning, and became an editor.
Now she lives in the windy coastal city of Wellington and writes romantic, whimsical fantasy books about fae, magic, and complicated families.
Also by AJ Lancaster
The Lord of Stariel
The Prince of Secrets
