Chapter 22 Summer Court
SUMMER COURT
“Do you remember this place?” Nix asked.
Lark frowned, as the path through the crystal forest defied her expectations at every turn.
What had appeared to be trees from a distance revealed themselves to be impossibly slender columns of translucent mineral, each one catching and refracting the ambient light in ways that created the illusion of leaves and branches.
“No,” Lark said, reaching to touch one of the branches. The surface rippled like water yet remained solid beneath her fingertips.
“Don’t linger,” Nix cautioned, her flame-bright form gliding ahead. “The forest responds to curiosity. Show too much interest, and it might decide to keep you.”
Lark withdrew her hand quickly. “You could have mentioned that sooner.”
“There are countless such rules here,” Nix replied without slowing. “I’ll make sure to call them out as we go.”
They continued, following a path that appeared with each step and instantly vanished behind them.
Colors shifted in the grass as it extended through the crystal columns, occasionally sprouting what Lark took to be flowers, though these opened and closed in response to their footsteps rather than sunlight.
After what felt like hours of walking, Lark paused, frowning at the spires that still loomed in the distance. They were no closer than when they’d started walking.
“Are we making any progress?” she asked.
Nix’s expression held a hint of amusement. “Distance doesn’t work the same way here. We’re not traveling through space as much as through intention.”
“Meaning?”
“The Summer Court will be reached when it decides to be reached. Or rather, when those within decide we should be permitted to arrive.”
Lark sighed in frustration. “We don’t have time for games. Every moment here is—”
“Different from moments in Sataran,” Nix finished. “Time flows differently between realms. What feels like days here might pass as minutes there. Or the opposite. It’s fluid.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Lark muttered, but continued walking.
She reached for her bond with White Eye again, feeling that impossibly stretched connection.
If she focused completely, she could almost sense his emotions: concern, determination, rage at their separation.
But attempting to communicate was like trying to shout across a vast canyon; the distance swallowed her words.
“Tell me about the Summer Court,” she said instead, needing distraction from the worry gnawing at her. “What should I expect?”
Nix’s flame flickered thoughtfully. “The Summer Court is the most approachable for outsiders. They govern growth, transformation, abundance. Their power waxes when possibilities expand.” She gestured to the vibrant landscape around them. “Much of what you see here bears their influence.”
“And the other courts?”
“Spring oversees beginnings, birth, inspiration. Winter rules endings, wisdom, preservation. And Night,” Nix’s flame dimmed slightly. “Night governs secrets, dreams, the spaces between certainties.”
“Your court,” Lark observed.
Nix nodded, her fiery hair rippling. “Once. Though I doubt they still claim me.”
Before Lark could ask more, the landscape shifted dramatically.
The crystal formations parted like a curtain, revealing a sweeping vista that hadn’t been visible moments before.
The floating spires of the Summer Court now loomed directly ahead, no longer in the distance but immediately present, as if they’d suddenly been permitted to arrive.
The structures defied gravity and conventional architecture.
Towers of golden amber and rose quartz spiraled upward, connected by bridges that seemed formed of pure light.
Gardens bloomed on platforms that hovered without support, cascading waterfalls flowing upward instead of down.
And moving throughout were figures that shimmered like Nix, though in greens and golds and vibrant blues rather than flame colors.
“The faerie folk,” Lark breathed.
“Some of them,” Nix corrected. “The summer variants, at least.”
As they approached, Lark noticed details she hadn’t been able to discern from afar.
Many of the fae appeared nearly human, though taller and more ethereally proportioned.
Others bore features that marked them as distinctly otherworldly: gossamer wings, antlers sprouting from brows, skin that shifted between opacity and transparency with their movements.
Two guards materialized before them, seeming to step out of empty air. They wore armor that resembled interlocking leaves forged from gold, and carried spears tipped with crystals that hummed with contained energy.
“Halt,” the first commanded, voice melodious despite the harsh word. “Identify yourselves and state your purpose.”
Nix stepped forward, her flame burning steadier. “I am Nix of the Night Court, the fire fae who bonded to Lark, human of Sataran and dragonrider of the dragon White Eye.”
The guards’ expressions registered surprise, followed swiftly by suspicion.
“A Night Court ember, far from her shadow,” observed the second guard. “And bringing a mortal to our threshold without invitation.” They turned their attention to Lark, examining her with unsettling intensity. “This one bears strange energies. Dragon-touched, yet something more.”
“We seek an audience with your Queen,” Lark said, meeting their gaze steadily. “The matter concerns both our realms.”
The guards exchanged glances. “The Summer Throne does not receive uninvited guests,” the first stated firmly.
Lark felt a surge of frustration. She thought of Venrick fighting corruption, of White Eye tearing apart the Vermillion Keep to reach her, of the Void Drinker preparing to take over the cosmos. There was too much at stake for protocol.
Drawing on her connection to both Nix and her distant bond with White Eye, Lark channeled a small demonstration of her dual power.
The energy manifested between her palms, swirling with both the fiery essence of Nix and the deeper draconic magic of White Eye, perfectly balanced despite their opposing natures.
The guards stepped back, golden spears raised defensively.
“I am no ordinary visitor,” Lark said, her voice steady.
“I bring a message of warning that the Void Drinker has escaped.” Lark saw a visible shock ripple through both guards.
“I seek the knowledge needed to bind it once more before the Flashover thins the realms enough for it to use the Realmstone and tear gaps in the fabric of all our worlds. If your Queen values your world, she will want to hear what I have to say.”
The guards conferred in whispers, glancing repeatedly at the fae and draconic energy still swirling between Lark’s hands.
Finally, the first guard nodded. “We will escort you to the Waiting Gardens. The Queen’s seneschal will be informed of your presence and your unusual request.”
Lark allowed the energy to dissipate.
“Do not mistake this for a welcome,” the second guard warned. “Until the Queen decides otherwise, you remain uninvited guests. Step carefully, mortal. The Court has rules you cannot begin to comprehend, and the consequences for breaking them are severe.”
As they were led toward the floating structures, Nix shifted nearer to Lark.
“That was bold,” she murmured. “And dangerous.”
“We don’t have time for anything less,” Lark replied quietly. “The Flashover is coming, and with it, the Void Drinker’s chance to break through permanently. I’ll risk whatever I must to prevent that.”
Nix’s flame brightened with what might have been pride. “Just remember, Lark—in the fae courts, words have power and promises bind. Speak carefully, accept nothing freely offered, and above all, never lie. They’ll know if you do.”
“No lies,” Lark agreed, “but not all truths need to be volunteered.”
They approached a crystal bridge that arched gracefully upward toward the nearest floating tower.
As Lark stepped onto it, the material shifted beneath her feet, becoming solid yet somewhat yielding, like walking on packed sand.
The view from the bridge was dizzying. Below them stretched the crystal forest they’d traversed.
From this height, Lark could see that it formed an intricate pattern.
It made a massive spiral extending outward from the Court’s central towers.
The Waiting Gardens proved aptly named. After being escorted to a floating platform lush with plants Lark had never seen before—flowers that sang quiet melodies when brushed against, vines that reached curiously toward visitors before retreating—they were left alone without any indication of how long they might wait.
Lark paced restlessly, her thoughts continually returning to Sataran and what might be happening there. Despite Nix’s assurances about the different flow of time, she couldn’t shake the urgent feeling that every moment here was precious.
“Tell me more about this Vaerdium alloy,” she said, stopping near a fountain where liquid silver flowed upward.
Nix settled onto a bench formed from twisted vines. “It’s a material that was created during the original Concordat, when dragons and fae first bound the Void Drinker. Neither purely of one realm nor the other, but a perfect fusion.”
“Like brismil?”
“It’s similar, but different in composition. Brismil is dragon scale transformed through the god’s realm. Vaerdium is a true alloy, combining dragon scale with metals from each of the fae courts.”
Lark considered this. “And these metals have magical properties?”
“Everything here has magical properties,” Nix replied with a gesture that encompassed their surroundings.
“But yes, each court possesses a unique metallic essence that embodies their domain of power. When combined with dragon scale, they create channels capable of directing the combined magics needed for the binding ritual.”
“Which is why we need all four courts to cooperate,” Lark concluded.