Chapter 2 #3
At that, Tate did allow his teeth to flash. “Oh, I remember exactly who I am. Do you, errand boy?”
The hand at his shoulder tightened, just a fraction, just enough to burn, pressing the hooked point of the talon-tipped finger guard he wore down until Tate knew it had drawn blood beneath the surface of his shirt.
Cadoc leaned in, his voice a whisper at Tate’s temple, apples and smoke and blood, wrapping through his mind like a snake, obliterating all else.
And there behind it, a screaming black void of emptiness, a darkness that could swallow the world held between his jaws.
“Then remember who I am as well, beloved.”
All around them, the forest clearing had died.
The ruby-red leaves now lay in curled and crushed piles on the forest floor, blackened with decay.
The smoke in the air had grown heavy and old, and Tate could taste ash on the back of his tongue.
There were no animals, no hint of movement from the trees.
The ground beneath his feet had frozen, the cold leaching the warmth from his legs.
A swift reminder from the fae holding him of who he was.
Death, riding through the world, collecting debts owed to the final harvest.
“Move. Our Lady awaits. She’s been quite worried over where you’d gotten to. She’s missed you.”
There was a note of irritation in Cadoc’s voice, one Tate picked up on immediately as they began walking once more.
See? This is what I mean. Transparent. Fucking amateurs.
He needed to pay attention. Weakness and regret were not something he’d let himself show, but the rest of them weren’t as careful, and he’d use whatever ammunition he could.
“I’m sure she has. A good thing she has a well-trained lapdog to do the fetching for her.”
Cadoc smiled, wide and terrible, but he did not deign to respond to the dig.
They were very close now. Tate could hear the music, could smell the roasting meat and perfumed herbs heaped on the fires, the sound of a merry fiddle joining the pipes. The closer he was to the center, the further he was from getting out.
High Autumn unfolded around them with deliberate showiness.
The earthen pathways branched out and rejoined around trees, never quite repeating themselves.
Lanterns hung from tree branches, glowing softly, casting a warm light that flattered everything it touched.
The leaves glimmered like gemstones, ruby and carnelian and vivid yellow, blood red heaps of their fallen fellows piled high around the tree bases.
Somewhere nearby, he could hear water laughing as it moved over the stones in its path.
Every step was a reminder of how easily this place could swallow someone whole. How readily it offered belonging, and how eagerly it punished refusal. Here, at the heart of Night’s Court, the final harvest was an endless, bloody celebration, outside of time.
Tate stopped short, nearly tripping over a root that had gone creeping by.
Time. Measuring time. Mind the time, lad.
He held his wrist up to his ear, forcing himself to breathe, swallowing hard, continuing to walk before his pause was noticed.
Tick, tick, tick. They’d walked only a short distance, and he’d already nearly forgotten.
“You were happier there,” Cadoc said abruptly.
He didn’t pose it as a question, nor did he stop moving.
Tate stared at his back, not slowing. The path moved around a turn and then abruptly opened before them, pavilions rising in the clearing ahead.
Ornately carved wood, overlaid with canvas and blowing gauze, lanterns hung within, giving everything that same warm glow.
“That surprises you.”
The heat from a dozen fires warmed the space inside, huge bonfires that lit the whole forest, ringing the court of Autumn.
Bodies spilled from the pavilion, laughing, dancing, eating, drinking, fighting.
The music was fast, and it was all Tate could do not to lose himself to it right there.
He had loved this, once. Above, the moon hung heavy and white overhead, grotesquely full and low, practically grazing the open ceiling of the hall.
The sky winked with a million pinpricks of light, witnesses to the carnage below.
At the pavilion’s center, there would be a raised dais laid with furs, a carved throne of antlers and rowan, and on it, Autumn’s Queen.
And that was where he would make his strike. He understood the game being played.
You’ve only got one shot at him, lad. You can’t miss. And you don’t have time to waste.
Tate nodded his agreement with the voice that existed only in his head.
“It doesn’t surprise me, actually,” Cadoc corrected, turning at the doorway to direct Tate inside. “It only disappoints. And that’s what you’ve always done best, I suppose.”
When Tate went to move past him as directed, that same hand landed on him, tightening around his arm, the hooked talon tip once more seeking to puncture.
“I can’t help but notice,” Cadoc whispered against his temple once more, “that you didn’t bring the girl. No matter.”
The inner doors opened with a single gesture from the fae who still held him, and every body within the hall turned expectantly.
Tate knew there was a knife behind every single gleaming smile.
Cadoc’s teeth glimmered in the lamplight as his lips stretched back, further and further, a pointed reminder, feral glee lighting his honeyed eyes.
Tick, tick, tick. A kiss to Tate’s temple and a light shove against his back.
“Welcome home, beloved.”