Chapter 27
Elizabeth and I walk toward the door marked with the cart. She’s dressed in a deep purple gown stitched with white owls on the sleeves, and primroses and pansies thread through her dark curls.
She smiles at me, and her shimmering violet eyeliner brings out the gold in her fiery eyes. “The sacrifice is done. We survived it. Now, let’s drink toasts to the dead among the old stones. Summer is here.”
It’s the first of May—Tanos—one of two nights when the barrier thins between our world and the land of the dead. For the Fey, it’s the start of summer.
Once, fires burned from hill to hill, lit by the king’s torches.
In the old days, the king would choose a priestess to mate with in the circle.
People danced and shagged while the dead rose to bless the land, until dawn burned brighter than ever and the fields bloomed with barley and rye.
Or so they say. It was all before my time.
We push through the round door to the rolling cart. The first thing I notice is that the banners have all changed position. They no longer stand on poles outside Aether Tower. Instead, they hang from its walls, festooned across the ivory stone.
At the top hangs Mabon’s banner, a salamander with a crown of flames.
Beneath him hangs Igraine’s water serpent, then Rion’s sigil, a blue-eyed white stag wearing a golden crown.
The three contenders from Tintagol have taken the lead. Must be something in the water there.
My raven is about ten banners down from Rion’s, and Elizabeth’s another eight beyond.
Elizabeth points to it. “I imagine that’s our ranking?”
“I think so. Shame that Mabon is in the lead.”
Now, the golden number on Aether Tower reads 103. Already, they’ve chosen eleven contenders to send home for generally being disappointing or uninteresting. Their sigils have been pulled from display, their halos removed.
I climb into the rolling cart.
Elizabeth slips in next to me. “Your banner is well placed. Nicely done, Alis.”
When Elizabeth flicks the lever, we zoom off.
The wind rushes over us, bringing with it the scent of apples and the brine of the sea.
We zoom past the Belenior Tower and its blaze of fire.
Sparks float on the wind, carrying the scent of burning cedar.
We hurtle through the air, sweeping around to the grassy henge and ring stones.
The ride ends with a jolt near the stones.
The bells of Aether still ring, calling us all to Tanos.
I step out of the cart, and Elizabeth loops her arm through mine.
As we walk, a gentle breeze kisses my skin.
The sound of the bells mingles with the rhythmic music floating from the circle of stones.
Overhead, twilight streaks the sky with coral and indigo.
Aneirin waits for us just inside the ditch encircling the stones.
I find it oddly endearing that he wanted us to go in with him, like he’d be too nervous on his own.
He’s dressed in a burgundy velvet suit with a white collar, and he leans on his cane, carved with his unicorn emblem.
Really, he looks quite dashing with his dark waves gleaming under the light of the silver and red moons.
He smiles at us. “Happy Tanos, my fellow survivors. Blessings of the fire, as they used to say.”
“Happy Tanos,” I say.
“And we made the cut.” He grins. “I was pleased to see both your banners flying on Aether.”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” says Elizabeth.
We cross the henge to join him, walking together between the large dolmen stones.
A great bonfire burns in the center of the standing stones, casting wavering light and shadow over the gathering Fey. Already, some of them are dancing around the roaring flames, bathed in the blazing light.
We’re not far from one of the castle walls here, where large oak doors are inset in the stone, carved with spiral symbols.
As we move deeper into the circle, I feel an ancient magic thrumming over my skin, and the music pulses through my chest like a slow heartbeat.
Aneirin smiles. “I’ve always wanted to see these sorts of stone circles. No idea what they’re for. I didn’t know anyone still celebrated Tanos, but time seems to stand still here at the Veiled Court.”
I survey the shape of the stones, counting the outer rings. “This one looks like Stonehenge when it was first built. Thirty stones, like the days of the month.”
“Tell us more,” Elizabeth says. “I don’t know the first thing about Stonehenge.”
I point to the oak doors. “On the summer solstice, I suspect those doors will open. You see that large stone over there? Lying flat? That’s the heel stone, where the light will pour in when the doors open.”
“Very romantic.” Aneirin sighs.
“Sort of. This place is a bridge between worlds—between the human and the Fey, between the living and the dead. They might have sacrificed Fey here to the gods.” I shrug. “Now I suppose we just murder each other in the arena and call it a day.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rise. “So, it’s a calendar, a temple, and a burial site?”
“I still think it’s romantic,” says Aneirin. “I love a cemetery. Favorite place to shag. So, we’re standing on warrior bones?”
“Not bones.” I hug myself. “They cremated ancient warriors. Those doors—there’s probably a path beyond them, leading to a river. It’s life flowing toward death, just like at Stonehenge.”
Elizabeth points to markings on the stones—axes and swords. “Why did they carve weapons? To honor the warriors?”
“I think they’re meant to ward away mortal weapons,” I guess. “It’s protection.”
“That makes sense,” Aneirin says. “I can see why the ancient Fey had to create Brocéliande. The humans nearly hunted us to death when they discovered iron. We’re not like the mortals, breeding like rabbits.
I mean, it takes hundreds of years for a Fey to conceive—it wouldn’t be hard to wipe us out at the rate we reproduce.
Now, we need more than carvings in stone.
We need a strong leader to keep us safe. ”
Elizabeth quirks a smile at me. “You really know a lot about Stonehenge.”
Bollocks. I’ve said too much. “That’s what I read, anyway. I had a book about it in the Waste Land. Not much else to do but read there.”
“That’s true anywhere, Alis.” Aneirin sips his drink and looks around. “Terrifying to think Duke Mabon could raise all the cremated warriors from the ground to murder us right now if he wanted.”
A chill sweeps over me. Overhead, a crow caws. The torches affixed to the stones cast dancing shadows around us.
Elizabeth’s eyes widen. “I had no idea his magic was so powerful. The entire time we’ve been here, I just thought he was a sniveling, drunk idiot.”
Aneirin shrugs. “Powerful magic can take a toll on a person. It can drive you mad, and your mind never stops. Maybe the alcohol is the only thing that makes his thoughts go quiet.”
“I’ve heard that necromancers hear the voices of the dead,” I say.
My voice cracks on the word dead because I wish I could hear my parents’ voices.
It must be the magic of Tanos, because I think of that overgrown garden in my dreams, and my eyes sting.
I wonder if Mabon could hear my parents if he stood above their graves. But I don’t know where their bodies ended up. Nothing as grand and eternal as ring stones. A common grave, likely. A ditch for peasant traitors. Maybe their heads were stuck on the city gates—
I blink furiously, trying to master my emotions. These are some of the things no one wants to hear and no one should think.
I keep my eyes away from Elizabeth so she can’t see the sheen of tears. “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to look for a drink.”
I slip into the shadows outside the stone circle. I fold my arms, leaning back against one of the enormous, cold stones. Nearby, the wind rushes through the drooping branches of a willow tree, rustling the leaves. The May air is heavy and humid, tinged with salt.
My gaze flicks up to the sky, where the stars burn brightly, the constellations sweeping over me in a vault.
Tonight, Brocéliande’s red moon is a crescent, and the silver moon is a fat sphere hanging in the sky.
My hands start to shake again, and I clench my fingers tightly together to stop the trembling.
I hear footfalls behind me on the grass. I’m not thrilled to see Duke Mabon step in front of me. His long, dark hair hangs over a white cloak. Again, he seems to be sober, though he’s carrying two glasses of mead.
As he hands me a glass, he smiles. “Here you are, Baroness Alis. From such a meager provenance, and already a favorite among the noble houses. Well done. Well done.”
“Thank you. Though you’re in the lead.” I raise my glass, pausing as mental alarm bells go off.
Mabon isn’t taking a sip. The chatter he must be hearing here from the dead must be maddening, and he always drinks.
Already, my hackles are rising, and I’m hearing Tristan’s voice in my thoughts: Don’t trust a single fucking person here.
Didn’t Elizabeth say he poisoned his wife?
I look into my drink. He doesn’t really have a reason to want me dead. Except, I think, he’d do anything to please Igraine.
“You don’t want mead?” Mabon asks eagerly.
“I was hoping to find some food first. Just taking in the fresh air out here.”
He nods. “Perhaps I could find you something to eat.”
“The only thing you ever said to me before was that I stink of mortals. Why the change of heart?”
“Well, of course, I was drunk. I have to silence their voices…but you’re not mortal. Of course not. Can’t have that sort here.” Mabon’s gaze flicks past me, and his body tenses.
I turn to see Rion prowling closer. In the moonlight, he’s all shadows and silver—the midnight darkness of his inky blue cloak clasped with a silver stag, the ice-cold gleam of his hair and eyes.
“I wouldn’t drink that, Lady Alis.” He arches an eyebrow. “Belladonna, if I’m not mistaken.”
Mabon arches an eyebrow in turn. “Oh, dear. Are you suggesting someone is trying to poison us?”