Chapter Twenty-One #2
We walk in step down to the oak tree, and the fae are reverently silent as we pass.
Most are high fae, though I see selkies and kelpies and gancanagh who have been drawn in from their own settlements nearby.
There are Seelie fae at the back, and all I see are focused on Oisin, as though he carries their hopes for the future on his shoulders.
I suppose he does. That has never been my weight to bear. There have been Unseelie fae on the thrones… I frown. My parents were Unseelie. I cannot remember who came before.
Veles waits next to the oak. Zomo stands on the other side of it.
She holds one crown, he the other. I take note of that.
He wants her on the court, and I am inclined to agree.
I glance at Oisin. Considering how he greeted her at the ball, he might be amenable to that.
Besides, there are no other fae I can think of who I would insist upon.
Perhaps Veles himself, but then I cannot trust that his loyalty will remain to us forever. He is willing to see me crowned. That means nothing in the long run.
I approach Veles and Oisin approaches Zomo.
The oak stands tall and sturdy between them.
If I reach out—even a little—I can feel the thick network of its roots, delving as they do deep into the earth.
The power comes from us, via the crowns, but most importantly, it comes from here.
Without this tree, there would be no Otherworld at all.
Our realm would collapse in an instant, with no escape.
The crowns have some of its essence inside of them.
The original crowns, my mother once told me, were made of branches fallen from the tree, worn by those fae who existed back then, back when humans were a mere imagining.
They have been changed since, wrapped in gold and gems by fae who have eyes like magpies, but I know they would sit heavy even without the adornments.
I lower myself to one knee and duck my head.
No words pass Veles’ lips. The crowd is silent, the only sound the stirring of a breeze through the leaves of the oak tree.
He sets the crown upon my head and I see, out of the corner of my eye, as Zomo does the same to Oisin.
My magic roils inside me. There is power in this crown and I am painfully grateful that Veles took them when my mother passed.
There will have been fae who have asked to be crowned, who have demanded the right to try one and see if they would survive it—already I feel the drag on my power, so recently returned to me.
Veles steps back. I stand. Oisin and I move together, both drawn to the oak tree.
It slumbers. I do not know if that is its usual state or if it is because the crowns have not been worn for months; I never approached it in all the time I lived in the Otherworld, and I do not know a fae who would.
Oisin glances at me as he reaches out his hand to press against the bark. I nod. We are the ones to do this.
The bark is rough and cool under my touch, despite the relative warmth of the day.
Oh. This is more than a slumber. The oak is dying, shrivelling from the inside out, because my mother should not have been trying to sustain this realm on her own for fifteen years.
I frown and push my questing magic deeper.
No, it is not that. Before that. The oak has been starving for centuries, and I cannot understand why.
Oisin takes my free hand in his own. If he senses what I do, then I see no sign of it in his face.
Bile rises in my throat because something is wrong, and I know it is about to get worse, but stopping this feels like the wrong choice.
I squeeze his hand tightly. His power brushes up against mine, tendrils reaching out to mesh together, and I feel the moment the quietly growing bond between me and Dante is brushed aside, leaving only—
Pain.
I clench my teeth so hard that one cracks. Pain crashes through me in a wave, sparking every nerve ending, and my limbs go rigid, my grip on Oisin tightening because I cannot let go.
The oak stirs under our combined touch. Our power, enhanced by the crowns, by their connection to this ancient tree, sweeps through the rot and decay, sparking it back to life again. The oak groans, branches shaking out, leaves scattering to the ground.
Around us, the fae cannot contain their excitement. The bond snaps taut between Oisin and me, and his grip on me tightens, too, as he realises the pain I am experiencing. As far as I can tell, he is fine.
I keep my head bowed, my hand pressed against the tree trunk. What is happening? Why is this happening to me?
I do not expect the oak to reply. But bark shifts beneath my hand and I feel a tentative brush of a power so great my knees buckle.
It is more than simply a tree, of course.
It is a manifestation of the power required to build such a realm and to contain creatures as powerful as even the weakest of fae.
The oak rattles its branches again. Fae exclaim, excited and relieved, and celebrations will begin soon in earnest, I am sure. All I feel is… disappointment. Not my own. It is deeper than that, but from some place outside of me.
I have not failed in staying here. It is what I swore I would do, and a fae can no more break a deal than we can tell a lie.
The witch would not have trapped me if she believed it was not the right thing to do, surely? She wants the realm to survive just like any other fae.
“The celebrations will begin soon,” Zomo says, and I let go of the tree, noting that Oisin has done the same. His hand is still around mine, our new bond sparking between us. It will be a while before it truly settles.
“We will return to the castle first,” he replies.
Zomo’s eyes widen. “You… will?”
“We will,” I confirm. My voice comes out hoarse, as though I have been screaming. The pain from before is gone, but what remains is a dull ache that I feel down to my bones. “We will join you later this afternoon. Our new bond needs some time to settle.”
It is not a lie, even if it is not the true reason for our delay. Zomo does not appear to read it from my face, but I believe Veles does.
He nods and moves closer to Zomo. “Come. We can ensure all is ready for the fae to greet their new kings.”
He sweeps her away and Oisin holds me upright as we journey back up to the castle. None of the fae still remaining look at us for too long as we pass. They duck their heads, bow, curtsey—they do not look us in the eyes. They can feel our new power just as well as I can.
Oisin directs us to my rooms, and I all but collapse onto the sofa. He frowns and drops into one of the armchairs. “I do not understand.”
“Neither do—” I choke on the words. Iron sizzles on my tongue, and Oisin’s gaze sharpens.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Lark.”
I swallow hard. It cannot be this, because my belief in it has always been—I have always seen through it, haven’t I? Perhaps not.
“Go through the door over there,” I say, pointing at the greenhouse. Dante did not uncover the truth, too na?ve to the ways of the fae, which is no one’s fault but my own.
Grant would have. Grant would have asked me about it. Grant would have drawn me away from here, and I would have lost Dante in an instant.
Oisin opens the greenhouse door and walks inside. He does not make a sound, except for his near-silent footsteps, which round the entire room before he walks out again.
“Your parents never said.”
“Why would they?”
“But that—You’re their son.”
Both of them. “Of course.” As if either of them would have had it any other way. They were soulbonded even before they wore the crowns.
“Then how…” He sits in the armchair again and for a few seconds, he stares blankly into the distance.
I wait for him to gather himself. It is not something I have spoken aloud before.
My mother forbade it. Even Ronan never went that far, though the curse of it was evident in every sharp word he directed my way.
Oisin blinks, coming back to himself. He bares sharp teeth.
“How did two Unseelie fae have a Seelie son?”
The words settle heavily in the centre of the room. I swallow down a sharp spike of panic. The truth is there. Unavoidable, perhaps.
“I am not certain,” I say. “But I am not certain, either, that Aodhan does not know.”
“He might know?” Oisin rubs a hand over his face. “You should have told me before we did the ceremony. Before we…” Gingerly, he touches the crown he is still wearing.
“I know that,” I bite out, “but being Seelie or not has nothing to do with what just happened. My parents were both Unseelie and they both wore crowns. You are Seelie. Why was the ceremony only painful for me?”
Oisin nods, still frowning. “Not a bad question,” he muses. “I feel fine. Irritated, but fine.”
I sigh and tip my head back. The crown slides, heavy, and I take it off and put it on the cushion next to me. “It is likely due to my magic just returning,” I say. “We will go to the celebrations tonight. Everything will be fine.”
Oisin eyes me sceptically. “If you say so. And Aodhan…?”
“I will have you put up in Ronan’s rooms, if you have no objections?
” When Oisin shakes his head, I continue, “Make sure to ward them well. I do not trust my uncle either. We are safer now than we were yesterday, but he is cunning, and if he is to strike, it may well be when everyone believes the worst is over.”
“I did not see him at the ceremony.”
“Neither did I.”
Oisin looks at me grimly, and I have no doubt my expression mirrors his own. With any luck, this is nothing lasting, nothing truly out of the ordinary.
With any luck, Dante is already home and everything will be fine.