Chapter 6
My throat is bone dry, and I turn to stare out at the Thames glittering under the night sky. I rest my arms on the rail next to Tristan, and a soft breeze kisses my skin. This morning, when I woke up, I imagined myself waltzing through the portal, arm in arm with my pretty boyfriend.
Unlike my family, Owain’s was rich before the king exiled them.
If things had gone to plan, we’d be traipsing into his aunt’s mansion and sipping flutes of fine mead on a balcony overlooking the riverside while servants offered us fresh fruit.
We’d be choosing from three stories of rooms to sleep in.
I’d fantasized about finding the cure for Vero, then throwing a party to celebrate— dancing with Owain in the ballroom, celebrating a glamorous new life of freedom and health and fancy parties under the stars.
Owain is probably on a marble balcony right now.
Just not with me.
A little blonde mortal is drinking my mead, looking out over the river in my place, delighting in the pleasures of a plan that I orchestrated.
Meanwhile, I’m going to be hounded by Cloaked Ones until I burn to death.
I take a shaky breath. “Do you know what I want right now, Tristan? A cigarette.”
Without a word, Tristan pulls a pouch of tobacco out of his back pocket, one of his many bad habits.
I quit smoking years ago, but if I ever needed a cigarette, now’s the time.
He starts rolling me a cigarette, adding in the filter and everything. When it’s all neatly finished, he hands it to me, along with a lighter.
I light it, filling my lungs with smoke, and I exhale over the Thames.
I wait to feel a buzz, a sense of relief—anything.
But it doesn’t taste as good as I remember.
In fact, it just feels kind of like I’m sucking in poison and ash, and now I want to clean off my tongue.
I take a few more puffs, trying to remember what I once liked about this.
Then I hand it back to Tristan like it’s a spliff. “Yeah, it’s not doing it for me. This is gross.”
“I’m quitting, you know.”
I thrum my fingertips on the guardrail. A little seed of an idea is starting to bloom in my mind. “The Veiled Court was built by the first Fey king, Bran, right?”
“Yes.”
Roots of hope start to germinate. “King Bran, who created the grail.”
“Right.”
“People say the grail is kept in the Veiled Court, and it’s the one thing that can heal any illness.”
“Supposedly,” he says. “Fuck knows if it’s true.”
My pulse races with excitement. “It is true. Tristan, I have an idea. You said the Waste Land is totally cut off, surrounded by fog and rot. So, does anyone actually know what Alis looks like?”
“No.”
My eyebrows raise. “No one at all?”
He shakes his head. “The whole kingdom of Listenoise is bones and rocks as far as anyone knows. Until Alis got her golden invitation, no one could leave, either. The only reason she escaped was because of the halo.”
A grin is starting to spread on my face.
I tilt my head up, meeting his gaze. Maybe this isn’t the worst possible series of events. Maybe fate is offering me a solution to my most heartbreaking problem.
“Tristan, what if I took her place for this council meeting? If I show up as Alis, no one will know she’s missing.
I’ll stay safe from the Cloaked Ones. You get to be a humble servant and complete your mission.
No one will look for the baroness’s body because she will be exactly where she’s meant to be. In the Veiled Court.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because what if they notice you’re not full-blooded Fey? And you don’t have an aristocratic accent. I also have no idea what they actually have planned in there. If it’s dangerous, you won’t be able to fight back because your magic is broken.”
Once, I had a type of magic called the Song. I’d hear the Morrigan’s music—the song of the war goddess. I’d feel the brush of her phantom raven feathers against my skin.
Then I’d kill everyone within seconds.
But I haven’t heard the Song in fifteen years.
“I’m three-quarters Fey,” I say. “I’ve even got iron scars like a full Fey. And you were perfectly willing to send Alis in without knowing what she was getting into. She’s worse at fighting than I am. Obviously.”
He nods. “But I didn’t give a fuck if she lived or died.”
My breath is rapid, shallow. “I don’t see myself as having many options if Cloaked Ones will be trying to burn me to death anywhere I go.”
“You’re kind of fucked either way, Syn,” he mutters.
“Story of our lives, isn’t it? But it’s not just me. I need the grail. You know I’d do anything for Vero.”
“We don’t even know if the grail is there.” He turns toward the Tower and the Traitors’ Gate, the dark stone archway where the river laps at the old stones.
“After all these years, you and I will finally get to see the Veiled Court. Aren’t you curious?
Don’t you want the adventure of it all? Don’t you want to find out if the grail is real?
Or if they’re going to choose a new king?
” I lick my lips. “Think of all the pretty bejeweled noblewomen you can shag while their husbands sleep.”
When Tristan turns back to me, his eyes are gleaming with excitement, and I know I have him. “You know I can’t resist anything you just said.”
I lean in closer. “Then let’s go.”
“You’ll be in danger every moment you’re there.
A traitor among enemies. If they discover what you’ve done, they will torture you to death.
You absolutely cannot let your cover slip, or your accent, even for a moment.
You know what they’d do to a peasant who kills an aristocrat and infiltrates their secret court?
They’ll have you pulled apart by horses or slowly roasted by a dragon.
If they find out who you are, they’ll make you regret the day you were born. ”
The excitement leaches from my body, and a thin sliver of fear wends its way through my chest.
My eyes sting, but I don’t want Tristan to see me looking emotional. I don’t want him to think that living among humans dulled my sharp edges. We both know that being soft gets you killed.
This is about as hysterical as either of us ever gets. We trained together. We endured lashings together. We certainly killed a lot of people together.
More than once, the king demanded that we beat each other, pitting us against one another in his twisted mind games.
But Auberon never broke our bond. Tristan was the guy who bandaged all my bloodied knuckles, treated my iron-laced wounds over and over, and held me as I fell asleep.
Tristan pulled me from Auberon’s grip when my magic broke, just before the king killed me for being useless. We fled the kingdom together.
But we never cried in front of each other. Crying happened silently, in the dark.
Or in Tristan’s case, sometimes naked, running through the woods.
I clench my jaw and blink until my vision clears again. Overhead, a raven sweeps closer to me through the darkness. Dark eyes gleaming, the bird circles me.
Ravens—the Morrigan’s creatures—always seek me out. Even now, with my magic broken, they still recognize me as a sort of kin.
“What else is going on?” he asks quietly.
“Owain has a new girlfriend, so my whole plan with him is ruined, anyway.” I try to sound breezy, but my voice cracks. Right now, I can imagine Vicky walking through that portal with her bottle of champagne, eyes wide at the beauty of the Fey realm.
“He fucking what?” An edge slides through Tristan’s voice, which I appreciate.
“Owain and his new lover are going to Brocéliande together.”
“That absolute fucking twat. Syn.” His hand brushes softly down my bicep.
“You were always too good for him. You were never going to stay with a loser like him forever, and he knew it. He’s just trying to get out of it with his ego intact.
Let me guess—he left you for a young, simpering mortal girl who hangs on his every word? ”
“Remarkably accurate.” I almost smile, though I’m not sure how much better I feel about the concept that I was dumped by an absolute loser. “I caught them shagging in his window.”
“The old Tudor window?” Tristan sounds outraged on my behalf. “You love that window.”
I sigh. “Exactly. No respect for history. Anyway, he’s taking her into Brocéliande, to his aunt’s mansion, because humans are allowed there again—which, of course, is good. I fully support mortal rights. But…”
“But you’d rather this particular mortal was not welcome,” he says.
“You always knew he was a loser?” I ask.
“I was waiting for you to realize. Fairly sure he was, too. He had that really nice flat, and you lived in that cramped shithole, and he never once asked you to move in with him.”
It’s true. I’ve been living in a literal closet.
Vero and I have been cramming six people into a two-bedroom flat share.
More often than not, I’m woken at three in the morning by a drug deal gone wrong right behind the building.
Nearby is a field everyone calls Disappearance Gardens after a woman was abducted there ten years ago.
Behind my flat, thieves abandon stolen cars under a bridge and set them on fire.
Sometimes refrigerators, too. It looked like a war zone even before the war.
That patch of trash-strewn grass is called Homicide Park.
“Owain’s new lover said she specializes in romance.
Quite clearly, that is not my strong suit.
” My throat tightens. Do I even have a strong suit anymore?
“Okay, you know what? I don’t want to talk about her.
Let’s go back to the agonizing executions topic.
Or tell me where the Veiled Court is, exactly.
Is it the fortress you told us not to go near? ”
“That’s the one, in the north of Brocéliande, up by the dragon’s keep.
It’s very hard to see, though, and you can only find it if you know where to look.
” He points to the gatehouse of the Tower.
“If you’re going in, you’ll get there through a portal just over there, through the gatehouse.
But Syn? You cannot ever let down your guard.
I don’t even want to think of what they would do to you. ”