Chapter 11 #2
A palace footman cuts through the crowd clutching a small pouch, and Desmond whispers, “Be clever and witty and you will be fine.” Cold fingers pinch my chin. “You won’t disappoint me, will you, darling?”
His handsome grin was made to melt hearts, but mine remains stubbornly frozen. Nerves, surely.
Desmond nods to the footman, who unties the pouch and pulls out a pile of … glittering black sand? He opens his palm and blows it toward the mirror.
The frame shines, and the glass ripples like a pebble-disturbed pond. Swirling shadows curl upon the surface before two silhouettes appear.
I cannot make out their features, their bodies mere outlines. Two tall, strapping outlines, of course. If Desmond, Lachlan and the other faerie men in this room are anything to go by, I have no doubt these two dukes are just as beautiful. Just as powerful.
“Duke áine, Duke Cernunnos,” Desmond greets his competitors, “thank you for joining us this afternoon. It’s my honor to present this Season’s candidate for the Wild Hunt—Miss Charlotte Fitzroy.”
The silhouette on the right, slimmer in build, dips his head in welcome. The one on the left doesn’t move at all. His stillness combined with what look like ram’s horns curling atop his head is making my palms sweat.
Desmond continues, “As protocol dictates, you may each ask her a single question before provisionally approving her as the quarry.”
“Or rejecting her,” booms the horned silhouette.
“I think you will find her quite a bit more compelling than my previous candidates.” Desmond pulls the fragment from his jacket. “She has already found the first piece of the Bannrhorn!”
The reactions from the two silhouettes are quite different. The smaller one perks up, tilting his head as if examining me more closely. The horned silhouette, well … if he hadn’t already spoken, I might mistake him for a statue.
Desmond turns to the shorter silhouette. “Duke áine of Tír na Lune, you may ask the first question.”
The duke steps forward, but the fog does not clear. Drat, I was hoping to see what he looked like. In a lilting tenor, he says, “Miss Fitzroy, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. How are you enjoying the Otherworld?”
“Is that your question, Your Grace?”
A tinkling chuckle. “Clever thing. Though if you’d have answered it, our interaction would be over.”
“And you would have lost an opportunity to learn something about me. Which would have been a great shame.” My smile is coy. “For you.”
The crowd titters, and Desmond grins at me.
“Well, at the very least, I’d have learned your shape,” the duke croons. “That dress is very distracting. A ploy to throw off my game?”
I smile and wag a finger at him. “Is this truly the answer you seek?”
I cannot see his face, but I sense he’s enjoying our banter. Is it possible I am doing well?
Duke áine chuckles. “Here is my official question. How did you find the fragment so quickly?”
My smile turns brittle, and my eyelid twitches. Do not look at Lachlan, I order myself. He never said it outright, but I get the feeling that he’s not supposed to be helping me. And I don’t want to seem incapable of deciphering clues on my own.
“I … ”
The base of my skull tingles. A knock.
Tell him the truth, Lachlan says as soon as I allow him in.
What, that you told me?
I didn’t tell you. I merely reminded you of a faerie tale. You identified the location on your own, if you’ll recall.
He’s … Well, he’s absolutely right. As soon as I exited my bedchamber, he asked me where we should go.
I was the one who said Queen Caer’s tomb.
And when he asked me if I remembered how to get there, I said I didn’t but his mare might.
And sure enough, she led us straight to the tomb.
That I entered alone. Where I pried up the loose tile beneath the late queen’s statue to discover the box.
I did every bit of the task myself. Minus Lachlan’s small nudge.
A relieved breath surges through my nostrils. “For a human, you’ll find I am very well versed in folklore, Your Grace. Desmond’s clue was a cakewalk.”
“I see.” Duke áine nods and steps back, making a faint chuffing sound. Was he pleased with my answer? I cannot tell. Our short interview is over.
The other silhouette steps forward, and he’s even larger than I realized. He barely fits within the frame.
“Duke Cernnunos of Tír na Dubh,” Desmond begins, “you may ask your—”
“What do you fear most in this world?” Duke Cernnunos’s voice—a commanding bass as cold as the abyss that cradles the stars—pulls the truth from me faster than I can invent a clever response.
“To die alone.”
Duke Cernunnos cocks his head, and his horns loom even larger. “Every soul enters the Afterlands alone, lady. Your fear is foolish. And inevitable. Try again.”
I take a moment to compose myself, and a whine bursts from the mirror. Followed by three sharp barks. The duke turns his head sharply and hisses, “Skadi. Hush.”
He turns back to me, waiting to see if I will change my answer. Is this allowed? No one interrupts us, so I suppose it is.
“Foolish though it may be, Your Grace, that is my answer. And what I meant was that I fear reaching the Afterlands without ever having mattered to anyone.”
Oh yes, Charlotte. That was very witty. And not at all pathetic.
God, where did the woman who was parrying quips with Duke áine disappear to?
Duke Cernunnos must take pity on me, because he says nothing further. Merely steps back in line with Duke áine as quiet conversations buzz through the hall.
Desmond places a hand on my bare shoulder, and I look up with a pleading smile. I want to ask how I’ve done. If my answers were clever enough. How my performance compared to the other candidates’.
I do none of that, of course. Because his reassurance couldn’t help me now, anyway. My fate will be determined by the two shadowed silhouettes in the mirror.
“Alright, Your Graces, what say you?” Desmond asks. “Will you welcome Miss Fitzroy to your territories to search for the Bannrhorn?”
Duke Cernunnos is the first to answer. It’s short and simple and a spear to my heart. “No.”
He disappears in a swirl of shadows, leaving only Duke áine’s silhouette in the mirror.
My pulse accelerates and my breathing shallows and I am trying to hold it together but I am certain that Duke áine is going to reject me too, which means I’m going to die, and oh god, what’s going to happen to Esmeralda if I can’t get back to her, and why am I even concerned about that to begin with, because even if I survive all this and become a queen of the Otherworld, is my king really going to allow me to go back to the human realm to retrieve a snake, and I should have—
Warmth prickles the base of my skull. Soothing.
You did well, Charlotte, Lachlan says. You’re a breath of fresh air, really. This is not over yet.
A bit of that reassurance I hadn’t dared ask for.
My breathing regulates as I lift my head to the final silhouette in the mirror, and Desmond clutches me to his side. “Well,” he snaps, an impatient crack in his normally unflappable facade, “what is your decision, Duke áine?”
The duke’s silhouette remains motionless as the entire hall holds its breath.
This is it. I am about to die. He’s going to—
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Desmond repeats. “Are you… Well, that’s… Yes. Yes! Wonderful!”
The hall erupts into cheers as Desmond sweeps me into his arms and presses a hard, firm kiss to my lips. Relief floods my body, an overwhelming sensation that must be the reason I feel nothing else.
“I look forward to hosting you in Tír na Lune, Miss Fitzroy.” The duke’s silhouette disappears in a puff of shadow.
While I’m overjoyed to be alive, I don’t dare fully relax. I may have won this first battle, but I know better than anyone that a Season is a war.
And I have a feeling the Otherworld’s is going to be particularly brutal.