Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
It’s like slipping into a warm bath. And the minute the light reaches my collarbone, I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands around Lachlan’s muscled forearm.
Everything fades—Tula beneath me, Lachlan behind me, my head and limbs and clothes.
I am nothing.
A pocket of warmth in a cold, endless abyss.
Have I died?
No, I can still hear my heartbeat between my ears.
Whump. Whump. Whump.
But something lurks in here with me. A pinprick of light, pulsating across astral planes. An ancient thing, reaching, reaching, reaching …
For the blare of a horn, perhaps?
As soon as the thought hits, coolness spreads through my body, radiating out from behind my ribs. The yawning darkness behind my eyelids lightens, and sensations return—the flick of Tula’s tail. Her shoes clomping on stone. The creak of the leather saddle.
A soft breath against the shell of my ear.
“Open your eyes, Charlotte.”
I squint as the moonlit landscape blurs to life. Rolling silver hills surround an ink-blue river and just beyond, a city spreads out beneath a shining castle that looks to be made entirely of fogged glass.
“Welcome to Tír na Lune,” Lachlan says as my eyes sweep over stately buildings in shades inspired by the moonglow—dove grey, pale cream, bone white.
The castle itself is a collection of sharp towers in a race for the sky, the tallest of which pierces the bottom curve of the territory’s namesake.
Ghostly mountains lumber along the horizon, and small villages dot the hills between neat patchworks of farmland.
Serene. That’s the word I’d use to describe this place. The word I might use to title a drawing, even. I want to remember this moment. Remind myself it was real. I wish I had my sketchbook.
Lachlan urges Tula into a canter, likely just as eager as I am to dismount. It has the two-pronged benefit of delivering us to the castle gate quickly and bouncing my ass against Lachlan’s hips more times than it would be prudent to count.
It was forty-seven.
He halts Tula just outside a wrought-iron gate that bears a shield of four interlocked crescent moons.
Iron lampposts topped with glowing bulbs bracket it, and I wonder what the light source is.
It’s too steady to be a flame. I would ask the welcoming party of fae standing just beyond the bars, but I’m guessing it’s not the best question to open with.
Especially given the expression on the only familiar face at the edge of the group.
I have not known Aowen long, but I can tell by her crossed arms and pinched lips that she is furious. I don’t believe her anger is for us.
Lachlan dismounts, then helps me from the saddle, brushing road dust from my shoulders. “Where is Duke áine?” he asks, scanning the group as the gate whines open.
Aowen’s eyes widen in warning as she steps forward. “His Grace is indisposed tonight.”
“Indisposed?” Lachlan barks, inspiring a flinch from a short, bucktoothed footman wearing a pale grey uniform. “What could possibly be more crucial than—”
“He regrets that he could not be here to greet the quarry himself, Sir Cathal.” An elegant faerie woman with long silver hair and pale green eyes steps forward, her upper lip curling around Lachlan’s title with very personal distaste.
Lachlan composes himself, then dips into a bow.
The woman turns to me, scanning my dingy traveling gear.
“He is a very important man, of course. He cannot be here to welcome every woman who comes to call. Regardless of the gifts she has to offer.” She snaps at the footman.
“Show Miss Fitzroy and her companion to their quarters. I am sure they must be travel-weary.”
Aowen cuts in. “I’ve spent all day preparing for Miss Fitzroy’s arrival. I can show her and Sir Cathal the way.”
“Suit yourself,” the woman says to Aowen before aiming a tight smile my way. “Welcome to Tír na Lune, miss. I do hope you enjoy yourself for as long as you’re here.” She sashays away before I have a chance to respond, the footman and other servants scurrying after her.
Aowen vents an exasperated sigh, then makes for the castle entrance, Lachlan and I falling into step behind her.
I wonder where Vesper is. I wonder what kind of rooms we’ve been given. I wonder who the woman was who greeted us and why she seemed to recognize Lachlan. I wonder why Duke áine is not here to welcome me himself. I wonder how much of Tír na Lune will be aware of that insult by morning.
I wonder many things, chief of which is something I’d rather not wonder at all.
Whether this might be the last place in the Otherworld I ever visit.