Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
CAIRN
I turn back to the window after she disappears into her bedchamber, watching the waves as they crash against the rocks.
It’s been too long since I had the sounds of the sea around me.
Too long since I’ve been home. But I know we won’t have long to simply appreciate being back in Underhill.
Word will already be spreading of our return, and I have no doubt the first demand for our attention will arrive in a matter of days.
And that means I don’t have much time to teach Alleria everything she needs to know to survive a fae court.
How to answer without yielding more information than she wants to share. How to listen and filter out the non-truths. And how to stand still while every smile in the room looks for a place she will bleed.
The door opens behind me, and I glance back as Serath steps into the room. She glances toward the bedchamber.
“Is she awake?” The question is pitched low.
“She wasn’t when I arrived, but she is now. I invited her for a walk, so she’s changing clothes.”
“And what did you think of the dress? The brownies prepared it especially for your arrival.” Amusement fills Serath’s voice.
I give her a flat look, and she laughs.
“They know she’s part of the Guard, but they can also sense the connection to you runs deeper than that.” She pauses, her amusement fading. “She tried to reach for the threads earlier. I thought she’d be aware how close you were, but she felt nothing. And then her temperature rose.”
“I think it might be—”
The latch of the bedchamber door clicks, and we both smooth our features into neutral expressions as it swings open and Alleria steps through.
She’s wearing a deep red tunic, in a similar cut to mine, dark pants, and soft leather boots.
Silver thread runs along the sleeves, in the same pattern as the thorns that chase through my armor.
I know exactly what the brownies have done. They’ve dressed her for Nightward, dressed her for the Guard, and dressed her to be seen as mine. A surge of satisfaction moves through me.
“Serath.” Alleria attention moves between us. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I said I would check on you, but I can see you’re safe in the Eldráfn’s hands.” She looks at me. “Please watch for any signs of fever, and call me if I’m needed.”
She dips her head, then turns and walks out.
“Serath tells me you had a fever earlier today.”
Pink stains her cheeks, and she looks away. “I’m fine.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”
There’s tension in her stance, and the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat suggests she’s lying. I could push her on it, but she has had too many choices taken away from her. Today, I let this one stand.
“Come. Walk with me.” I open the door and step back so she can leave ahead of me, then lead her through the hallway toward the main staircase.
Instead of going down toward the hall, I steer her along a passage that bends toward the western face of the keep, stopping at a door set deep into a stone arch about halfway down.
The door swings open as I move toward it, and cool salt-heavy air rushes in. Alleria draws in a small breath beside me.
The garden lies between three high walls of stone and the cliff’s edge—a deep, enclosed slip of dark green and darker stone, with a path of pale flagstones winding through it. The things that grow here will never be seen in the mortal world.
Moonblooms, with rich purple petals that fade to silver at the tips, are folded closed, waiting for the night, when they will open and feed on the moonlight.
Silvercreeper threads white and pale along the walls.
Blackbrier, bristling with dark, jagged thorns just waiting to catch on unsuspecting skin and draw blood, lines one side of a low pool holding water so still it mirrors the sky.
Alleria stops at the threshold, lips parting, as she takes in the garden. I wonder what she sees, how different it looks to her. Does she find it beautiful, or is she looking for what might hurt her? In Underhill, both are true.
“Stay on the path. And keep your distance from the frostvine.” I point toward it. “It’s wild, and does not welcome strangers.”
“You talk like it’s dangerous.”
“You’re in Underhill now, Moirthalen. Everything here has the potential to kill you.”
Her attention flicks toward the frostvine but stays close to me as we walk. As we pass the wall where it grows, it unfurls long pale frost-tipped leaves. Alleria edges closer to me, keeping a wary eye on the pale leaves as they reach toward her.
The far side of the garden ends in a tall arched gate, its dark metal nearly hidden beneath a green-black fall of nightcreeper.
The leaves are heart-shaped and small white blossoms break up the darkness along the trailing tendrils.
When my hand draws near, the leaves pull back, uncovering the latch.
I pull the gate open, revealing the open land beyond.
A path runs along the western face of the keep.
On the right, the drop to the sea is sheer, the water churning against the rocks below, while the vast expanse of Nightward’s land stretches out to our left.
The wind is stronger out here, dragging at Alleria’s hair until strands break free to whip around her face.
She shoves them back with one hand and looks around.
“Isn’t it dangerous having such an easy way into the keep? Aren’t you afraid of invasion?”
“Not at all. Nightward stands on land that is completely surrounded by sea.” I raise my voice slightly to be heard over the crashing of the waves. “There is no way to enter except by the bridge you crossed when you first arrived.”
I point toward the horizon, where the air thickens into a silver haze.
“Do you see that?”
She squints against the light, then nods. “The odd shimmer. I noticed it when I first arrived.”
“Yes. Those are the wards. They ring the entire island. Nothing can cross them—by air or water—without our permission.”
“Who else lives here? Besides the Guard, I mean?”
“The brownies, other lesser fae. But there are no towns or villages. This is Nightwild Guard land. Beyond the keep, it remains wild.”
She watches the sea for a moment longer, then turns back to the path. We continue along the cliffside, the sound of the sea growing louder beneath us as the ground slopes gently downward.
The further we walk from the keep, the more the cultivated land gives away. About halfway down, Alleria stops again, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness.
“Where is the sun? How is it so bright during the day? I know there’s a moon. I did ask Serath but she didn’t really answer.”
“Underhill doesn’t have a sun. Here, the light comes from the magic itself. It’s in the air, the earth, the water.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.”
“You don’t need to understand it, you just need to accept it. Do you question how the sun brightens the sky in the mortal world?”
“I guess not.” She lowers her gaze, taking in the stark landscape around us. Pale, luminescent moss clings to the jagged black stones bordering the path, and purple-black flowers grow between the gaps.
“It’s so … strange. Even the air feels different.”
“The air in your world was wrong to me. It’s flat and empty, and every breath I took reminded me I had been cut away from this. Ours is full of magic. I felt the lack of it every day I was there.”
The path curves closer to the cliff’s edge.
“Down here. Watch your footing. The steps are narrow.”
The steps end on a strip of black sand. The cove is small, enclosed on three sides by rock, and open to the sea on the fourth. The wind dies down here, blocked by the stone, and the only sound is the slow rush of the waves on the sand.
Alleria steps off the last stair and walks cautiously onto the sand. Her eyes move constantly, from the water, to the rocks, to the line where the black sand meets the sea. She moves closer to where the water laps against the sand, staying far enough back that it doesn’t wash over her boots.
I move to stand beside her.
“Until I came here, I’d never seen the sea.” She gives a small, embarrassed laugh. “I always thought it would be blue, with white foam on the waves, and golden sands. Like the paintings in the galleries.”
“Most water in Underhill is blue. Some are green, where the deep marshlands run into them. In the Sea Court, the water is turquoise. You can see the sand beneath even when you’re waist deep in the water.”
“But not here.” Her eyes go back to the waves.
“No. Nightward’s sea is the only black one.”
“Why?”
“The truth is lost to history, but there is a legend. Would you like to hear it?”
The waves break, draw back, and break again.
“Yes, please.”
“Why don’t we sit?” I turn back and walk a few paces, then sink down onto the sand.
After a few moments, Alleria comes to sit beside me. She scoops up a handful of the black sand and pours it from one palm into the other, letting the wind catch some of the grains and blow them around.
“So the story goes, before the keep was built, before any fae stood on this shore, this cove was a stretch of black rock where the moon came down to touch the earth. A herd of horses ran on those rocks every night. Coats like ink, and manes of beaten silver. Their hooves were hard enough to make sparks where they passed. They belonged to no one, but themselves.”
I call my magic, and the sand in front of me forms into a herd of horses, galloping toward the sea.
“Then a lord came to Nightward. From which court, the story does not say. He carried a bridle worked in silver and stitched through with binding spells. He’d heard tell of the horses, and he wanted the lead mare for himself.
He believed anything that ran could be caught.
And anything caught could be owned. He believed those things the way humans still believe them. ”
A male shape forms, arms raised, and the horses stop, turning to look.
“The herd saw him, and raced up the cliff, but he got there first, blocking their freedom. So the lead mare let him come close, and when he threw the bridle, she raced for the cliff’s edge.
The herd followed her, and the lord chased her, too proud to stop.
When the mare leapt, the land gave way beneath her hooves. ”
The sand plays out the scene in front of us. A wave breaks over it, fragmenting the imagery. The foam, when it withdraws, looks strangely like a long pale mane drawn back through the dark water. Alleria leans forward slightly, following it.
“They say the sea rose up to meet them. And by dawn, the rock was replaced by sand, and the blue seas had turned black. Every wave wore a silver mane. The fae say the herd still runs beneath the surface. That’s why Nightward’s sea will never turn blue.
It’s why the waves come in at a gallop. And when a Nightwild Guard stood on this shore and swore themselves beyond crown, beyond court, beyond master—the sea heard him.
The tide drew back. The water turned. And the horses came again. ”
She’s silent for a long time, knees drawn up to her chest and her arms looped around them, watching the dark water pull at the shore. Then she turns toward me.
“Is it true?”
“Truth is a complicated word.”
“That isn’t really an answer.”
“There is enough truth in it to make the whole believable.”
“Can’t you ever just answer with yes or no?” She sighs. “Don’t answer that.” She drags a finger through the sand, making patterns until one becomes the shape of a horse. “That story is about the steeds you ride, isn’t it?”
“I wondered if you would catch that. Yes, that is the story of where they began … and also the reason why I brought you here.”
Her hands still in the sand.
“I told you that I needed to teach you to summon your steed. You are Nightwild, and you can’t ride double with me forever.”
“Do you really believe I can?”
I don’t tell her she’s already done it. That for one terrified, half-conscious moment, she called out and it came.
“I believe you can.”
She brushes sand from her fingers. “How?”
“You call it to you.”
“Out loud?”
“No, not out loud. With your magic.”
“I don’t have magic.”
“The Nightwild bond suggests otherwise. You just need to find it.”
“And how do I do that? I can’t even feel these bonds you talk about unless you’re using them to contact me.”
I open my mouth … and find I have no words. Calling Selveryn is as natural as breathing. The rest of the Guard did not need instruction in how to call their steeds. They all were born to magic.
“For me,” I say slowly, “it is no more than a thought. I think of Selveryn, and he comes.”
She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “That isn’t very helpful.”
“No.” I sigh.
This time, the sound she makes is closer to a real laugh.
“For most of the Guard, that first summoning comes through need. The desire to ride, or the need to flee. It’s born of strong emotion, which helps form it.”
“So … I just need to want to go riding?”
“No. I—”
I catch movement at the base of the cliff, where the shadows of the rock pool dark against the sand, and a shape detaches from it.
I recognize it before it fully steps into the light.
It pads forward on four legs, muscles rippling beneath a thick black coat. Its green eyes are narrowed and focused. Its head lifts, nose twitching as it scents the air, revealing the white mark at its throat shaped like a curling thorn.
Vaelcait.
I stay very still. If Alleria panics, this could go very badly.
“Alleria.” I keep my voice soft. “Don’t. Move.”