Chapter 9
Panic means death. It robs a mind of rational thought, the one thing more than any other that can keep a person alive. It’s more important than strength, more important than magic.
So, I breathe in slowly and keep my mind clear. Tristan told me a spy gets into character, then improvises.
I curtsy slightly, the way an aristocrat would, and flash my most charming smile. I summon the memory of Auberon’s accent. “I am Baroness Alis de Listenoise. How delightful to be in the refined embrace of Brocéliande’s high society—quite the change from my bleak island kingdom.”
Silence reigns in the hall.
A chill ripples over my skin as I wait for her reply, and my heart thunders in its cage.
After what seems an eternity, she arches an eyebrow. “And this is what you decided to wear?”
Bloody hell. This isn’t going over well.
The silence seems to grow thorns as I scramble to think of something else to say. “I stopped in a mortal city to shop on the way in. Perhaps my selection missed the mark. We are truly isolated on Listenoise, far from the fashionable designers or current trends.”
Amusement curls her lips. “Well, we will find out soon enough who belongs here and who does not. And until that point, perhaps we can find you attire more befitting of the Veiled Court. People like us are supposed live in beauty, blessed with silks and satins and jewels. Luxury is the birthright of nobility.”
“Of course.” I raise my glass to her.
Inwardly, I’m wondering what the hell she means about finding out soon enough.
Niniane raises her glass in a toast and flashes me a sharp smile. Then she turns back to the hall. “Now, many of you will die here.”
This is probably the least relaxing party I’ve ever been to.
“You have been chosen by the gods to attend the Veiled Court, but we take over from here. We must choose a monarch, so you will compete in trials to prove your worth. The Council of Nobles will watch you and award points for strength and regal bearing. The heads of each of these fifty-two noble houses will decide who gains points in each trial. In the end, there will be only one monarch, but the points they award can grant you lands and new titles.” Another sharp smile. “If you survive.”
Gods, I just want to hear about the bloody grail.
Surveying us closely, Niniane walks around the room.
“The first trial will be combat. You need only fight one round. All who survive join the next trial, but many of you will shed your lives in the trials. The gods demand blood, after all. When another contender defeats you, you may surrender. The noble houses then decide if you live or die.”
The hall falls to a hush, the mood shifting into something dark and sharp. Trial by combat.
“But fear not,” Niniane goes on. “You have two weeks to enjoy the pleasures of this ancient palace before the fights begin. For some of you, two weeks is all you have left in this world. So, drink now, dance in our halls, and savor the treasures of the Veiled Court. Enjoy the bright days before they vanish into darkness. The purpose of a Fey’s life is pleasure, after all.
Better to live briefly in a garden of lush blooms than to linger endlessly through the withered winter of decay, entombed by time. ”
Those words stir something in me—a memory of my parents’ garden, blooming with lilies my mother planted.
Niniane snaps her fingers. “Lord Cador, darling! Please take Baroness Alis to the wardrobe in the Lyria Tower. And Countess Elizabeth, too, needs a new gown. Jasper will see to it that they’re dressed in a style befitting their titles.”
Lord Cador stalks closer to us. Beneath his cloak, I catch a glimpse of the twisting, vine-like tattoos that climb his arms, and he beckons me to follow him. “Please come with me.” He glances at Elizabeth, his sweeping gaze taking in the stain on her gown. “You as well, Countess.”
Elizabeth still looks rattled from the combat trials announcement, like maybe she regrets leaving those four walls of her room. Still, she manages a faint smile.
We follow Cador down winding stairs. As we walk, my gaze trails over the ornate gargoyles huddling above the windows.
The question now is: will I survive here long enough to find the grail?
At one point, I could have won the entire tournament, bagged myself a crown—then handed power over to the commoners again. But those days are over.
Quite simply, when it comes to a combat trial against properly trained Fey warriors like some of the large men in there, I’m fucked. And yet, there’s no way out until this is finished.
Cador turns back to me, his silver eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “We’re in the oldest part of the fortress right now. Aether Tower stands in the center. King Bran built the Veiled Court thousands of years ago.”
My heart leaps at his name. “King Bran?”
“This was his home. He was the first king to unite the Fey, long before the Romans invaded Britain. But of course, the Veiled Court moved around. It once stood in Wales, then London, Avalon, and now it shifts around Brocéliande, moving from one place to another.”
My eyebrows rise. “Is it true that his grail is kept here?”
Cador’s eyes sparkle as he smiles at me. “In a manner of speaking. Not exactly here, but it’s connected to our castle. All I can tell you is that the grail truly is a wonder, imbued with primal magic from our Golden Age.”
My body sings with hope. I have to make it far enough in these trials to figure out where it is. “What do you mean, not exactly here?”
He shrugs. “You may find clues about its meaning engraved across these very towers, if you know how to look. But most are not for you to find. Here, secrets are hidden behind locked doors. And you must not unlock them, ladies. That would be treason.”
Elizabeth’s eyes have a vibrant, fiery hue. “The grail was made with primal magic from the Golden Age, wasn’t it? When we used to be powerful. It’s all faded now, since the Fall of Avalon. Only the ancient objects hold that magic.”
“Perhaps our next queen will bring back the true power of the Fey.” Cador flashes a faint smile. “That’s what we hope—for another Golden Age, when the mortals will worship us as gods.”
“Lord Cador,” I begin, “Niniane said some contenders will be dismissed by the noble houses. How does that happen, exactly?”
He smiles benignly. “After each trial, some contestants who performed poorly will be sent home. That’s it, really.”
We cross through an oak door and emerge onto a battlement hundreds of feet above the grassy earth. My jaw drops at the world around me—more stunning than anything I could conjure up during my wildest fantasies in the Undercroft.
I turn back to look at the bone-white castle in the fortress’s heart.
Here, everything is grander and more beautiful than anything I’ve imagined. Bridges radiate from the central tower like spokes on a wheel, connecting it to the interior wall and more towers. The walkways sweep over gardens, courtyards, and towering standing stones, just like Stonehenge.
But the most prominent feature of the place is the four towers that rise from the walls. One of them burns like a torch at the top, the stone glowing as if kissed by the first rays of dawn.
“Is it supposed to be on fire, Lord Cador?” Elizabeth asks.
Cador points to it. “Yes. That’s Belenior, the sun and flame tower.
You see the four major towers around Aether?
They represent the four elements: air, fire, water, and earth.
After tonight, you will all be assigned to one of these towers, depending on who you are.
Belenior is for those who take leadership roles and like attention.
It’s a place for parties and loud music, and everyone talking over each other. Not my cup of tea.”
“And the rest?” Elizabeth asks.
He smiles. “I’ve heard the Tower of London echoes the grandeur of this court, only in a stunted, mortal construction. Their royal history is a weak, rotten copy of our own, you know. A faint echo. Nothing like this.”
I see it now, with the two fortified walls and rings of towers around a central castle. Aether Tower’s stark walls gleam, brighter and taller than the White Tower of London, reflecting the light of the moons.
Cador points to our left, where a tower stands with glass rooms and balconies. Mist twines its walls, but beneath the fog, there’s a shimmer of purple and coral, like a twilight sky. My heart squeezes at the otherworldly beauty of it glowing against the ocean.
“The Gloaming Tower,” he says. “Air and sky. A bridge between worlds, between the living and the dead, where spirits roam. Those who live there are dreamy, intellectual, emotionally reserved. One foot in this world, one in the world of the spirits and the gods. I like them, usually.”
We walk farther, toward another tower also along the coastline. Several of the floors have terraces with open pools that catch the moonlight. Star-flecked waves lap at the tower’s base. Pale mist coils around the stone, and a silver basin gleams where the turret would be.
“And that,” says Cador, ‘“is the Lyria Tower. Water. They’re seductive, hedonist, pleasure seekers. Sinfully sensual. They’re connected to their emotions, which is nice, but they will absolutely ruin your life, and you will never get over it, so I don’t recommend taking a lover from Lyria.”
“Men are an absolute nuisance,” Elizabeth says. “I’d never bother again with that rubbish.”
Cador then points to another tower, a vast column of green with stones enveloped in flowering vines.
“And that’s where I live, Druantia Tower.
The earth and forest. We’re the people who actually take care of things while others are throwing parties or daydreaming or seducing people.
We’re also very good at surviving in the woods, and we’re resourceful.
We’re really the most reliable people around, even if we don’t get all the glory. ”
“It’s so beautiful,” Elizabeth adds.
Between some of the towers and walls curves a wooden rail, and I have no idea what it’s for until a wooden cart comes rattling along, carrying two passengers.
They fly past, hair trailing behind them.
It’s like a primitive roller coaster that zips between stone buildings, painted blue and decorated with stars and moons.
On the far side of the walls, the sea sparkles with silver-red moonlight. I breathe in the sweet scent of honeysuckle and thyme. There’s a vast amphitheater in the courtyard, where I imagine the trials will take place.
I peer over the nearest wall. Hundreds of feet below us is a courtyard with a walled menagerie. A fence encloses rare creatures: griffins, cockatrices, a phoenix, white bears, wolves…
Next to it is a stone court where a red-scaled dragon slumbers on a raised dais. Twenty feet below the dragon, a metal pole juts from the ground. Chains hang from it, charred black.
My heart thuds as I stare at the black scorch marks darkening the stone, and dread slides up my throat.
At the peak of mortal technology—before Fey magic started destroying it—the humans kept their populations in line through constant surveillance.
Cameras everywhere, perpetual observation, digital tracking systems. But the Fey?
Even to this day, our methods of control are simpler and far more brutal: a metal pole, a dragon to burn you.
Sometimes, a rack to pull your body apart.
Severed limbs, rolling heads. Blood and broken bones and burned skin.
It’s really very effective, and just the sight of that burnt stake has me breaking out in a cold sweat.
Elizabeth tugs on my arm. “Don’t look at that, darling. It sounds like we’ve already got enough to worry about here. Bloody trials by combat?” she hisses. “Did you have any idea?”