Because I’d been a cowering human, that’s why. Because Tamlin knew I would have locked myself in this room and never come out if I’d seen them all for their true selves.
Things only got worse when I made my way downstairs to find the High Lord. The hallways were bustling with masked faeries I’d never seen before. Some were tall and humanoid—High Fae like Tamlin—others were … not. Faeries. I tried to avoid looking at those ones, as they seemed the most surprised to notice my attention.
I was almost shaking by the time I reached the dining room. Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t.
Tamlin lounged in his usual chair but straightened as I lingered in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
“There are … a lot of people—faeries—around. When did they arrive?”
I’d almost yelped when I looked out my bedroom window and spotted all the faeries in the garden. Many of them—all with insect masks—pruned the hedges and tended the flowers. Those faeries had been the strangest of all, with their iridescent, buzzing wings sprouting from their backs. And, of course, then there was the green-and-brown skin, and their unnaturally long limbs, and—
Tamlin bit his lip as if to keep from smiling. “They’ve been here all along.”
“But … but I didn’t hear anything.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Lucien drawled, and twirled one of his daggers between his hands. “We made sure you couldn’t see or hear anyone but those who were necessary.”
I adjusted the lapels of my tunic. “So you mean that … that when I ran after the puca that night—”
“You had an audience,” Lucien finished for me. I thought I’d been so stealthy. Meanwhile, I’d been tiptoeing past faeries who had probably laughed their heads off at the blind human following an illusion.
Fighting against my rising mortification, I turned to Tamlin. His lips twitched and he clamped them tightly together, but the amusement still danced in his eyes as he nodded. “It was a valiant effort.”
“But I could see the naga—and the puca, and the Suriel. And—and that faerie whose wings were … ripped off,” I said, wincing inwardly. “Why didn’t the glamour apply to them?”
His eyes darkened. “They’re not members of my court,” Tamlin said, “so my glamour didn’t keep a hold on them. The puca belongs to the wind and weather and everything that changes. And the naga … they belong to someone else.”
“I see,” I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. “You’ve been noticeably absent again.”
He used the dagger to clean his nails. “I’ve been busy. So have you, I take it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
“If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Tamlin said to him with a soft snarl, but Lucien continued laughing, and was still laughing when he left the room.
Alone with Tamlin, I shifted on my feet. “So if I were to encounter the Attor again,” I said, mostly to avoid the heavy silence, “would I actually see it?”
“Yes, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
“You said it didn’t see me that time, and it certainly doesn’t seem like a member of your court,” I ventured. “Why?”
“Because I threw a glamour over you when we entered the garden,” he said simply. “The Attor couldn’t see, hear, or smell you.” His gaze went to the window beyond me, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve done all I can to keep you invisible to creatures like the Attor—and worse. The blight is acting up again—and more of these creatures are being freed from their tethers.”
My stomach turned over. “If you spot one,” Tamlin continued, “even if it looks harmless but makes you feel uncomfortable, pretend you don’t see it. Don’t talk to it. If it hurts you, I … the results wouldn’t be pleasant for it, or for me. You remember what happened with the naga.”
This was for my own safety, not his amusement. He didn’t want me hurt—he didn’t want to punish them for hurting me. Even if the naga hadn’t been part of his court, had it hurt him to kill them?
Realizing he waited for my answer, I nodded. “The … the blight is growing again?”
“So far, only in other territories. You’re safe here.”
“It’s not my safety I’m worried about.”
Tamlin’s eyes softened, but his lips became a thin line as he said, “It’ll be fine.”
“Is it possible that the surge will be temporary?” A fool’s hope.
Tamlin didn’t reply, which was answer enough. If the blight was becoming active again … I didn’t bother to offer my aid. I already knew he wouldn’t allow me to help with whatever this conflict was.
But I thought of that painting I’d given him, and what he’d said about it … and wished he would let me in anyway.
The next morning, I found a head in the garden.
A bleeding male High Fae head—spiked atop a fountain statue of a great heron flapping its wings. The stone was soaked in enough blood to suggest that the head had been fresh when someone had impaled it on the heron’s upraised bill.
I had been hauling my paints and easel out to the garden to paint one of the beds of irises when I stumbled across it. My tins and brushes had clattered to the gravel.
I didn’t know where I went as I stared at that still-screaming head, the brown eyes bulging, the teeth broken and bloody. No mask—so he wasn’t a part of the Spring Court. Anything else about him, I couldn’t discern.
His blood was so bright on the gray stone—his mouth open so vulgarly. I backed away a step—and slammed into something warm and hard.
I whirled, hands rising out of instinct, but Tamlin’s voice said, “It’s me,” and I stopped cold. Lucien stood beside him, pale and grim.
“Not Autumn Court,” Lucien said. “I don’t recognize him at all.”
Tamlin’s hands clamped on my shoulders as I turned back toward the head. “Neither do I.” A soft, vicious growl laced his words, but no claws pricked my skin as he kept gripping me. His hands tightened, though, while Lucien stepped into the small pool in which the statue stood—striding through the red water until he peered up at the anguished face.
“They branded him behind the ear with a sigil,” Lucien said, swearing. “A mountain with three stars—”
“Night Court,” Tamlin said too quietly.
The Night Court—the northernmost bit of Prythian, if I recalled the mural’s map correctly. A land of darkness and starlight. “Why … why would they do this?” I breathed.
Tamlin let go, coming to stand at my side as Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head. I looked toward a blossoming crab apple tree instead.
“The Night Court does what it wants,” Tamlin said. “They live by their own codes, their own corrupt morals.”
“They’re all sadistic killers,” Lucien said. I dared a glance at him; he was now perched on the heron’s stone wing. I looked away again. “They delight in torture of every kind—and would find this sort of stunt to be amusing.”
“Amusing, but not a message?” I scanned the garden.
“Oh, it’s a message,” Lucien said, and I cringed at the thick, wet sounds of flesh and bone on stone as he yanked the head off. I’d skinned enough animals, but this … Tamlin put another hand on my shoulder. “To get in and out of our defenses, to possibly commit the crime nearby, with the blood this fresh …” A splash as Lucien landed in the water again. “It’s exactly what the High Lord of the Night Court would find amusing. The bastard.”
I gauged the distance between the pool and the house. Sixty, maybe seventy feet. That’s how close they’d come to us. Tamlin brushed a thumb against my shoulder. “You’re still safe here. This was just their idea of a prank.”
“This isn’t connected to the blight?” I asked.
“Only in that they know the blight is again awakening—and want us to know they’re circling the Spring Court like vultures, should our wards fall further.” I must have looked as sick as I felt, because Tamlin added, “I won’t let that happen.”
I didn’t have the heart to say that their masks made it fairly clear that nothing could be done against the blight.
Lucien splashed out of the fountain, but I couldn’t look at him, not with the head he bore, the blood surely on his hands and clothes. “They’ll get what’s coming to them soon enough. Hopefully the blight will wreck them, too.” Tamlin growled at Lucien to take care of the head, and the gravel crunched as Lucien departed.
I crouched to pick up my paints and brushes, my hands shaking as I fumbled for a large brush. Tamlin knelt next to me, but his hands closed around mine, squeezing.
“You’re still safe,” he said again. The Suriel’s command echoed through my mind. Stay with the High Lord, human. You will be safe.
I nodded.
“It’s court posturing,” he said. “The Night Court is deadly, but this was only their lord’s idea of a joke. Attacking anyone here—attacking you—would cause more trouble than it’s worth for him. If the blight truly does harm these lands, and the Night Court enters our borders, we’ll be ready.”
My knees shook as I rose. Faerie politics, faerie courts … “Their idea of jokes must have been even more horrible when we were enslaved to you all.” They must have tortured us whenever they liked—must have done such unspeakable, awful things to their human pets.
A shadow flickered in his eyes. “Some days, I’m very glad I was still a child when my father sent his slaves south of the wall. What I witnessed then was bad enough.”
I didn’t want to imagine. Even now, I still hadn’t looked to see if any hints of those long-ago humans had been left behind. I did not think five centuries would be enough to cleanse the stain of the horrors that my people had endured. I should have let it go—should have, but couldn’t. “Do you remember if they were happy to leave?”
Tamlin shrugged. “Yes. Yet they had never known freedom, or known the seasons as you do. They didn’t know what to do in the mortal world. But yes—most of them were very, very happy to leave.” Each word was more ground out than the next. “I was happy to see them go, even if my father wasn’t.” Despite the stillness with which he stood, his claws poked out from above his knuckles.
No wonder he’d been so awkward with me, had no idea what to do with me, when I’d first arrived. But I said quietly, “You’re not your father, Tamlin. Or your brothers.” He glanced away, and I added, “You never made me feel like a prisoner—never made me feel like little more than chattel.”
The shadows that flickered in his eyes as he nodded his thanks told me there was more—still more that he had yet to tell me about his family, his life before they’d been killed and this title had been thrust upon him. I wouldn’t ask, not with the blight pressing down on him—not until he was ready. He’d given me space and respect; I could offer him no less.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to paint that day.
Chapter 25
Tamlin was called away to one of the borders hours after I found that head—where and why, he wouldn’t tell me. But I sensed enough from what he didn’t say: the blight was indeed crawling from other courts, directly toward ours.
He stayed the night—the first he’d ever spent away—but sent Lucien to inform me that he was alive. Lucien had emphasized that last word enough that I slept terribly, even as a small part of me marveled that Tamlin had bothered to let me know about his well-being. I knew—I knew I was headed down a path that would likely end in my mortal heart being left in pieces, and yet … And yet I couldn’t stop myself. I hadn’t been able to since that day with the naga. But seeing that head … the games these courts played, with people’s lives as tokens on a board … it was an effort to keep food down whenever I thought about it.
Yet despite the creeping malice, I awoke the next day to the sound of merry fiddling, and when I looked out the window I found the garden bedecked in ribbons and streamers. On the distant hills, I spied the makings of fires and maypoles being raised. When I asked Alis—whose people, I’d learned, were called the urisk—she simply said, “Summer Solstice. The main celebration used to be at the Summer Court, but … things are different. So now we have one here, too. You’re going.”
Summer—in the weeks that I’d been painting and dining with Tamlin and wandering the court lands at his side, summer had come. Did my family still truly believe me to be visiting some long-lost aunt? What were they doing with themselves? If it was the solstice, then there would be a small gathering in the village center—nothing religious, of course, though the Children of the Blessed might wander in to try to convert the young people; just some shared food, donated ale from the solitary tavern, and maybe some line dances. The only thing to celebrate was a day’s break from the long summer days of planting and tilling. From the decorations around the estate, I could tell this would be something far grander—far more spirited.
Tamlin remained gone for most of the day. Worry gnawed at me even as I painted a quick, loose rendering of the streamers and ribbons in the garden. Perhaps it was petty and selfish, given the returning blight, but I also quietly hoped that the solstice didn’t require the same rites as Fire Night. I didn’t let myself think too much about what I would do if Tamlin had a flock of beautiful faeries lining up for him.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that I heard Tamlin’s deep voice and Lucien’s braying laugh echo through the halls all the way to my painting room. Relief sent my chest caving in, but as I rushed to find them, Alis yanked me upstairs. She stripped off my paint-splattered clothes and insisted I change into a flowing, cornflower-blue chiffon gown. She left my hair unbound but wove a garland of pink, white, and blue wildflowers around the crown of my head.
I might have felt childish with it on, but in the months I’d been there, my sharp bones and skeletal form had filled out. A woman’s body. I ran my hands over the sweeping, soft curves of my waist and hips. I had never thought I would feel anything but muscle and bone.
“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. “She looks positively Fae.”
I was too busy looking Tamlin over—scanning for any injury, any sign of blood or mark that the blight might have left—to thank Lucien for the compliment. But Tamlin was clean, almost glowing, completely unarmed—and smiling at me. Whatever he’d gone to deal with had left him unscathed. “You look lovely,” Tamlin murmured, and something in his soft tone made me want to purr.
I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. “I’m surprised I’m even allowed to participate tonight.”
“Unfortunately for you and your neck,” Lucien countered, “tonight’s just a party.”
“Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?”
Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. “He’s right,” the High Lord said. I was aware of every inch where we touched, of the hard muscles beneath his green tunic. He led me into the garden, and Lucien followed. “Solstice celebrates when day and night are equal—it’s a time of neutrality, when everyone can take down their hair and simply enjoy being a faerie—not High Fae or faerie, just us, and nothing else.”
“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. “And dallying,” he added with a wicked grin.
Indeed, every brush of Tamlin’s body against mine made it harder to avoid the urge to lean into him entirely, to smell him and touch him and taste him. Whether he noticed the heat singeing my neck and face, or heard my uneven heartbeat, he revealed nothing, holding my arm tighter as we walked out of the garden and into the fields beyond.
The sun was beginning its final descent when we reached the plateau on which
the festivities were to be held. I tried not to gawk at the faeries gathered, even as I was in turn gawked at by them. I’d never seen so many in one place before, at least not without the glamour hiding them from me. Now that my eyes were open to the sight, the exquisite dresses and lithe forms that were shaped and colored and built so strangely and differently were a marvel to behold. Yet what little novelty my own presence by the High Lord’s side offered soon wore off—helped by a low, warning growl from Tamlin that sent the others scattering to mind their own business.
Table after table of food had been lined up along the far edge of the plateau, and I lost Tamlin while I waited in line to fill a plate, leaving me to try my best not to look like I was some human plaything of his. Music started near the giant, smoking bonfire—fiddles and drums and merry instruments that had me tapping my feet in the grass. Light and joyous and open, the mirthful sister to the bloodthirsty Fire Night.
Lucien, of course, excelled at disappearing when I needed him, and so I ate my fill of strawberry shortcake, apple tart, and blueberry pie—no different from summer treats in the mortal realm—alone beneath a sycamore covered with silken lanterns and sparkling ribbons.
I didn’t mind the solitude—not when I was busy contemplating the way the lanterns and ribbons shone, the shadows they cast; perhaps it would be my next painting. Or maybe I would paint the ethereal faeries beginning to dance. Such angles and colors to them. I wondered if any of them had been the subjects of the painters whose work was displayed in the gallery.
I moved only to get myself something to drink. The plateau became more crowded as the sun sank toward the horizon. Across the hills, other bonfires and parties began, their music filtering through the occasional pause in ours. I was pouring myself a goblet of golden sparkling wine when Lucien finally appeared behind me, peering over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
“Oh?” I said, frowning at the fizzing liquid.
“Faerie wine at the solstice,” Lucien hinted.
“Hmm,” I said, taking a sniff. It didn’t reek of alcohol. In fact, it smelled like summers spent lying in the grass and bathing in cool pools. I’d never smelled anything so fantastic.
A Court of Thorns and Roses Page 21
