12. The Vision
12
THE VISION
“ I was standing in the middle of this grassy clearing,” Saffron said, sipping his coffee as the rest of their party listened with curiosity from around one of the inn’s meal tables. Other patrons chattered away in the dining area, creating just enough background noise that Saffron didn’t feel too anxious about being overheard. Not to mention—the cacophony of high fey demanding the prince’s attention and apologies had dwindled into almost nothing overnight, meaning they could enjoy their meal in relative peace. “There were these stones jutting out of the ground around me, and an arid circle in the grass that looked just like one that was reported in Avren recently… the trees looked like they were starting to change, too, for fall. I guess that’s proof it was only a dream, since we’re still at least a month away from summer ending.”
“Trees are pretty much always golden in the Fall Court,” Copper corrected, mouth stuffed full of food and making both Cylvan and Maeve wrinkle their noses in disgust. Cylvan muttered something like, ‘ they never should have let you in here, fox,’ referring to how Copper’s own rented room was located down the street. Copper went on like he didn’t hear it. “‘Specially in the old wood.”
“The stone circles, did they have anything on them?” Sionnach asked next. “Any markings or runes or anything?”
“I don’t remember.” Saffron gazed down at the half-eaten breakfast cake on his plate, prodding it with his fork. Trying to recall any other details, having to push past the sound of Asche’s voice crying out for him, the distinctive six knocks that rang out with the veil being torn open. “I think… there were white flowers growing around the stones? Little ones, maybe clover flowers? One of the stones might have been a little bigger than the others, too, but I don’t remember if there were any markings on them.”
Sionnach stirred their soup with a matching thoughtfulness. “Were they oak trees?”
“I think so.”
“Hmm…” They sighed, before shaking their head. Saffron had to nudge them to get a little more of what they were thinking. “It just—sounds a little familiar. There’s a henge similar to that outside the satyr borough where my father comes from. In the woods near where I grew up.”
“There is?” Saffron asked, unable to help the sudden swell of his voice. He pushed it down, forcing himself to recline back in his chair, swallowing down the sudden rush of emotion. Sure he’d sound like a mad fool if he suddenly started blabbing about his dreams as anything more than random images, even though… Even though… Sionnach implying he may have witnessed a real place, especially when he’d even apparently dreamed of the crow carving in The Morrígan’s burned temple the night before they left Avren, it made him think… Perhaps…
“Saffron?” Cylvan urged gently, and only then did Saffron look up and realize everyone around the table had gone silent again. Watching him, like it was obvious exactly how badly he wished to blab about his dream that—may not have been entirely his imagination.
“It’s just…” he didn’t know how to explain. He looked to Cylvan in that moment of need, hoping it would give him some courage. “I’ve had more than one dream like this one, lately, where… in them, someone is calling out to me. Asking for my help, crying… And—and… I swear the voice, it… it sounds like Asche.”
Cylvan started slightly. Behind him, Saoirse straightened up as well, and so did Aodhán, who stared at Saffron with a look of curiosity.
“Like Asche?” Cylvan prompted under his breath. Saffron nodded, biting his lip as Cylvan quickly added: “Do you think Asche is there?”
Saffron nearly choked.
“I don’t know—” he blurted, not wanting to get Cylvan’s hopes up. “I —I don’t even know if it’s really Asche’s voice, or if it’s even anything more than just a dream, but—! It might just be nothing, but since we have no other leads on what to do next, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to mention?—”
“We should go,” Cylvan declared, eyes bright and unblinking on Saffron. There was a tiny flicker of something hopeful in the depths of his purple irises—and Saffron didn’t know whether it made him glad, or made him sick. The thought of being wrong made his stomach turn, knowing what would happen to that little flicker of hope the moment they found nothing where Sionnach believed Saffron to be describing. But—the temptation of keeping that look in Cylvan’s eyes was impossible to resist. To be able to give Cylvan anything at all to cling to, even temporarily, might be worth it. So, he nodded.
“I think so, too,” he said, before glancing around to everyone else, then to Sionnach. “Even if it’s nothing, maybe going to visit would ease my suspicions, at the very least.”
“E-even if it’s nothing,” Sionnach mimicked, perking back up. “Um, at the very least, at home, in my room, I have a large collection of books that might be useful to us. Erm—” they lowered their voice, leaning forward slightly. “Books you wouldn’t be able to find on library shelves, that is… Lots of history books, specifically. I, erm… wasn’t immune to snagging a rare copy from a library cull when the opportunities arose, myself, you know, and the satyrs have their own ways of getting old books from around Alfidel whenever I asked…”
“Oh?” Cylvan’s interest turned to the satyr in an instant. “Stealing old books from library culls, goat? Even more reason to go. Maybe it would be in my best interest to see what sort of taboo literature you’ve collected…” he spoke with more life than Saffron had seen all morning, as if the mere mention of Asche resurrected him. Another pinch of reassurance that there was no harm in just going to see, even if it was nothing. Even if it only gave Cylvan something to look forward to.
“That’s not—!” Sionnach leapt up in a panic, but Saffron grabbed their arm, pulling them back down.
“He’s teasing you,” Saffron cooed, not without throwing Cylvan a look. Cylvan just smirked mischievously, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “His highness also is not immune to collecting old, taboo books, though I don’t think he’s ever waited for them to be in a library-cull before taking what he pleased.”
“Speak for yourself, beantighe.”
Saffron threw him a sharp, threatening smile. Cylvan smiled in challenge right back.
“So we’re going to visit the satyrs in the Autumn Court?” Copper asked after finally gulping down his mouthful of food. “‘Been a while since I ran around naked in the woods.”
“Oh, you run around naked in the woods?” Cylvan asked. “Are you hairy enough under those clothes to blend in with wild satyrs, you beast?”
“You’re one to talk with those horns on your head.”
“He’s descended from dragons, Copper,” Saffron inserted before Cylvan could, though his tone remained rich with sarcasm. Behind them, Aodhán sighed as if exasperated. Like they would have offered their own opinion, had they not been relegated to keeping guard of the table in favor of sitting at it.
“Have you considered the chances of sharing ancestry with dragon-satyrs, Cylvan?” Maeve asked cooly next, and Cylvan simply wiped his mouth and got to his feet to excuse himself. The table erupted into laughter, even Saffron unable to help it as he leapt to his feet to chase the prince down and bring him back. Cylvan didn’t argue, just huffed and pouted in his chair as Saffron offered him fresh fruits to ease his suffering.
While Saffron already brought a handful of books with them on their journey, with the decision to extend their trip a little longer, he was able to convince Cylvan to let him peruse Erelaine’s bookstore before they boarded the train. Pretending it was for nothing but curiosity, when really, his discoveries during the previous night’s excursion to the profaned temple continued ringing bright and agonizingly loud in Saffron’s mind even long after they finished breakfast with the new plan in place.
Specifically, Saffron turned over the names of those who Proserpina had begged The Morrígan to protect—Adone and Deimne . He knew that name, he was sure of it. He’d read about it somewhere in a book. And when even Taran just mentally shook his head when Saffron asked if he was familiar with it, Saffron knew it would eat him alive until he had something to spark his memory.
With a stack of new books tied together with string, Saffron gathered with the others on the platform, where that time Copper did not make such a big deal about joining them. Still, though, he insisted on purchasing his own ticket. On standing in a different ticket line. On requesting a seat far away from the prince’s private car, though he promised Saffron he would ‘stop by to visit’ once the train got on its way. Saffron might never understand what went on in Copper’s head—though a part of him no longer cared. He was just happy to have his friend there with him again.
To add to his improving mood—it seemed the crowd willing to harass Cylvan had diluted even outside the inn’s dining area, while they shopped around at the bookstore, then even allowing the prince’s travel party to mill about waiting on the train platform in peace. No more shouting, no more clawing hands or thrown objects to get his attention—at worst, most folks were simply back to looking over their shoulder and whispering to nearby companions. Perhaps, as infuriating as it was, Cylvan’s efforts the day prior had proven himself a caring and compassionate prince that the people could be grateful for?—
Or so Saffron thought, until a news crier waded through the throng waiting for the train to come, offering Saffron one of the gossip leaflets for a coin. In big letters across the top, Saffron read the headline that actually explained the sudden appeasement, and it turned his relief right on its head.
PRINCE CYLVAN OVERHEARD DISCUSSING FAIR ALLOCATION OF OPULENT SILVER WITH LADY MAC DELBAITH IN LATE ERELAINE RENDEZVOUS; Sources Say The Crown Has Offered To Front The Cost Of Distribution To Affected Residents Of The Mount Of The Gods…
“That explains where he slipped off to last night,” Taran said flatly in the back of Saffron’s mind, as if Saffron hadn’t figured it out on his own. He crumpled the leaflet in his hand, whipping around just as Cylvan approached to inform him the train would be arriving in another minute. Shoving the crumpled paper into Cylvan’s chest, Saffron turned away and went to find where Sionnach waited, instead. On the verge of boiling over, and at the very least knowing better than to blow up in front of all those people.
He managed to avoid confronting Cylvan all the way up to boarding the train, then while settling into their private rooms, then even half an hour into the journey while he distracted himself with the landscape, with something strong to drink. All the while, Cylvan clearly knew what had Saffron so agitated, considering the prince kept the gossip leaflet in his front pocket. Flattened out from Saffron’s crumpling, a little corner peeking out like he wanted Saffron to know he intended on addressing it when he got the chance.
He took that chance while Saffron sat reading Alvish Myths New and Old in the quiet car, while the others found their own entertainment elsewhere to help time pass. Cylvan got Saffron’s attention by grabbing the back of his chair and shaking it slightly, smiling down at him as Saffron craned his neck back.
“Hello,” he said simply. “I’m reading.”
“Oh, come on,” Cylvan sighed, the tail end of it verging on begging. “Haven’t you punished me enough? I am suffering immensely.”
“I think you could stand to suffer more,” Saffron said as Cylvan claimed the seat alongside him, though he extended a foot to rest on Cylvan’s knee as a sign he didn’t actually want the prince to leave. His initial anger had subsided enough, already, to stand to be in his presence again. Cylvan’s hand found Saffron’s ankle, teasing under the cuff of his trousers and rubbing his thumb over bare skin.
“I was going to tell you once I got the chance,” he said. Saffron just raised an eyebrow to encourage him along. “I hadn’t even considered speaking to her about anything until we’d already gone to bed, either. I wasn’t keeping secrets from you, púca. I swear it.”
“What made you decide to do it, then?” Saffron asked.
“It was… a moment of weakness,” he said, and Saffron’s heart thumped mercifully when Cylvan couldn’t meet his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about all the trouble I went to trying to speak with the people in Erelaine, and how none of them were receptive. I got in my own head about what sorts of things the gossip papers would write about it. I couldn’t stomach the thought of being humiliated when I genuinely was trying my best. I thought… going to Anysta might help mitigate that chance. And—I was right.”
Saffron bit his lip. He finally closed his book, resting it flat on his lap. “I guess… that makes sense,” he whispered. “Even if I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” Cylvan said. He squeezed Saffron’s ankle, making Saffron’s leg twitch. “But I want you to know, I didn’t make any sort of long-term agreement with her. We did not make any kind of secret alliance, no matter what sort of wild things will be published over the next few days about it.”
“You haven’t secretly proposed marriage to her or anything like that?” Saffron teased. “So when the gossip columns inevitably claim?—”
“Absolutely not.” Cylvan said declaratively, squeezing Saffron’s ankle again. “ Ab-so-lute-ly fucking not.”
Saffron chuckled, then sighed. He brushed his palm over the smooth face of the book on his lap, before reaching out to briefly take Cylvan’s hand on the armrest and squeeze it.
“I understand,” he said in a whisper. “I don’t blame you, either, even if, like I said—I don’t like it…”
“Thank you,” Cylvan whispered. He visibly relaxed in his chair, before sitting forward with a fresh look of intrigue on his expression. “Now. You are going to tell me where you went last night, while I was gone.”
“Hm?” Saffron hummed innocently, fluttering his eyelashes and smiling at his prince like he simply had no idea what he could possibly mean.
“Oh, don’t act dumb, you demon. Not only were you gone by the time I returned—but even Aodhán told me they saw you sneaking out less than an hour after I did. I’ve already told you who I was meeting with in secret—now it’s your turn.”
“Seems we’re both prone to late-night meetings.”
“Don’t try and distract me. Answer the question, beantighe.”
Saffron groaned, throwing his head back dramatically before sitting forward, reclaiming his leg so he could properly lean over the edge of his seat.
“I was going to tell you eventually, too, you know,” Saffron assured him. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret for a reason, either.”
“Secret enough to sneak out while I slept.”
“Speak for yourself, Night Prince,” he shot back through a tight smile. Cylvan smiled back in threat.
“You were saying?”
Saffron huffed again. He leaned slightly closer, and Cylvan did the same, until they were hardly more than a few inches apart.
“After we finished touring the site of the veil event yesterday… I decided I wanted a closer look, without so many eyes to see me.”
“Oh, Danu help us,” Cylvan rasped, hand snapping out to hook over Saffron’s thigh and claw into it. “What did you do, witch?”
Saffron smirked, grabbing Cylvan’s knee in return and squeezing until the prince flinched. “I just wanted to see if Ryder left any clues behind,” he explained as simply as he possibly could. Cylvan gaped at him in disbelief, and Saffron sensed the moment a string of reprimands swelled up the back of Cylvan’s throat, interrupting him first: “I was gone less than an hour—you know that—and Taran was there to make sure no one bothered me. Even Aodhán, apparently, didn’t see where I went. No one saw.”
“And?” Cylvan insisted next, catching Saffron by surprise. He tightened his hand over Saffron’s thigh again, making Saffron jump and stifle a sharp giggle.
“And—there were some remnants of the same reported specifically in the Tapestry Hall. Also a few bunches of fairy fruits left behind, though I took care of those.”
“And what else?”
Saffron fluttered his eyelashes again. “What do you mean?”
“You think I can’t tell when you’re hiding something from me? You’re like an open book to my knowing gaze, you little thief. What else did you take?”
“You definitely know me too well,” Saffron conceded with a nervous smile, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder before pulling his shoulder bag to settle between his feet on the floor. Digging into the front pocket cinched tightly closed, he slipped out the queen’s ancient plea to The Morrígan. Cylvan audibly grunted when he saw it, jolting forward to clap his hands around Saffron’s. Staring at him with wide eyes—but not out of protest, so much as shock.
“You little—!” He wheezed. “You—damned púca thief!”
Saffron grinned, hiding the scroll within the shell of Cylvan’s rounded shoulders, popping off the two golden caps on the ends so the prince could unroll the aged paper. He watched in tense silence as Cylvan read the words once, then twice, then a third time, before his pretty eyes flickered up to meet Saffron’s again.
“You look a little disappointed,” Saffron started weakly, only for Cylvan to clamp their hands together again and aggressively shake his head.
“No, no, not at all—I’m—I simply—I think I’m still in a bit of shock, is all. I’m also praying The Morrígan doesn’t come back and curse me for this, too.”
“What else could you possibly be cursed with at this point, Your Seelie Night Prince Highness?” Saffron teased in a low voice. Cylvan looked like he was going to eat him alive.
“What made you think it was worth stealing?” Cylvan clarified. “I want to know what you think of it.”
Saffron tried to explain the feelings he’d been sorting through all night long, and in the background all morning. That feeling of sadness and loss over Proserpina having to leave her human lover behind—despite everything that would come to pass, later. The way she specifically named Adone in the note, as well as someone else called Deimne .
“I know that name from somewhere, but I can’t remember exactly,” Saffron sighed, rolling the scroll back up and tucking it securely back into his bag. “That’s part of the reason why I asked you to buy me so many new books. I’m certain it’s from a myth, but I haven’t figured out which one, yet…”
Cylvan glanced down to the book of Alvish myths on Saffron’s lap, before smirking the most wicked, foxlike smile Saffron had ever seen.
“You recognize the name but not where it’s from, do you, beantighe? And here I thought you were better versed in myth than even I?—”
Saffron grasped the book in both hands, smacking Cylvan on the thigh with it.
“Will you just tell me if?—!”
“‘Did you eat of the salmon, lad?’” Cylvan interrupted theatrically, grabbing Saffron’s arm and shaking him as he quoted the lines. “’Did you eat of the salmon that feasts on hazelnuts of the nine trees? Before even I could, despite being the one who caught it…!’”
Saffron stared at him as the thoughts swirled behind his eyes, knowing those words, knowing where it came from, barely skirting past the recognition until Cylvan reached out to twirl a finger through Saffron’s hair, made blonde by his fey glamour.
“‘Fionn is your name, for the fairness of your hair ? —’”
“Fionn mac Cumhaill!” Saffron exclaimed, before throwing a hand over his mouth in embarrassment when other passengers turned to look. Cylvan burst out laughing, and Saffron swatted at him, then grabbed one of his horns to yank him back in embarrassment.
“Fionn mac Cumhaill was born ‘Deimne’ before the poet Finn named him otherwise,” Saffron reiterated before Cylvan could tease him further. The prince finally nodded, but couldn’t stop grinning, like the blood filling Saffron’s face was strong enough to even show through the glamour. “But why would Proserpina refer to him in her note? Unless it was actually referring to someone she knew… A friend? Maybe a pet…”
“It does seem strange, considering how little else she left behind,” Cylvan agreed once the amusement chuckled out of him. He sat back in the chair, gazing out the tall window at the passing landscape in thought. Saffron just watched at him in the meantime, disappointed, but not surprised, to hear even Cylvan didn’t know who, what Deimne could have meant in the context of Queen Proserpina. “Perhaps it’s no surprise after all that the temple burned down once she became queen… perhaps she regretted ever writing anything so personal and leaving it in a place where anyone could find it.”
Saffron’s heart thumped. He gazed back down at his own handwriting that had copied the words into his book.
“Do you mean—she was the one who set the fire? But Sionnach said...”
“Let me guess— ‘the flames burned fierce enough to rearrange the stars,’ right?” Cylvan mimicked, like it was a common phrase taught in class. Saffron nodded.
“If she did know about the fire, then she either didn’t think it would matter to burn down the temple, or perhaps…”
“Didn’t care?” Cylvan asked, but it wasn’t so much to finish Saffron’s thought, rather than to consider the idea for himself. A wild, outrageous thought, Saffron believed—but the look on Cylvan’s face, the face of the next to likely receive declaration of a Night Court—was a little more unreadable.
Saffron didn’t know how much time passed in contemplative silence across from one another, only that even the sound of Cylvan’s clothing shifting as he turned back was loud as lightning.
“Well,” he said, calm smile so very different from the bright amusement of only moments before. As if weighed down with what Saffron had shared with him, and filling Saffron with a miasma of guilt. “It’s a compelling mystery, that’s for sure. Once we finish what we’ve started here, I’m sure Daurae Asche will be more than eager to help you solve it, Lord Saffron.”
Saffron’s heart twanged heavily, but he smiled back with a nod. Right. There was no use distracting himself with something else, when he was already running short on time trying to bring his friends back home. He had to focus on the dreams he was having, and if they meant anything. He had to focus on Ryder Kyteler, alone. If they found Ryder—they would find a way to the others. And that was most important, above all else.