by SM Reine
“She doesn’t speak to me like you do,” Ariane said softly. “I’d have come to help you sooner if I’d known how much you needed me. I returned as soon as I learned that you need to find Shamayim.”
Marion sat beside her mother—not touching, but near enough that their fogging breaths mingled. “Shamayim?”
“It’s the last of the Heaven dimensions,” Ariane said. “Your labors will lead you there. You need to get inside.”
And once she did, she would know how to get in contact with Seth. “Can Onoskelis do what she says? The return of my memories…it’s not a trick?”
“I promise it’s not.”
Marion started shaking her head before her mother finished the sentence. “I couldn’t be Onoskelis’s errand girl even if I wanted to. I have to run a kingdom.”
“Onoskelis’s sole interest is in maintaining events as they’re supposed to happen. She won’t disturb your…kingdom.” The way that Ariane said the last word made it clear she understood the exact extent of her daughter’s power.
“What’s your interest?” Marion asked.
“Now that I realize how much you’ve been struggling, my interest is in helping you.” Ariane brushed a few curls away from Marion’s forehead and tucked them behind her ear.
Marion was taller than her mother by virtue of her angel blood, but being touched like that sent her to the childhood she couldn’t remember. Feverish days napping on the couch. Nights of cuddling when she couldn’t sleep alone. Being a tiny creature in an adult’s lap, whose biggest concern was whether or not she could use magic to summon butterflies.
Ariane may have been lying, but Marion hoped she wasn’t.
“Stay with me,” Marion said. “I don’t remember you, but I want to. I want to know you better. And…I may need your help fulfilling Onoskelis’s labors.”
“You’ll have all the help you need.” Ariane produced the contract. She set it in front of Marion.
Only then did Marion realize she was still clutching a quill in her fist. Her knuckles were stained with ink. Marion was never so untidy, and the urge to wash her hands nearly overwhelmed her urge to sign.
But sign she did.
The contract vanished with the final curlicue on Marion’s surname.
3
The coronation was arranged to follow the wedding by three days. Three days dressed in black. Three days in mourning. Three days of tears, late-night vigils, and candles lit around the Autumn Court. Even the ravens wouldn’t fly. Half of the pumpkins had rotted overnight.
Marion spent her first evening in her Myrkheimr bedroom. Heather Cobweb was there too, wearing the pants made of Hound hide. She gripped the bow’s stave in both hands so tightly that her knuckles yellowed from pressure.
“Handmaidens?” Marion echoed.
Heather nodded. “Konig’s collected four of them. They’ll follow you everywhere so that you’re never lonely.”
The idea that Marion could be anything but lonely was truly hilarious. “And what will they do while following me? Observe my actions and report them to Konig?”
“They’re about our age.” Which was Heather’s way of saying that they’d grown up with Konig, just as she had. Where the archer had gone into martial training to protect her friend and prince, the handmaidens must have taken a more usual route to sidhe debauchery. “They’ll assist you in anything that you need.”
“Why do I need company?”
“Sidhe are never alone. It hurts us to be without community.”
Marion wasn’t sidhe. She was half-angel, and solitude suited her. There was no better company left on this plane or any other.
She stepped onto the balcony, letting the Autumn Court’s weight sink onto her shoulders. Sidhe magic was woven into every single aspect of the Middle Worlds. The hearts of the kings and queens dictated how the forest grew, the layout of the castle, the wealth of the people. The Autumn Court’s heart had been cut out when Violet died.
The Onyx Queen wasn’t the only one to have passed. There were enough bodies to ensure that corpses would fertilize the pumpkin ale for seasons to come.
Even with magical assistance, the work of burials was time consuming for such a number of victims. Marion’s new kingdom was riddled with cadavers as surely as her old one had been.
Death reigned. Marion could smell it on the air.
She could smell him.
Seth Wilder had plunged into balefire and his failing body had been incinerated. He’d been only a shell for the god within. He was still gone, even if she felt his grim presence everywhere.
He was a god. Marion was the Voice. She should have been able to speak to him.
She tipped her face to the fading sunlight and whispered, “Seth.”
Silence.
“What did you say?” Heather asked, following Marion to the balustrade.
“When will my handmaidens be here?” Marion’s fingertips were so cold.
“After the mourning period. They’ll go back to the Winter Court with you and live there.” Heather made no effort to hide her disapproving glare toward the forest. “Konig’s ensuring Niflheimr is fully populated so you’ll have a functional palace.”
Marion’s hollow ice castle would be more like bustling Myrkheimr. It would flow with wine. Every corner would be occupied by lovemaking. At least, she assumed that was the desired result. “Konig is separating the unseelie when we’ve had such a tragedy?”
“I know.” Heather sighed. “I know.” But she wouldn’t argue. She disagreed with Konig, but she was still loyal to him, and would ensure his commands were carried out. “At least you won’t be lonely, right?”
The cold in Marion’s extremities seeped toward her heart.
Heather left, and Marion immersed herself in the business of solitude—which was to say, exploring the extent of the memories that Onoskelis had returned. Heather had been kind enough to bring a few old journals from Marion’s Vancouver Island home, and Marion plumbed the entries for new familiarity.
Such familiarity was scarce, and strange. She would remember a dress she had purchased but not a literally explosive argument with Sinead McGrath.
She remembered magic other than that first elaborate rune too.
The other spells that returned to her were for little things, mostly. Marion had been interested in using her magic for vain pursuits, like cleaning her clothes, removing odors and stains, and affixing her hair without pins. But every time she rediscovered one of those, she could feel her inner magic more acutely.
It was there—all of it. Every last spell Marion had every cast. Her body remembered it, even if her mind didn’t. It was just like the muscle memory of shooting her longbow.
She didn’t remember anything useful that might take away the pain of the grieving families. Marion hated herself for being able to fix her hair but not hearts.
Three days like that. Three days of smelling death, seeing it, feeling it, and trying to focus inward on living magic.
Then life had to continue.
When Marion dressed for the coronation, it was in a somber dress of midnight blue—the same color as the limbal ring encircling her icy-pale irises. The dress was high in the front and low enough in the back to reveal dimples at the base of her spine. It was simple, but Marion wore no jewelry with it. She didn’t want to detract from the attention her diadem was meant to receive.
The largest piece of the diadem was a silver crescent that would rest in the center of Marion’s forehead, sitting just atop her eyebrows, with an ungodly large diamond nestled within its inner ring. Strings of diamonds nested in her hair, glistening like starlight.
It was perfect for a half-angel Queen of the Winter Court.
Marion got it into her hair without help from stylists. She was straightening it in the mirror when Heather entered.
“Do you have a few minutes, Your Majesty? Your handmaidens are here.”
“Send them in.” Better to meet them now so that Marion could escape to the coro
nation sooner.
The sidhe women filed into the room behind Heather. Marion watched them in the mirror as she pretended to arrange her curly hair around the diadem.
As promised, there were four handmaidens. Marion recognized two. One was Saoirse, an archer responsible for the scar on Marion’s ribcage, and the other was an adviser named Aoife. She was considered to be a savant in battle strategy. She looked less-than-thrilled to be marched into the dressing room in a matching gown with other faeries.
Heather introduced them all. The two Marion didn’t know were Tove and Maddisyn, both of whom were gorgeous, pale-eyed brunettes. The flesh of the one on the right was patterned like moth wings.
“You look amazing!” gushed Maddisyn. “So beautiful, so queenly—”
“Fucking perfect,” Tove agreed.
Marion wouldn’t have expected to feel a buzz at the praise. She already knew that she was beautiful. But hearing the words was gratifying, particularly in a moment of wavering confidence.
“The dress could use more skin,” Saoirse said with a wink at Marion. “Show off that scar? What do you think, Aoife?”
Aoife hung back. She shrugged. “It looks really good. Do you need help with anything, Your Majesty?”
Tove squealed. “Let’s fix her hair! I love hair!”
It was like being surrounded by butterflies of warmth. Soft bodies pressed against Marion’s arms and sides as they fussed with her. Sidhe magic jolted into her skin, smelling of perfumed hair and waxed violin bowstrings.
The effect was overwhelming, and far from unpleasant.
“We’ve got to go,” Heather said, tapping her watch. She parted the fluttering handmaidens with a flap of her hand.
Marion faced Heather. “Is the diadem centered?”
“Yes, I think so.” Heather tugged a couple of the forehead diamonds to shift them. “Violet did great work, both in the metalwork and spellwork. It’ll look incredible when it illuminates.”
Marion brushed the central diamond to search for magic. “It illuminates?”
“Your embrace with Konig during the coronation will light it up. It’s an elegant display of simple sidhe magic—something that every single bride wears after her wedding. The brighter it is, the more the couple are in love.”
A couple of the handmaidens erupted into chirping giggles.
“The glow makes for funny competitions between newlyweds sometimes!” Maddisyn chimed in. “You won’t have to worry about that, though, obviously.”
“You’re queen!” Tove started passing out mugs of honey mead. She’d been carrying a bottle of it in a bag at her hip, like a purse.
Marion’s hand fell away from the diadem. “Will that love magic work since I’m half-angel? What if it doesn’t glow?”
Heather shrugged. “I think it’s meant to be mostly metaphor anyway. The brightness is probably strength of enchantment, not strength of love. You know? Like a trendy gimmick.”
“It’s cheesy. Forget it,” Aoife said.
Maddisyn nodded emphatically. “You look good, so everything will be fine.”
It wasn’t looking fine that worried Marion.
The world moved in slow motion around them as they exited. Halls that had been empty for days were now lined with waiting subjects—Marion’s subjects, very soon. The dazzling array of gemlike eyes swirled in her periphery, blurring into the fiber of the rest of the world.
She would soon be at the head of that power.
The sidhe would want to see Marion’s love for Konig reflected in the brightness of the diadem.
The coronation should have been in the throne room, but there was still too much damage to be repaired. They went to a ballroom instead. Its windows allowed light to reflect from the waterfalls, casting shadows in the shapes of the vine-draped windows on the floor.
As Marion entered from the right side of the ballroom, Konig entered from the left.
They looked at one another from that distance. It was distant, but the closest they’d been since the funeral.
When Marion looked at Konig, she could only remember her wedding.
Nori dead on the floor of the throne room.
Violet’s sparkling sidhe blood flowing from a bullet wound.
Rage limp on the floor.
Konig across from Marion at the top of a crumbling tower, swearing to be with each other for eternity even though Konig couldn’t be loyal for even a few weeks.
Time was slow. The distance to the center of the ballroom was limitless.
Marion met Konig among a ring of Raven Knights in full ceremonial armor. There was no sign of the comfortable uniforms they usually wore, which were reminiscent of those of the Secret Service. It was strange to see them in plate-mail with capes and boots. The metal was black, the cloth red. It was like being engulfed in fall’s seamy darkness.
“Are you ready?” Konig asked Marion.
She faced the room, aware that music was playing but unable to hear it. The handmaidens had blurred into the crowd. The gentry filled the ballroom, packed from wall to wall so that everyone could see the new royal couple. She couldn’t make out the details of a single glittering face.
Three days. Many of the dead had barely begun to decay.
She felt Konig beside her, but didn’t reach out to him.
Words were spoken.
Magic flowed.
Marion was coronated in minutes. It took as little time as hurriedly exchanging vows with Konig.
The watching sidhe seemed to hold their breaths in anticipation, and the flowing tides of magic held still. Even the foaming waterfalls slowed to watch Marion and Konig perform the final moment of their coronation.
The diadem weighed heavily above her eyebrows, pressed into her imaginary third eye. The power of the court should have flowed through it. Her love should have glowed.
“Marion,” Konig said softly, forcing her to focus on him. The look in his eyes was one of total devotion.
On another day, at another time, he had descended upon her while drunk and beaten her in his rage.
Now he opened his arms for her.
They embraced. His stiff body was less rigid than hers, and he slid his hands along her exposed spine. The hug probably should have included a kiss, but if Konig had angled for it, Marion had angled away.
When they released each other, a murmur of discontent spread through the gentry.
No light.
Marion’s diadem hadn’t glowed when she’d touched Konig.
Everyone had noticed. And by the sounds of their discontent, they didn’t consider it to be metaphor.
Marion was scheduled to return to the Winter Court that very night. For a half-angel who couldn’t planeswalk without help, that meant traveling through ley line junctures. The one she used was in a gazebo near the archery range—well within the boundaries of Myrkheimr.
“I don’t need help walking to the gazebo,” Marion said.
Her handmaidens had been glued to her ever since the coronation, although they’d found time to switch into evening clothes, which they now layered with furs. “It’s not like we’re helping you walk,” Aoife said. “We’re just going to the same place.”
“Do any of you want to move to Niflheimr, or is this something you’re doing because you were commanded?” Marion asked.
Something resembling fear sparked in Maddisyn’s eyes, but she laughed loudly to hide it. “Of course we want to move there!”
“Handmaiden to the queen in any court’s way better than sitting around here crying,” Tove said. Her wine bottle had already been replaced multiple times. She uncorked another. “I hate the cold, but whatever—at least we get to be with you.”
“Right,” Saoirse agreed with a vigorous nod.
They spoke as though they’d been friends for years, despite having just met that day.
Gods, it was so cold within Marion’s heart. But the outward smile came easily.
They emerged from her bedroom after dark to find the hallways empty.
It was a striking contrast from the number of people who had stared at her during the coronation, but a welcome one. She wasn’t sure she could have faced the people if she’d been forced to do so.
Two of the Raven Knights had been assigned to Marion personally, in addition to the others assigned to the Winter Court in general. The knights fell into step, flanking her as she headed to the gardens.
All seven of them emerged from the empty castle to find the lawn completely occupied by sidhe.
Marion almost turned back around and went right into the tower. She steeled her spine, forcing herself to hold steady.
The gentry were blocking her path to the gazebo.
So many faces.
The Raven Knights didn’t initially move. They were as unprepared to see the gentry congregating as Marion was. “What are they doing?” Marion murmured to Saoirse. She received only a shrug in response.
No one was speaking, casting magic, or…anything. They were just standing there.
By quick estimate, over a hundred sidhe stood in between Marion and the gazebo. Silent, staring sidhe.
She didn’t know any of them.
One familiar face appeared among the rest. Heather Cobweb parted the crowd easily with barked orders and the aid of her elbows. Even so, it took a few minutes for her to cross the plaza and reach the steps upon which Marion stood.
“Explain,” Marion said.
“It’s a protest,” Heather said breathlessly.
Marion’s eyes narrowed. She folded her hands behind her back, fists clenched, ensuring that if she sparked with angry lightning that it would go unseen by the gentry. “Against?”
“You,” Heather said. “Your marriage. Your coronation.”
She had only gotten married and coronated to save the lives of these people.
Had she not given Konig the kingdom by marrying him, every last one of those people would have been dead. Had she done the sane thing—like divorcing him immediately after they drove Arawn away—then they’d have had no magic at all, and the survivors would have been stranded in a wasteland ripped by the same tumult as the Winter Court.
