Thorn could do nothing to stop the shivering taking her body by storm as they rode up to the gate and stared into the dark of the tunnel. All she could do was hang on to Ardan’s waist and wait for disaster.
Now, more than ever, she wanted to bury her face in Ardan’s surcoat, hiding her face until they rode into the outer courtyard. But she didn’t. Instead she stiffened her muscles, and sat tall on Triton as they stopped in front of the guards.
“Dismount.” The guard gave them a disinterested once over. “Name?”
“Ardan of the North.”
The guard frowned, and looked hard at the clipboard in front of him. “Ardan of the North, did you say?” The guard raised his eyebrows and nodded at Ardan’s blank surcoat. “You’re a soldier for hire, by the looks of you.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. You have a mighty fine steed under you. Don’t tell me it’s yours.”
Ardan’s shoulders went back. “He’s mine.” His voice was stiff.
“And who is that?” The guard pointed at Thorn.
She held her breath and forced her hands to relax on her thighs, and not clench into balls of fear.
“Thorn.”
The guard frowned and consulted his clipboard. “Just Thorn?” He looked her up and down, assessing.
She nodded, unable to bring herself to speak around her chattering teeth.
The other guard brought up his pikestaff and moved in closer. Triton stamped and whinnied at the move.
“I was here earlier in the year and caused no problems.” Ardan’s voice was low and easy, but a note of determination wove through it like the star-steel running through his chain mail. “We’re here to petition the Oracle.”
“Of course you are.” The guard gave Ardan a hard stare. “Well, soldier, I’m letting you in. But step out of line anywhere in the Golden Court, and you’ll regret it.”
Ardan gave him a short nod. “Understood.”
The guard jerked his chin in the direction of the tunnel and back away. “Move on.”
Ardan clicked his tongue and Triton walked under the teeth of the portcullis and they entered the barbican. It was cool inside the stone structure but Thorn’s palms grew slick with sweat. Even when they emerged on the other side into the bright sunlit cacophony of the open, she couldn’t relax no matter how hard she tried.
She’d been here before, she was sure of it. Her body shook as if she were facing her greatest enemy. And she had no idea why.
Chapter Sixteen
The Lady Aoife paced back and forth on the slate floors of her workroom. “Damn him!”
Her wide work table was strewn with black and silver mirrors speckled with colored powders, and stone bowls filled with various liquids from water to milk. Discarded crystals on strings lay in a pile. One was embedded in the white floral ceiling medallion and refused to come down no matter how much she used her Gift and pulled. The tall gracious windows let in plenty of light all of which flooded in to illuminate the futility of her efforts to track where Ardan and the girl had fled.
She’d tried over and over to scry, to see, or to divine where they were, but everything had failed. Miserably. Her own Gift hadn’t been enough, nothing had been enough. She’d even delved deep into her library of witches spells, hoping to find the pair before the Black Queen found them and disappeared again.
Whatever spell Ardan had used it had covered the pair’s tracks so well she was totally unable to get a read on their locations.
Trying to get the kinks out of her neck she rolled her head from side to side. Something had to work. Something would work. She wasn’t giving up. She’d spent too long, worked too hard, and set up too many men who had failed her to give up now.
She was just about to head outside and vent some of her frustrations on the garden, when there was a tiny chime. And then another. She ran into the next room. In here she had a living map of Underhill that shifted and changed as the known lands grew and shrank into the mists. One of her first efforts to find the pair had been to string fine lines of spells interwoven into a giant spider web, all strung with tiny bells and suspended over the three-dimensional map. Now, one was ringing—the bell over the one place she never wanted to see again, the court of her ex-husband, Oberon, and his latest child bride. After the last humiliating visit, Aoife had sworn she’d never go there again.
But the bell chimed merrily, signaling the impossibility of keeping her vow. She slammed her hand down, crushing the bell and tangling her fingers in sticky strands of spell.
“Lena!”
Her maid opened the door. “Yes, my lady?”
“That didn’t take very long.” Aoife frowned. The girl was never where she thought she should be. “What were you doing lurking in the corridor? Spying on me?”
Lena bobbed a nervous curtsy. “No, my lady, just dusting.” She waved her duster in the air spreading particles everywhere.
“Stop that.” Aoife coughed, waving her hand at the dust. She held up her spider-web-draped hand. “I need a towel for this mess. And get my bath ready. I have to go see the king.”
Lena’s very human, very brown eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am.” She scurried from the room.
Aoife shook her head. The girl was a mouse with no talent whatsoever. It was just her own paranoia over traps that Oberon might lay for her that had her thinking otherwise.
And why wouldn’t she be suspicious of her ex-husband. He was more than cunning and would love to cut off the money he was forced to pay her, year after year. Just as she would love to see him toppled from his throne into the glittering cesspool of the Golden Court.
The good news was, despite her lack of visitation, she still had contacts at court. Few even remembered when she’d been queen, but the Lady Aoife was well respected. And those whom she didn’t know in person, she could get a hold of. The webs strung over the map weren’t the only webs she’d strung over the years. Ardan and the girl couldn’t hide from her there. It was only a matter of time before she had them in her capable hands. Then she’d help Ardan use the girl to set a trap. And the Black Queen would finally be dealt with. Once and for all.
Chapter Seventeen
Ardan took them to the Golden Horn, where he’d stayed the last time he’d visited the Oracle. He paid for a room for the night and left Triton well stabled before taking Thorn back out into the village and heading for the castle’s outer bailey.
“How many walls are there?” Thorn’s gaze darted everywhere, taking in the fabulous costumes and creatures that filled the space.
He was sure she’d grown up in one of the courts, a large household at the very least. Her manners and the one memory they’d shared were evidence of that. But she didn’t remember and so everything here was new to her and she was astounded.
“I know of three. The first wall contains the village—the market, shops and houses.” He nodded at the high walls they’d just passed through. “This second courtyard contains the royal stables, guard quarters, and the tower of the Oracle, as well as extensive gardens and various houses of the nobility. And then there is an inner courtyard where the king and his household reside. That’s where he throws parties, holds court and generally hob-knobs. But it’s Underhill.” He shrugged. “There could be many courtyards—one within the other—as many as Oberon wishes. After all, he is one of the most powerful fae in Underhill.”
Thorn shivered and Ardan wondered once again why she was so terrified of being here. He didn’t like the Golden Court. Like the Winter Palace, it was a glitteringly beautiful shell over the stink of corruption, but he’d never had much trouble here. And this was where the Oracle was, so this was where they had to be. He squashed the rise of sympathy he had for her bewilderment. He couldn’t afford to care for someone like her—someone who would leave him as soon as she remembered who she really was.
As they walked through the village and into the outer bailey and she ooed and awed like a child, he saw the castle through Thorn’s eyes—as he had the first time he�
�d visited. He’d thought the Winter Palace was large, but he’d only been a boy when he’d arrived there, and scared as shit. Now he was an adult and had visited many castles but Oberon’s was the largest and one of the craziest he’d ever been in. He’d seen things here he’d never dreamt of when he’d been a boy in the north.
There were people of all colors and sizes. Some with wings, some without. A pair of leopards the size of Great Danes strolled by in the company of a fae lady with skin the color of the mid-day sky. This courtyard let in performers and peddlers to entertain the king’s guests and they were scattered about the area doing magic tricks for children and selling a higher class of wares to the nobility. A gentleman in a purple topcoat and silver sparkling pants had drawn a small circle of admirers by juggling what looked to be small trout. Another puffed fire rings that rose to the sky and created words before disappearing into smoke.
“Oh, look at that.” Thorn bee-lined for a small pink lady blowing bubbles containing tiny live scenes where miniature figures played out stories.
“Come see the play,” the woman called.
“We don’t have time for that.” He snagged Thorn’s elbow and pulled her in the opposite direction. “We need to see the Oracle, remember.”
“Of course.” She inclined her head in agreement, the light leaving her face. “Lead on.”
Feeling oddly bad about destroying her joy, he led her from the crowds near the gate further along the length of the walls. Here, things were calmer as lords and ladies moved about on serious business. Thorn was quiet now too, her enthusiasm gone, hands tightly clenched by her sides. In the absence of the distraction of the entertainers her earlier nervousness was reasserting itself, and it made him feel guilty.
He hated not being able to let her enjoy the show. Everything here was amazing and when he was here before he’d spent some time, and some coin, exploring the delights the Golden Court had to offer. But that had been when he’d still had months left to find the Black Queen. And before he’d met Thorn.
Before he risked any more of himself with her, he had to know—who was she and how she related to his quest. Already he felt too much for someone he’d barely known a few days, his sympathy for her plight making him vulnerable. Well he’d know soon enough. They were almost there.
The first sign they were nearing the tower was the line of people stretching around the bend of the wall. The other towers of the castle were high elegant things of pale colored stone with long glass windows and colorful flags, but as they rounded the corner the Oracle’s heavy grey tower squatted like an aging toad against the lighter, taller wall. Its windows were square and deep set, and even though the glass in them was clear, he couldn’t see more than a deep darkness when he peeked in.
Thorn pressed against his side. “This is where we’re going?”
His arm rose instinctively to draw her close, but instead, he dropped it to his side. “Yes. You can wait outside if you want to.”
She shook her head vigorously, darting looks at the drooping line of supplicants. “No. I want to be out here alone even less than I want to go in there.”
“As you wish.” He skipped the line, following it all the way to the front and nodded at the heavy-set woman leaning over the closed bottom half of the door. “Good day, madam, I’m here to speak to the Oracle.”
The woman didn’t take her eyes off her book. “Get in line.” Her tone was flat as she turned the page.
“I was here a few months ago and he gave me instructions. I’ve followed them, but there must be some mistake as it didn’t lead to what they were supposed to lead to.”
“The Oracle doesn’t make mistakes.” She nodded at the line of petitioners without looking up. “If you want clarification, get in line.”
“Last time it took a week.” He reached over and closed her book, taking it out of her grasp. “I don’t have a week.”
For the first time she looked at him directly, her face turning purple. “How dare you.” She leaned out over the door, her pendulous breasts hanging over the edge and stretched her arm out. “Give me back my book.
He jerked it back. “Not until you ask the Oracle to see me. He screwed up and now I’m in trouble.”
Her wide face went a deeper shade of vermillion. “You’re in a lot of trouble now, sir.” She reached inside the doorway and pressed a button.
A large bell rang out from the tower, its deep voice drowning out whatever the woman was saying, but Ardan could read the triumph on her face.
“Ardan!” Thorn tugged on his arm.
He turned, but it was too late. A group of the king’s soldiers approached, pikes and swords bristling.
The bell’s full tones died out and the woman laughed. “That’ll teach you. Now give me my book.”
Ardan dropped the book back inside the doorway and reached for his sword, stepping far away from Thorn.
“None of that.” The lead guard poked his arm with the sharp point of his pikestaff. “You’re coming with us.”
He weighed up the odds. Ten of them and he could see five more running to the fray. He was outnumbered—and by the Golden Guard, men of outstanding reputation as fighters. He could fight, but the odds of his winning his freedom were slim, and the odds of ending up dead with no chance of finishing his quest were very high. Too high. He hadn’t spent years in Maeve’s court, making smart decisions that kept his head on his shoulders to die here on the cobblestones of Oberon’s castle.
He left Gleam in its sheath and held up his empty hands. “I’m cooperating.”
“Unbuckle the sword, boyo. We’ll have it from you before we go to the dungeons.”
He caught sight of Thorn’s face. A glimmer of magic crossed it and he shook his head in a subtle no. There was no way she could use her power and not end up in a cell, not here, and the idea of her in the king’s dungeon sent a spike of fear running through him.
She glowered, but the light of her magic faded away.
“Move on. You’ve got an appointment with the king’s magistrate now.” A guard shoved him and he tripped, catching himself before he fell. The woman’s high-pitched laugh followed him as he was hustled away. He turned to look back over his shoulder at Thorn.
Her face was dead-pale and her eyes were panicked. She’d been terrified to come here. Now he was leaving her alone and undefended in a strange court. Damn her. He shouldn’t care. But he did.
THORN WATCHED MORE than a dozen of the king’s guards drag Ardan away. Her magic seethed beneath the surface, fed by her anxiety and she curled fingers into fists, her nails digging into her palms keeping it down. Ardan was right. Causing a scene now wouldn’t help, not with an entire complex of Gifted fae and guards surrounding them. Not to mention the Golden King, one of the most powerful fae in the land. She’d never get him free.
She turned to the Oracle’s doorkeeper. “Where are they taking him?”
The woman leaned out over her half-door and watched the guards and Ardan disappearing around the corner. “To the dungeons.” Her lips spread in a wide grin. “He’ll be brought up before the king’s justice in the morning.”
Thorn moved in closer. “And where is the king’s justice served, pray tell?” Her hair stirred with electricity, rising as her power built inside.
The woman’s eyes widened and she hustled back into the interior of the tower, pulling the top of the door with her.
Thorn thrust her hand into the gap and forced the door open. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“In the magistrate’s tower.” The woman pointed a shaking finger after the soldiers with her free hand, but kept up pressure on the open door so Thorn had to put her whole weight into keeping the door open. “Follow the wall. You’ll find it.”
Thorn let the door go and it closed with a bang. A sign appeared. Oracle closed. Come back tomorrow.
There was a rise of mutterings and curses behind her. She whipped around and stared at the people waiting to see the Oracle. Their faces creased with ang
er. The line wavered, breaking towards her.
Her fear flared, her Gift rising under her skin.
She would not go down in the streets to an angry mob without fighting back. She would not. She held her ground, lifting her chin as the static rush of magic filled her.
A man moved forward, his lips pressed together in a thin line, the rest of the crowd bunched behind him. “I was next and now I’ll have to do this whole fucking thing tomorrow with no guarantee of even getting to see the Oracle. And it’s your fault.” The pointed tips of his ears glowed, taking on a green light as he advanced.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Her hair twisted higher. Sparks tingled on the tips of her fingers. She focused on his eyes, waiting for him to break, and braced for the attack.
Someone muttered something behind him. “She’s the spitting image of the Black Queen.” There were more mutters. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone pick up a rock.
Thorn jerked. “Who said that? Who dares to say that?”
A wrinkled and bent human woman, her face and eyes filled with dread, wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders and separated from the crowd. “I’m getting out of here. I’ve seen the queen. I’ve seen what she can do.” She turned and ran off down the cobbled stones, surprisingly fast for someone of her age.
The rest of the people broke, backing away and muttering, pointing at her hair as the static laden curls climbed to the sky.
The man with the glowing ears was one of the last to go. He stared at her, his crystalline elvatian eyes narrowing. “The queen? Nah, I don’t believe it.” The air between them crackled with magic. “What would the Queen of the Black Court be doing here in the Oberon’s demesne, dressed like a commoner and wandering the streets alone?” He smirked. “You’re no queen.”
Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5) Page 11
