Chapter 12
My skull pounds like ocean waves as I cross into the center of the circle.
I scan the parapets, searching for signs of Tristan.
Where the fuck is he? Smoke still curls around me, bringing tears to my eyes.
I doubt there’s anything he could do to help, but at least he could bring word of my brave demise to Vero.
Slowly, I walk over the smoldering ashes, the last remains of Lady Blythe. Cinders glow beneath my feet, bright red embers in a pile of hot ash.
I find my place before the stake and feel its heat radiating over my back.
The soles of my shoes feel like they’re burning.
Coughing, I take a few steps away from the stake, trying to find relief from the heat.
I settle in a slightly cooler spot on the stones, but the smoke still wraps around me.
Sweat trickles down my temples, and I try not to think about breathing in Blythe’s charred remains.
Gods. I wish I’d taken the mead with me. I wonder if prayer will help me at this point.
I don’t think the Morrigan hears me anymore. I heard her for a moment when the baroness was trying to kill me, but that was it. Just a whisper of a memory. She revoked her magic when she discovered I was irredeemable, stole it because of the terrible things I did.
Maybe getting the grail to Vero is the only way I can redeem myself.
I glance at Goch, and his golden eyes narrow on me. Everyone has a weakness, Auberon used to say. All you need to do is find it and break them. If I had the Song, that’s what I’d go for. Even a dragon would flail with a torch jammed through an eye socket.
But it’s just me here, magicless and ordinary.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Auberon’s deep voice echoes in my mind. What’s your next play?
Even without my power, I can still take action. Rational thought is more important than magic. That’s always been the case.
Panic is death.
If the dragon rears his head, I can’t hesitate like Blythe did.
There’s only one option if Goch decides to strike: sprint into the shadows and hide.
I’ll need to find a way out of here, live in the forests or something, always staying one step ahead of the Cloaked Ones.
I may not be an elite fighter these days, but I am a survivor.
I scan the area, searching for a way out, and spy a route leading down a narrow cobbled path past the menagerie that disappears into darkness. There’s a rolling cart nearby, something I can use to escape until I can find a way out of this place.
The ravens circle over my head, and my blood runs cold. Should I have run and hidden from the start? No, not even now do I think I should have run.
Vero will die without a relic like the grail, and this might be her only chance.
Overhead, the ravens start to speak.
“Murderer. Murderer.”
Their cries rise, harsh and relentless, and I let the condemnation wash over me. They’re not wrong.
The truth is, whatever Rion did, I’ve probably done worse. I’m not the sort of person who should ever sit on a throne. No one should, but particularly me.
“Not what she seems…not the one…”
Every inch of me is coiled tightly now, ready to run.
“Kissed by the Morrigan…”
A shiver runs over my skin.
“Dormant power…kill us all…”
Again, they’re not wrong.
“An incarnadine queen ordained to stain the seas with slaughter…can she forgive…can she forgive…”
My heart slams hard. The menagerie gate isn’t opening. It’s just me and the ravens.
“Can she forgive…”
Goch lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. Cold sweat trickles down my temples, and I steal a glance at that dark, cobbled path. My gaze flicks back to Goch, who stares at me with a keen interest. My blood roars in my ears.
And just as I’m about to run for it, the ravens arc lower, flying in a ring around my body. They encircle me, almost like they’re protecting me, surrounding me in a hollow crown of darkness and feathers.
The Morrigan’s coronet. I feel as if she’s giving me a whisper of redemption.
After all, ravens are her creatures.
“Killer!” the ravens cry around me. But they don’t seem upset about it—in fact, they might be impressed.
Perhaps I’m still standing for my ruthlessness. That’s what the buried magic of the Veiled Court seeks, isn’t it? That’s why I’m here in the first place—because I smashed someone’s head against a wall and robbed her of the ticket in. The magic is older than civilization.
Blythe was weak. Merciful. I’m not.
A raven perched on my shoulder squawks, “The Gloaming Tower!”
I close my eyes, exhaling a slow, shaky breath. I’ve made it. The ravens know exactly who I am, and they like it.
When I open my eyes again, I see High Priestess Niniane’s eyes boring into me. “How strange. How strange indeed.”
* * *
By the time we leave the ceremony, I feel absolutely drained. Only Blythe died tonight, but the whole event was an extended exercise in terror.
Lord Cador leads Elizabeth and me to the Gloaming Tower. “Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” he says.
I can still smell the smoke. “Quite lovely,” I murmur.
Every moment, I’m scanning my surroundings for the hidden signs of the grail he promised.
Cador leads us beneath a stone arch, and the Gloaming Tower comes into view, looming above us. Wisps of lavender-tinged mist twine around it, and beneath the clouds, the tower shimmers like a starry twilight. Gorgeous.
You know, I feel like I belong here, even if I’m a peasant and a liar.
Overhead, lightning cracks the sky, and I jump a little at the boom of thunder. I’m still on edge. I feel the temperature dropping, like we’re about to get hit with rain.
As we reach the base of the Gloaming Tower, I peer into a small garden encircled by stone walls. Apple trees grow among roses, peonies, and gillyflowers.
Cador spins back to us as we walk. “You’re both lucky! Your tower has views of the sky and the sea beyond the walls, but you’re also near the Rhiannon Garden. It’s enchanted by the love goddess.”
“Hmm, I’ll avoid that,” says Elizabeth. “One second, you’re falling in love, and the next second, he’s trapped you in a room.”
Cador reaches over the fence and plucks a blushing rose.
“But in the old days, they believed a monarch must find a consort. A fated mate. It was called the sovereignty bond, and if it’s true, it was part of the Golden Age.
If the king’s family is fertile, so is the land.
And if the goddess blesses you with fated love…
well, it’s a sign that perhaps you were meant to rule. ”
With a faint smile, he hands me a rose. I twirl it in my fingers and realize my hands are still trembling.
Overhead, someone zooms by on the rolling cart, and my gaze flicks up. I don’t want to fall in love here, and I certainly don’t want to burn to death.
But I really want to ride in that thing.
Ahead of us, Cador pulls open the blue-painted, star-flecked door to the Gloaming Tower, then presses his back against it, holding it open.
He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a pair of keys.
“This is where I leave you, but I’m giving each of you a key to your new rooms. Alis, your room is called Raven by the Mere. ”
Lightning flashes again, closer this time.
Cador hands me a large, silver skeleton key with a parchment tag attached. It’s painted with an image of a raven swooping over a lake.
He turns to Elizabeth and hands her a similar key, with a round-eyed owl. “Howlet’s Nook. Just climb the stairs until you find your rooms.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth stares up at the mist-twined castle. “Is this tower haunted, by any chance?”
Cador shrugs, stepping away from us. “It’s a three-thousand-year-old castle. Every room is haunted. Sleep well.”
Elizabeth starts to hike up the narrow stairs, and I follow just behind her.
“Do you have magic?” Elizabeth asks. “Anything that could be useful in the trials by combat?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Only my wits, assuming I still have them about me. But there’s no way around it at this point, is there?”
“No, and my magic won’t do me much good in that trial,” she says glumly. “I only just got out in the world. And I still want to go to England to try the bread slices with meat in it.”
“Sandwiches?”
“Yes.” Her eyes are wide with delight. “Those.”
I clear my throat. “Why were you so cooped up, Elizabeth?”
“My husband thought I was unwell. Too spirited, he said. His mistress was quieter. More submissive, you know? Anyway, he’s dead now. Ha!”
Elizabeth has clearly moved on.
I climb behind her on the stairs, still struck by the feeling that this place is far grander than I could have imagined.
Open windows are set into the walls, each one with a balcony that curves around the walls outside.
Clouds start to float past, stained coral and lavender, darkening to purple.
Lanterns light up the stairwell, casting a warm glow in the gloom.
Tonight, the air smells like it’s about to rain.
At each landing, we find two rooms with painted doors and round heraldic sigils.
We pass framed pictures of a pegasus, a magpie with tarot cards, a bat hanging from a yew bough, and a nightingale wearing a crown.
Without numbers, I have no idea how long I’ll need to keep climbing.
All we can do is match our key to the picture on the doors.
My legs ache, and my eyelids grow heavy. I’m a faded, weak version of myself right now, like lukewarm tea not brewed long enough. I might need sleep before I hunt for the grail clues.
“I like the theme of this tower,” Elizabeth says wistfully. “I like the idea of skies. Skies are freedom.”
At last, we reach our rooms—across from each other, hers a few steps higher.
Sharply peaked blue doors are set into the stone walls, each marked with a painted sign.
Mine shows a raven in a Jacobean ruff standing by a pond.
Between our rooms, there’s a round door painted with a golden image of the rolling cart, which must be the entrance to the strange little roller coaster. I’m glad it’s so close to me.
Elizabeth gives me a dreamy smile. “Sleep well, little raven.”
“Good night.”
I push open my door—and stop short. It’s everything I dreamed about, and I only wish Vero could be here with me.