by Alex Rivers
“Live on where?” I said. “They will take Trinovantum—”
Scarlett’s face transformed again, and I clenched my fists as my mother turned to look at me sadly, a knife stuck in her bleeding chest.
“Trinovantum? We haven’t been there for centuries,” she said, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth. “Didn’t you listen to what I was saying? The humans are here. Their dreams are here. Once, thousands of humans lived around us, and it was nice. Now millions live around us, their dreams fed by the modern world. And when they go to sleep, it all pours into us. Trinovantum?” She spat. “Who cares about that useless patch of forest?”
“If the Seelie attack, millions of humans will die in the crossfire. What will you feed on then?”
My mother shrugged, blood pouring from a gash in her throat. “But think of those who remain. The nightmares. Their dreams of hope gone! War is good for the crows… and those who feed on dreams.”
“If you’re wrong,” I said, “the Seelie will come for you once they’re done with us.”
“Save your speeches for your guileless allies, Dread Queen,” my mother snarled. “Don’t waste your breath on us.”
“You’re angry,” I said slowly. “Because you’re the last court we approached.”
Her face transformed again, becoming my father’s. His furious eyes pierced mine. “You know nothing, pixie, and you dare tell us what we feel? In a week, you’ll all be dead, and we’ll still be here, with the dreamers.”
Sunlight sparked off Roan’s golden hair. I could almost feel him trying to rein in his temper. “You’re not even open to negotiating?”
“What did you have in mind? Marry one of us to a terror-leech, or a joy-slave? Or give us a house of brick and mortar which would serve to make us easier to find and kill? Or do you plan on offering us wealth we don’t need, or power we don’t want?”
The face shifted again, and for the first time I caught the glimpse of the actual fae we were talking to: an old woman, her eyes wide and bloodshot, spittle at the corner of her mouth. Gray hair snaked around her head. “Leave me, Roan Taranis and Cassandra Weala Broc. The Court of Caer Ibormeith will not join your doomed alliance.”
Chapter 15
Impending doom or not, I had a wedding to attend. I grabbed a two-hour nap. I woke up with drool pooling below my mouth onto my pillow. Somehow, I felt worse than before I’d gone to sleep, my eyelids heavy, legs burning from the exhaustion of climbing all those stairs.
At least, I was pretty sure I’d climbed the stairs.
Still, the wedding would not wait for me. Wrapped in a towel, I dragged myself to the bathroom where Siofra had once gleefully attacked me. Before dropping my towel, I flipped my middle finger at the reflection. If Siofra was watching, I hoped that my bloodshot eyes and my frazzled hairstyle struck terror in her heart. I could always drape a towel over the damn thing, but the truth was that the reflections were everywhere. I’d lose my mind trying to hide from them.
Naked, I crossed to the tub, turning on the warm water. As the basin filled, I soaped my body and hair, rinsing the lavender suds off in the streaming water.
As the warm water pooled around my body, I soaped my thighs, thinking of Roan. For a few hours in the early morning, he’d slept curled around me again, his powerful body keeping me warm. I’d dreamed of him as a boy, playing with his little wooden figurines in the hallways of this mansion, and running through the Hawkwood Forest with his sister. Could I live as his queen in Trinovantum forever? Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. I couldn’t be sure Trinovantum would even be there when the Seelie were through with us, and the Court of Dreams’ reaction to our offer didn’t improve our chances at all.
I rinsed off the last of the soap, then drained the tub and toweled off. Fortunately for me, I’d managed to get through this bath without an assault by my own reflection.
Wrapped in my towel, I crossed back into my room, then pulled a dress from the closet. I’d bought myself a cocktail dress that hugged my curves perfectly, with a flared A-line skirt and lacy bodice.
Leaning over the mirror, I pulled out my makeup, adding some shimmering gold highlighter to my cheekbones and under my eyebrows. I swept eyeliner over my lids, added a bit of mascara, then rosy-pink lipstick.
A knock echoed through the room just as I was finishing up. I crossed to open the door.
Idelisa beamed at me. “I’m here to help you get dressed.” Then her face fell, and she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Danu save us. Your hair is still wet.”
“It will dry on the way.” I frowned, looking down at my blue dress. “Wait—what are you talking about? I am dressed. What do you think?”
Her lip curled. “Nice? I guess? But I’m talking about a dress for the wedding.”
I stared at her. “This is my dress for the wedding.”
She blinked in surprise, and then pushed me into the room, closing the door behind her. Pink tinged her cheeks. “You wanted to wear that? To the wedding between the King of Arawn and Lady of Ernmas?”
I clamped my hands on my hips. “This dress is gorgeous. I’m gorgeous in it. This is what I’m wearing.”
“You look like a servant. Or a whore. If you dress up like that, the guests will keep telling you to clean up the tables and to bend over while you’re doing it.”
My jaw dropped. “Please, Idelisa. Tell me what you really think.”
“You are the Mistress of Dread! You will dress accordingly.”
“We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, you are not leaving like this. Now wait here.”
She left and slammed the door behind her. I checked myself in the mirror, turned sideways. She was wrong. I looked amazing in this dress. And anyway, she wasn’t my mother. I was about to leave when she returned to the room, carrying a dress over her shoulder and a clump of wildflowers in her other hand.
She closed the door behind her, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Take it off, Cassandra. I will not ask you twice.”
“Thank you, Idelisa, but you don’t need to—”
“This is what you’re wearing.” She flipped the dress in front of her.
The dress she’d found was a deep amber—the color of Roan’s eyes when he unveiled. A deep neckline plunged to the waistband, flecked with emerald stitching. A wreath of darker golden leaves encircled the waist, then seemed to grow upward over the sheer, netted bodice.
I let out a long breath. “Oh. Okay. Maybe I’ll wear this one.”
“That’s right, you will.”
I unzipped my cocktail dress, no longer enamored of it, and let it fall to the floor. Fae dresses, of course, never accommodated modern conveniences like bras, so I unhooked my bra while Idelisa modestly shielded her eyes.
When I stepped into the new dress, pulling it up over my thighs and hips, the silk felt amazing against my bare skin. As I pulled it up over my shoulders, I extended one of my legs, noting the deep slit that ran all the way up to my hips. I had a feeling Roan would like this one.
“I’m showing more skin with this one,” I pointed out. “You can practically see my nipples, and my thigh will show when I walk. Why did the other make me look like a maid-whore and not this one?”
“It’s the cut,” she protested. “Not the skin. In any case, are you telling me you liked that blue thing better?”
I looked at myself in the mirror. The silk shimmered on my skin like a golden mist. I looked like… I looked like I could be a queen in the court of lust. “No. This one suits me.”
Idelisa stood behind me in the mirror, narrowing her eyes. “But your hair. It’s the hair of a drowned serving-wench.”
“It will dry.”
She was already shoving me into a chair, and followed up with an assault with a towel, trying to wrench the last of the dampness from my pink hair. Then, she twisted my hair onto my head and began threading it with white bramble flowers and golden cowslip, tugging and yanking at my hair as she formed a wreath of flowers in my locks.
>
At last, she looked at my reflection with approval in her eyes. “Much better. Good enough for the head of the Court of Terror.”
I arched an eyebrow. “But that’s not who I am.”
She shrugged. “You should be. And in any case, you need to look grander than Grendel.”
“The naked frogman? Was my other dress really that bad?” I muttered, frowning at the mirror.
She dropped a little gold clutch into my lap—a perfect accessory. “Put your make up in that in case you wipe your nose and ruin everything.”
I rolled my eyes, and shoved a few items into the clutch. One second, I’m the formidable Mistress of Dread. The next second, I’m being cautioned not to wipe my nose everywhere like a toddler. Along with the makeup, I shoved a small stiletto into the clutch. The thing was now bulging at the seams.
I rose, crossing down the hallway, with Idelisa close behind me. When we got to the main entrance, Roan was standing by it, his back to me, talking to Nerius.
As I walked closer, Roan turned suddenly, maybe alerted by our bond.
“You’re late—” The words died on his tongue, irritation replaced by wonder. Through our bond, I felt him let his defenses drop, open the soul bond between us. And from him, a torrent of desire, pride, and wonder hit me.
I smiled at him. “What were you going to say?”
He cleared his throat, eyes blazing gold, partially unveiled. “It doesn’t matter. No one will remember the existence of time when you walk into the room.”
Deep below London’s Court of Sorrow, I walked arm-in-arm with Roan through a stone hallway, lit with blazing torches. In the dank air, it seemed a grim place for a wedding, but I supposed I couldn’t expect sunshine and rainbows from the Court of Sorrow. Idelisa walked behind us, and trailing at the back were Nerius and Branwen. Branwen had worn deep red—the fae color of mourning. Her face was pale, emphasizing the small scar on her left cheek, the remnant of a fight we’d had months before. Her expression suggested she was walking to her own execution. I couldn’t blame her. It couldn’t be easy showing up as a guest for the wedding of the woman you loved.
At last, the hallway opened up to a rocky cavern—and in the center of it, lit by brilliant, floating lights that hung like stars in the sky, was the Temple of Sorrow.
Foxglove wreathed stone columns, intertwined with gold and blue wildflowers. Silver mourning doves perched among the vines—the symbols of mirth and sorrow mingling together. I pulled Roan’s arm a little tighter as we climbed the steps, warmth radiating from his powerful body.
When we stepped into the temple, all eyes turned to us. For once, I didn’t think the attention was the result of my pixie emotions.
There, on the faces of the fae sitting in the stone benches, I saw respect, and awe. Maybe even a little fear as Roan and I walked further down the aisle. A stone ceiling arched above us, spotted with twinkling lights, illuminating intricate, swirling carvings. Here, there were no windows, just walls made of crumbling stone, but it was strangely beautiful all the same.
Brightly colored wildflowers climbed the stone walls, the altar, curling around the clothing of the wedding guests. No priest or officiant stood at the front—just an altar on a dais, with candelabra burning brightly. From roosts among the old stones, mourning doves fluttered their wings and cooed.
Roan led us up to the front aisles—reserved for the esteemed guests, including us. We turned to the right, taking our seats on a stone bench just by Nyfain, Queen of Ernmas, who wore a pearly gown threaded with wildflowers. She stared straight ahead, her pale face beaming. On the other side of the aisle sat Grendel, dressed in a dark, shiny suit, the pelvic bone around his neck. He glanced at me, his eyes dark and contemptuous—a challenge of sorts. I met his gaze squarely, neither of us blinking for what seemed like hours. I’m not scared of you, Frog Man.
Grendel stroked a long finger over the bone around his neck, his gaze boring into me. At last, a female fae at Grendel’s side asked him something in a hushed tone, and he looked away. Relieved, I turned to Roan.
“Where are the bride and groom?”
“That’s a human term, for a different ceremony. This is called a snaring—the climax at the end of a hunt.”
“Let me guess. The male hunts and snares the female, and not the other way around.”
He blinked. “Of course.”
“Right. When will this snaring happen? I have to pee.”
“We have some time yet. Some of the guests haven’t arrived. And it is customary for all of us to wait for the couple to make their appearance.” His brow furrowed. “You have abysmal timing.”
“Idelisa was rushing me, and I had four coffees to try to stay awake.”
He sighed. “I think there’s time.”
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“There won’t be a bathroom down here. The fae are built differently to humans, without all your constant bodily needs. Try to make your walk outside as respectable as possible, and find a dark corner in the hallway.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You want me to respectably lift up my dress in a corner of that dark hallway and respectably pee on the ground?”
“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. But if you must.”
Sighing, I rose, keeping my head raised high as I walked out of the hall, trying to ignore the undignified act I was about to execute. Once outside of the dark temple, I crossed back through the stone hall until I could find an alcove. But surely someone would walk past me, crouching over the earthen ground. I frowned as I walked, continuing on until I noticed a wooden door inset into the wall.
When I turned the knob, I found a small room with a dresser, a bed, and a half-naked woman trying to get dressed.
“Sorry,” I blurted, already starting to close the door, when I recognized the cherry-red hair. “Elrine?”
She turned around, her frosty eyes meeting mine. “Cassandra. Of course you’d burst in.”
“I was just… looking for the bathroom.”
“There isn’t one. Fae don’t sit around peeing all day like your kind.”
“I understand you’re all very proud of your impressive bladders, but I’ll be on my way.” I began to retreat outside.
“Wait. Come in. Please.” Her voice was suddenly pleading, desperate. “You can use a bucket in the corner in a minute, like a pig.”
“Pigs don’t pee in buckets,” I muttered. She’d just called me a pig, but it also seemed like right now she was a desperate, lonely bride in need of some help. Confused, I entered the room, shutting the door behind me.
She turned to look at me, naked from the waist up. From the waist down, beautiful icy-blue silk hung to the floor, but she hadn’t pulled her dress all the way up. “The House of Arawn have a tradition. The ensnared female is supposed to prepare for the ceremony alone.” Elrine’s tone was bitter. “And I tried, but I can’t get the buttons in the back of my dress done. I need your help.”
“Okay.” I crossed to her, eyeing the silver bucket in the corner. Elrine turned around, her beautiful, pale back facing me, marred only in one place—just under her shoulder, where Siofra had branded Elrine with iron when she’d been in captivity.
“Ugly, isn’t it?” she said, hearing my breath catch.
“You’re beautiful, regardless.” I hesitated. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore. Just the memory, and the nightmares.”
“Yeah.” I knew what she was talking about very well. Carefully, she slid the bodice higher, the blue silk tight around her ribs. Paler, sheer silk covered her breasts, embroidered with pearly floral designs that swooped up over her shoulders. She looked stunning, her fiery hair vibrant against the cold blue of the silk, her long legs just visible through her skirts. But as I was halfway through buttoning her dress, her shoulders began to tremble, short sobs punctuating the silence in the room.
“Elrine, are you all right?”
“I should be dressed by my sisters,” she said, her voice breaking. “That’s h
ow we do it. But the fae of the House of Sorrow believe that the ceremony is a grave affair. That we should spend time alone, in mournful reflection of the death of our prior lives. So all I have is you.”
Ouch. I didn’t know what to say. “I know you don’t like me, but—”
“Don’t like you? Cassandra, I hate you,” she spat over her shoulder.
I took a step back, shocked at the vehemence in her voice. I turned around, heart beating, deciding to take the silver bucket and leave Elrine to finish up buttoning her dress alone.
“It’s not personal,” she said desperately as I stepped away from her.
“It’s not personal that you hate me?” I snapped.
“I would have hated anyone in your shoes. Anyone.”
“Because of Roan.”
“I was supposed to be Roan’s soulmate.” She whirled to face me, her red rimmed eyes full of anger. “We’ve been side by side for centuries. Best friends. We’ve always had each other’s back. We’ve saved each other’s lives more times than I could count. I’ve known him since I was a child. Back when he was imprisoned. Just a boy, heartbroken and alone. I’ve loved him for five hundred years, and I know him like you never will.”
I remained quiet, my heart twisting. I almost felt sorry for her. But her words stung, too. I know him like you never will.
“I don’t know how it happened.” Tears streamed down her porcelain skin, her eyes unfocused. “One day I was smuggling food to my friend in prison, and when he smiled at me, I suddenly knew. I just knew—what it would feel like to lie in the grasses with him, kissing his mouth. What it would feel like to press my body against his, how he’d respond. I knew how he’d smile at me, how his arms would feel around me. I knew how I’d make him happy, that he was the one. The only one. I knew sometimes, when he’d say things to me, it was a hint—a clue that he loved me too—even if he never said it out loud. I just knew.” A heavy tear dropped down her cheek. “Sometimes I doubted it, I guess, and then I’d think he was giving me a secret message that I should have faith. That once he got over his past, we’d be together at last.”
