The Autumn Fairy of Ages (The Autumn Fairy Trilogy Book 2)

by Brittany Fichter

  “You’re not my king.” Peter smirked.

  “No.” Karel took a step closer. Even in the fading light of day, Katy could see his sharp features and thick Adam’s apple. “But the isles are dying, whether you want to acknowledge that or not.” He nodded at Katy. “And consensus has it that she’s going to be the one to change that. There not that much time left, though, so if you want to put that in jeopardy, that’s your decision.” He turned back toward the door.

  “And skipping one supper will thwart Atharo’s prophecy?” Peter called out, taking a step after him. When Karel looked back, Peter added, “That seems quite a small view of Atharo’s power to believe one’s supper choice will serve to save or doom two whole peoples.”

  Karel turned once more, a strange smile on his lips. It wasn’t a kind smile. “You seem to know a lot about Atharo. So I take it you’ve read the Chronicles?”

  “The Chronicles?” Katy echoed, peeking out from behind Peter.

  “The sacred writings of the isles and Atharo.” Karel looked at Peter. “Well, have you?”

  Peter worked his jaw for a long moment. “No,” he finally said.

  “Well then.” Karel continued his walk to the door. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Because five kingdoms is a lot of lives to gamble based on a hunch.”

  ***

  By the time Karel was gone, the sky was so dark it was growing difficult to see. Not that Katy desired to see much now.

  Peter’s mood was dark, too. They sat and ate their supper on the big boulders, but the food was bland.

  Were they ruining their chances at saving the isles? Now that she reflected on the evening, running away for some self-indulgent quiet time seemed more than selfish, and she hoped she and Peter hadn’t solidified their place as enemies of the isles rather than allies.

  Peter had meant well, of course. He always meant well, was always looking out for her and how to make her happy. But she’d been foolish to let Peter talk her into skipping the supper.

  “You’re not going to say a single word to me the rest of the night, are you?”

  Katy looked up across the little fire Peter had made to see him let out a deep breath and shake his head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at the half-eaten biscuit she couldn’t quite finish. “I just keep thinking about what he said.”

  Peter stood and fetched water in the brook to pour on the fire before gathering up their things. “I suppose we might as well go back. I hear tomorrow will start early.”

  Katy nodded, and soon they were going back up the way they’d come. But it was far darker this time, and not all of the halls had torches lit to show the way, so returning took even longer than coming.

  Finally, they were standing at the edge of the hall where their own halls split. A few minutes passed as they looked out of the glass walls at the isle down below. Lights filled the courtyard, where the feast was being held. Tables had been spread all over the great cobblestone expanse, and hundreds of people still lingered.

  “Don’t let him make you feel bad.”

  Katy looked back to see Peter staring at her rather than the scene below. It was hard to make out the expression on his face in the weak light of the moon, but she knew from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t happy.

  “I just…” She sighed and looked down again. “I think we might have made a mistake.”

  Peter pressed one more long kiss against Katy’s temple. His touch, however, was restrained.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly before walking away.

  Katy longed to reach out and embrace him again, but he was already turning down his hall.

  7

  Dangerous Whispers

  Peter hoped Malachi had listened to him and had gone to bed early in the little room just off of his. The boy worked hard, and his attentions the night before had been quite focused. He deserved to sleep in a little. Peter was confident he would find his destination easily, but he had to do so in the dark. Malachi had been sworn to secrecy, but Peter didn’t really want anyone else to find out.

  While Peter wasn’t wild about many aspects of the general fae, or at least those he’d met, he had to admit as he got dressed that his room itself was a wonder. The sound of water lapped at the foot of his bed, and he was grateful for the sand when his feet touched the ground, muting his steps as he crossed the room to wash his face. A little beach all his own had water that rolled in gentle waves up to the side of the bed. An etched blue window wall faced the sea. Seagrass lined the walls, little clouds of fog floated around the ceiling, and the air smelled of salt. A path of smooth, fat pearls ran from where the sand ended all the way to his door. All of the furniture was made of sun-bleached driftwood, or at least that’s what it looked like. There were even little crabs that burrowed in the sand, though Malachi assured him they wouldn’t pinch.

  “The rooms are all modeled after different parts of the isle,” Malachi had said when Peter first saw the room. “Yours is meant to reflect the beach behind the palace.”

  “How do they do it?” Peter had looked around the room. “Do they use talismans?” He didn’t quite like the idea of having unknown fairy magic residing in his room with him.

  “Oh, no, Sire.” Malachi laughed. “It comes from Atharo.”

  Peter had stared at the young man. “You mean…it all just continues like this? The grass, the crabs, the water all on its own?”

  “Everything on the isle is far more steeped in Atharo’s power than on any of the other isles. The High King was Atharo’s favored one, and Atharo gifted the king and queen more power than they could possibly ever desire for their obedience to Him.” He tilted his head slightly. “You do not have such stories where you are from?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t.” Peter had let out a gusty breath. “It appears I have much to learn.”

  Now, in the dark of the early morning, Peter grimaced briefly at the wardrobe before choosing one of the few formal outfits that looked as though he might be able to bend his knees in it. Then he tucked a knife in his belt, another in his boot, and a third in a sling he often wore across his chest that was subtle enough to hide under a shirt. He grabbed his sword by the sheath and attached it to his belt. The new razors Malachi had laid out on his vanity made him long for a shave. His beard was just the right length to be itchy, and he wanted badly to cut it all off. But the chancel’s reaction to his mark the day before had been more than enough to convince him to keep the beard.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Sire?”

  Peter nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Malachi’s voice behind him. “I thought you were going to sleep in.”

  “I was, only…” Malachi sighed. “Whatever you’re doing…they won’t like it.”

  Peter folded his arms and studied the boy in the weak light of the moon coming through the glass window. Malachi was thin, possibly thinner than even Peter had been when he’d escaped to his uncle’s castle. His wide, bright eyes were the essence of innocence, but Peter got the feeling the boy might be more of an asset than Donella had meant to give him. Few servants would ever consider second-guessing his choice of breakfast dishes, let alone what he was going to do in his private time. This only made Peter curious, however.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “The Tree of Diadems is sacred. No one is allowed on the dais without permission of the chancels, particularly the orators.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  Malachi shuffled his feet. “The ground, Sire. It’s made of diamonds. If the wrong kind of power touched it…” He shook his head. “It could kill someone. Or more than one someone. They’re afraid…” He paused and swallowed. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place.” He took a step back. “Please forgive my bluntness, Your Highness…”

  “I like bluntness. It’s far less confusing than vain politeness and far more useful. Now, what were you going to say?”

  Malachi still hesitated. “With your mark…”

>   “Yes.”

  “No one really knows what to expect, Sire. I think…I think they’re frightened.”

  ***

  There was a stable full of over a hundred horses that Malachi had told him was available for anyone’s use, and Peter found one to suit him as he set out for the tree. The boy’s words stayed with him as he turned the horse toward the center of the isle. Of course, Katy’s words from the night before also echoed in his mind, but he preferred not to hear those.

  It was vain, he knew, to think she would agree with him in everything. No one did that. He didn’t even agree with himself half the time. But never before had she second-guessed him like that. Never had she called one of his gestures of love a mistake. No, it was far better to mull over Malachi’s warning that the chancels were frightened of him. He rather liked that. At least, he far preferred it to the fear he’d heard in Katy’s voice the night before.

  The journey took several hours, but the sun was still nearly an hour from rising by the time he found it. And it was just as Malachi had described. The centermost part of the isle, where all four seasons touched. And at their very center was a hill.

  He couldn’t see much in the dark, as it was too late for a strong moon, but too early for any streaks of gray. Still, he dismounted the horse and lit the torch he’d brought with him. He could just make out the hill Malachi had described. A hill with a covering of giant…

  Was that a tree?

  Bare branches flowing out from its center made it look rather like one of those strange land formations that he’d read about in books, the kind that that spewed forth fire from its core. Rather than a fountain of fire, however, this looked like a fountain of crowded, dry branches, like a bouquet of dead flowers that had lost their petals and were drooping to the ground. He tied the horse to a small tree near the foot of the hill and then tentatively began to climb. When he reached the top of the hill and stepped through the veil-like covering provided by the drooping branches, he froze.

  The hill wasn't at all like a regular hill where one might run up one side and down the other. Rather, it was hollow, like a wide bowl. The slope on the inside was steep enough that descending was possible but not easy. Stone steps had been built to make the descent easier from each season’s side except for Autumn. At the bottom lay a dais at least forty feet in diameter. The behemoth tree he’d seen from the bottom of the hill stood rooted in the center of the dais at the bottom of the hill’s hollow center, and it was wide enough that it would have taken four men his size to reach around the span of its trunk. The tree itself was at least five stories high. Perhaps higher, as the shadows couldn’t do it justice. It rose from the center of a dais. And though the light inside the tree’s veil was even weaker than outside, covered in the shadows of a thousand bare branches, Peter found himself looking down at a perfectly polished floor lain from edge to edge with diamonds.

  His skin tingled to the point that it nearly itched. What kind of power could this place hold?

  Many of the details from the night he had fought Tearlach were indistinct, as though he'd been fighting in a fog. But one of the few details he recalled with excessive clarity was the way the diamond-encrusted edges of his sword had pierced the darkness when Katy had brought his power to life. He had felt the strength surge from his body to his sword and back again. And his sword only had the tiniest of diamond dust edging its blade. This place had an entire platform of it.

  As he dragged his gaze from the diamond dais, however, it came to rest upon two sharp objects sticking out from the tree at eye-level. He carefully moved closer to see.

  Two crowns were indeed embedded in the side of the tree. Even in the dark, the upper crown looked like gold, decorated in a rainbow of jewels, far more elaborate with its swirls and metallurgy work than his crown at home. The second was smaller and more delicate, but it had even more beautiful stones than the first.

  Praying he wouldn’t be struck dead for his curiosity, Peter tentatively raised his hand and grasped the larger crown. Then he gave it a tug. As he’d expected, the tree held fast. The crown didn’t even budge.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered to Atharo, removing his sharpest knife from his belt, “but I just need to know the truth.” Gently, so gently, he scraped his knife across the bark.

  Not even a scratch was made in the wood, but it did break off the tip of his knife. Peter bit back a curse as he examined the blade. The damage was his fault, of course. But what kind of power held a tree as if it were…

  Stuck in time. Just like Nikki had said. The tree was waiting, just as the sons of the rhins were. Everything was frozen until the new High King was crowned, like it was covered in a blanket of ice.

  Peter was about to explore the dais further when a breeze floated in through the veil of branches. A whisper.

  Peter.

  Peter froze. Then there it was again, barely audible in the rustling of the leaves.

  Peter.

  Peter walked around the dais slowly, listening as the voice continued to call him. He stopped walking when he realized it was coming from Autumn. But Donella had said there was no one in Autumn

  Peter, son of Christopher. Rhin of the Third Isle.

  Peter tensed.

  Lover of the autumn fairy.

  “What do you want from me?” Peter called out. It might not have been the wisest course of action. Donella, he was certain, would disapprove. But, he argued with himself, he had asked questions all the day before, and the answers he had received were far from satisfying. “What do you want from her?” he asked. That was the more important question.

  You’re about to be tested.

  “Why?” Peter asked, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword. As though he could fight the wind. “By whom?”

  You must stay strong. Don’t let them break you.

  What if I don’t want to be tested?” Peter said, hand still on his sword. “What if I just leave?”

  Stay strong, Peter. She’ll need you to be strong, it whispered. Then it was gone.

  And yet, Peter couldn’t bring himself to move for a very long time.

  “I will warn you only because you are new.”

  Peter whirled around to find Ethemu standing behind him. How long had he been there?

  “I beg your pardon?” He had to force his words to sound even halfway polite.

  The king glowered, visible even in the dark of early morning. “You are standing on sacred ground. I suggest you find your place on the hill with the others before I am required to use force.”

  “I thought Atharo’s law was revealed in full.” Peter crossed his arms. “I didn’t know it prohibited standing on a dais.”

  “Have you actually read the Chronicles of Atharo?” Ethemu squinted up at him.

  Peter balked. He’d read what little Firin Reaghan had, but reading the full text was rather difficult when one’s ancestors had removed the vast majority of the sacred writings from the isle.

  “Some,” he finally answered. Little. Very little.

  “Well then, I suggest you try reading the sacred writings before you go around guessing at what is and is not acceptable. This not a game, Peter, and as soon as you realize you’re dealing with real people and their lives, the better.”

  Peter took a moment to answer, propriety warring with his gut instinct, which was to tell the old king that he was standing far closer than Peter preferred. Before he informed the king that he smelled of bad cheese, however, Katy’s face flashed in his mind, and with it, the reminder that she didn't need more anxiety, as Peter knew such an insult would bring. So he swallowed his pride and merely nodded. As he stalked off, however, he didn't miss the way Ethemu’s eyes followed him, and he got the feeling they wouldn't stop anytime soon.

  8

  Worthy

  As much as Katy hated Peter leaving her on such uneasy terms, she hadn’t been able to fight slumber for very long. Sleeping in the bed in her room was like resting on a pile of flowers, both in smell and feel, and
the knock on her door the next morning sounded far too early for her liking.

  Katy groaned, wishing she’d told her little servant girl to break her fast before waking Katy up. But it wasn’t the girl’s voice that woke her.

  “Katy? Katy, are you awake?” Without waiting for a response, Nikki let herself in, an obnoxious hop in her step.

  Katy rolled over and groaned. “Not yet.”

  “Psh, silly!” She laughed, lighting several candles with her own.

  “Then why don’t you go wake Peter instead and let me sleep. He enjoys such foolishness.” Katy pulled the blanket over her head. “It’s not even light yet!”

  “Ah, but the trial happens at sunrise! You don’t want to miss that, do you?”

  All vestiges of sleep that Katy had been clinging to went up in smoke as she recalled Karel’s words from the night before. She pushed back the covers enough to see Nikki rummaging through her wardrobe. Finally, she turned, holding up two gowns, one purple and one brown.

  “Which do you think, milady?” Nikki asked cheerfully.

  Katy rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat. “The brown one.” The purple was beautiful, but there was no reason to draw extra attention to herself after the events of the day before.

  Soon Katy was dressed and had inhaled a quick breakfast of date bread and a sweet, orange fruit she’d never seen before. Then she followed Nikki down the palace steps, trying to make a map in her head so she wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else to find her way next time.

  By the time they made it out to the palace courtyard, the palace was already humming with activity, despite the early hour. By the lights of hundreds of torches and lanterns, coaches were being loaded and heading back down the wide cobbled road they’d arrived on the day before.

  “Do you happen to know where Peter is?” Katy asked as Nikki led her to a blue coach at the edge of the bustle.