Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The next day at the break of dawn, a fading luxbridge deposits Lachlan, Tula and me in a forest overlooking Campan’s Vale.
The small painting in the castle gallery did not do the region justice.
A verdant hill in that unmistakable bell shape sits sentinel above the valley, protecting it from the winds howling down the Brumalts.
Shielded from the harsher weather patterns, the region is a luxuriant tapestry of green flora and blue lakes.
Forest and moss and olive and sage mingle with a shade of deep cobalt so reminiscent of Lachlan’s eyes, it’s as if he’s always wearing a reminder of his homeland.
But amidst the beauty are pockets of ruin; smoldering wounds burned into the land by Duke áine’s occupation.
“Why have the other Houses done nothing to stop him?” I ask as Lachlan steers Tula down toward the town center. The ring warms as we get closer.
“Cernunnos hasn’t involved himself in any of the kingdom’s affairs beyond the Seasonal presentation ceremonies for the past six years.
And Desmond is hamstrung. An official public move against Duke áine would kick off a civil war, especially since he won that ruling from Queen Caer and King Aengus.
It would drag even more of the kingdom into the fighting.
The best way to end this without further loss of innocent lives is for Desmond to win the monarchy.
That way, he can rescind the ruling and kick áine’s forces out.
But Des has still been helping in private ways.
Sending supplies to the region in secret.
Weapons, too. And, well, me when he can spare me. ”
“What does that mean?”
He smirks. “You’ll see.” Tula pauses at an overlook, and Lachlan slides his hand under mine, flicking the ring with his thumb to check the temperature. The palm-to-palm contact sends a frisson of pleasure down my spine. “Are you sensing something? Feels warmer than usual.”
I survey the populated areas of the Vale, my simmering anger rising to a rolling boil.
There are far too many burned-out shells of buildings.
Far too many celestial knights on the streets, even at this early hour, glinting like schools of minnows in shallow water.
Far too much evidence of Duke áine claiming this idyllic region by destroying it. Does he plan to claim me the same way?
When I first arrived in the Otherworld—god, it feels like eons ago—and Desmond explained the Hunt and my suitors, it all sounded so tempting. So thrilling. Who would win me, I wondered? How handsome and wealthy would my pursuers be?
Such shallow considerations. They shame me now, looking upon this once-peaceful valley. Desmond and Duke áine and even Duke Cernunnos, I have no doubt, are incredible specimens of masculine beauty and obviously live quite comfortably. But it’s clear they are not all good men.
How much agency will I be afforded during the Hunt? Will I be able to influence the outcome to ensure I end up with the right man?
I press back into Lachlan, and I—
The ring singes my flesh as my gaze catches on a brick structure—some kind of small church or a temple—nestled on a property along a sparkling lakeshore.
“There. That’s where we should start searching.”
Lachlan slumps forward, resting his chin on my head. “Are you quite sure?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because that church is on the old áine estate.” He pushes out a ragged breath.
“The headquarters of the duke’s forces here in Campan’s Vale.”
How many knights are outside the main house? Lachlan asks.
I peer around a large tree at the edge of the property. Lachlan sent Tula away with cryptic instructions to wait for him in their usual spot.
Four, by my count. What shall we do about them?
Lachlan’s thoughtful, parting his lips as he drags the tip of his tongue down a fang. An innocuous tic. Unbearably attractive.
There’s no reason why you can’t be here, he says. Just tell them you’re searching for the fragment. You should be allowed entry wherever you need to go. Myself on the other hand …
What?
He leans back against the tree, and scrubs his face with his palms. I’ve been banished from Campan’s Vale since the early days of áine’s occupation.
You punched a bunch of people, didn’t you?
He snickers, daring a peek around the tree before pulling back.
That knight on the left? The beefy blond with the long hair?
I broke his jaw. And caused similar damage to ten of his friends who were terrorizing a mother and her two young daughters.
Took Des weeks of careful diplomacy to ensure I hadn’t exposed his other, more clandestine efforts in the Vale.
My banishment was the price we paid to keep our operation going in secret.
Needless to say, I cannot accompany you unless I want to spend the rest of the Season in áine’s dungeons.
I shrug. I’ll go alone.
You’re funny. Bodyguard, remember?
You’ve let me go places alone before.
That was before I saw how shit you were at defending yourself against the báshounds the other night.
That sword was decorative! I whack his upper arm. And how do you expect to accompany—
I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle a shriek as Lachlan shrinks down in a flare of light, his skin turning a dusky purple as his pupils swell and two translucent wings sprout from his back.
He—in the form of Vesper—flits up to my shoulder, placing a tiny hand on my neck to steady himself.
“It’s a glamour,” he whispers in Vesper’s high-pitched voice.
My body shakes with silent laughter, nearly enough to knock him off.
“Another benefit of my gift. It’s not unlimited, though.
The energy required to hold the glamour means I cannot use the diamrhán in this form. ”
“Were you glamoured the night of the báshound attack?”
“Yes, why?”
“Hmm.” My lips flatten. “As Vesper?”
“No.” Lachlan peers down at his shrunken body. “This is, uh, new. Don’t tell her. I’m not sure whether she’d be flattered or carve out my spleen.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, I think you look and sound adorable.”
He preens, fluttering his tiny wings.
“Let’s hope áine’s knights agree.”
“It’s down this way, miss.” The beefy knight swats at Lachlan, who’s flitting around his head as he leads us around the lake toward the church on the other side of the property. “What did you say your pixie’s name was?”
“I didn’t. And she’s not my pixie. Pixies belong to themselves. Her name’s Vesper.”
Lachlan hovers before the knight’s face, blinking big, black eyes sweetly before plucking out a strand of the man’s hair.
The knight swings a fist at Lachlan, which he easily dodges before stealing another strand. “Ouch!”
“My apologies, sir. I’m not sure what’s gotten into her this morning.” I shield my mouth and whisper, “I think she’s flirting with you.”
The knight grumbles, rubbing the crown of his head, then jogs up the church steps to open the door.
I step inside, and when he tries to follow, I halt him with a raised palm. “That’s far enough, thank you.”
A frown pulls down his jowls. “I’m not sure I should—”
“You want your duke to have his chance at the crown, yes?” I push the door halfway shut.
“Well, yes, of course,” he splutters, red-faced.
“Then I’ll request you leave me to my searching. The novillum seed gets shy when there are too many people about.”
The lie pacifies him, and he sketches a shallow bow. “Right, then. Best of luck, my lady. We’re all quite ready for this to be over and for Duke áine to put these insurrectionists in Campan’s Vale down once and for all.”
“Quite.” I smile against the bilious anger crawling up my throat, then shut him out. Through the window, I watch him clank back to the main house to join the other knights. “All clear.”
I turn to find Lachlan—back in his full, mouth-watering form—gripping the back of a pew so tightly the wood is groaning. He’s muttering something about how he’ll show the knight an insurrection; break his jaw all over again.
“Anything?” he asks once he’s recovered himself and gesturing toward the ring, which has grown so hot, my skin is near to blistering.
The nave is small, almost primitive, with white clapboard walls and a few rows of time-worn pews. Upon the altar stand four empty pedestals. Placeholders for missing faerie gods? Clearly, no one has worshiped in here for quite some time. To the right of the altar, there’s an archway leading to—
The ring flares, and I hiss in a breath.
Lachlan’s immediately at my side. “Where?”
I jut my chin toward the archway.
The stone staircase we find looks as if it predates this building by several centuries, and as we make our way down, the air grows damp and cool. And quiet.
At the bottom sits a large, moss-stained door with a grinning skull knocker in the center. The ring bites into my flesh again.
“It’s behind here. It has to be,” I say, trembling with excitement. Who needs Duke áine and his useless clue? His weak-minded court? His bullying knights? I have found the fragment all on my own. With a bit of help from the novillum, I suppose.
Lachlan wears a skeptical scowl as he examines the skull. “What if it’s a trap?”
My excitement deflates. I hadn’t thought of that. I press my ear against the door, but other than a faint whistling, like wind rushing through a crack, there’s nothing.
There’s a phrase curving over the skull knocker, written in the fae script. Before I can open my mouth to ask what it says, Lachlan translates. “Beyond the door lie our honored dead. May Danu offer them peace on their journey to the Afterlands.”
“So, it’s a kind of tomb as well.” I study the carved phrase. “That’s a good sign.”
“Tomb? Or a catacomb?”
“The difference being …”
Lachlan frowns. “A few thousand bodies, I’d say.”
I shudder, pulling back. “Do you think it’s locked?”
The grinning skull clatters to life, and Lachlan and I rear back, nearly colliding with the stairs.
I’m clutching my chest while Lachlan clutches me, and the skull giggles eerily through chattering teeth.
“Ask me a question, ring-bearer.”
“What on earth?” I mutter.
“Ask me a question, ring-bearer,” it says again in response.
I glance back at Lachlan, who shrugs, then leans over me to push on the door. A circle of shimmering gold sparks fizzle out from the center, but the door does not open.
“How does one open this door?” I ask.
“Ask me a question, ring-bearer.”
Worth a try.
“Who are you?”
“Ask me a question, ring-bearer.”
I’m guessing the correct question will open the door, Lachlan says.
Oh, do you think so? How in the name of your gods could you have possibly deduced that?
I spew a barrage of queries at the skull—“Who can tell me the question? What kind of information are you looking for? Which gods watch over this church? How long have you been here? What’s behind the door?”—but none lead to anything other than sing-song giggles and a toothy rattle.
It seems I have two options.
One, spend days upon days upon days beneath this church asking the skull every question I can possibly think of.
Or two, hear Duke áine’s clue.