Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
ALLERIA
Cairn wakes me up at dawn, his mouth against my ear, whispering that it’s time to get up. I make a sound that should probably embarrass me, but it doesn’t. I’m warm, sleepy, and his arm is still around my waist. For one moment, I consider pretending I haven’t heard him.
Then I open my eyes and find fresh clothes folded on the furs, and breakfast waiting nearby. Hot tea. Toast with fruit preserve and melting butter. My stomach gurgles loudly enough to betray me. Cairn laughs low against my shoulder.
So much for burrowing back under the furs.
I don’t get a chance to ask him about the peculiar look on his face last night. As soon as I finish eating, he dissolves the shelter and leads me out of the cove.
It isn’t until we are halfway back to the keep that I notice the vaelcait is missing.
I stop, looking around. “Where did the vaelcait go?”
“He likely went hunting for his breakfast.” His hand rests against the small of my back, urging me forward again, his thumb moving against my spine in a rhythmic caress that sends heat through me.
“What did you see last night?” I keep my eyes on the path. “When you gave me that odd look?”
His thumb stops moving. That tells me I wasn’t imagining it.
“Watch the loose stone.” He steers me left, around a spill of scree.
“You can’t avoid answering my questions forever.”
“You might want to try and have a nap today. It’s going to be a late night.”
“Tonight?” I twist to look up at him. “What’s happening tonight?”
He walks me up the last of the path, and through the gate into the garden. “You are more than welcome to wander the keep today, if you wish. All I ask is that you stay inside. No gardens, no grounds, and definitely don’t go back to the cove.”
“You’re not even going to acknowledge my question?”
We turn into the hallway that leads to my room.
“I heard your question.”
“But you’re not answering it.”
“Not right now. I don’t want to be wrong. When I know I’m right, I’ll give you the answer.”
Before I can argue more, he kisses me. His tongue dips between my lips, stroking against mine, and for a few seconds, every question in my head scatters. By the time I pull myself out of the heat of his mouth, he’s almost to the end of the hallway.
“I’m not going to stop asking,” I call after him. He doesn't even turn.
The door to my chambers opens before I even touch the handle, and I step through to find the brownies have already prepared it for my arrival.
A pot of the tea I’ve come to love is sitting on the small table next to the fire, which is burning in the hearth.
The curtains are open, framing the view beyond.
On the balcony, a long, low couch has appeared, its carved frame half-buried beneath pale cushions.
It’s been placed at an angle, so someone could lie on it, facing the sea.
A pile of books waits at one end, and the door in the glass is slightly ajar, as though the whole room has quietly decided where I’m supposed to go next.
I pour a cup of tea, and carry it out.
The air is cool this high up, and I lean over the railing to look down. This is the first time I’ve been out here, and I spend a little while trying to figure out where my rooms are in relation to the rest of the keep.
I can’t see the courtyard from here, or the garden we walked through, and I don’t recognize the shoreline, so I must be on the side opposite the cove.
The view is stunning. Craggy rocks, with wildflowers in riotous colors growing in the gaps.
There are even a few trees and bushes dotted around, leaves swaying in the slight breeze.
But it’s the sea that commands the most attention. The waves on this side are bigger and faster, striking the rocks below hard enough to throw spray into the air. Even this high up, salt touches my lips.
I run a finger along the railing, wondering what it’s made from. It looks too much like iron, though I know it can’t be. Instead of plain bars, the metal twists into creatures I don’t recognize.
Taking a sip of tea, I turn to the seat and the pile of books waiting for me.
The top one is bound in a dark material.
I sit down and pick it up. It’s soft and warm to the touch, heavier than I expected.
When I open it, the pages are thick, and the smell of ink rises.
I’m surprised to find the words written in Shentari.
The title page proclaims it to be a living history of Underhill.
I turn the page and nearly drop my cup.
A range of gray peaks stand beneath a wash of cloud, but it isn’t painted. It moves. The cloud drifts while I watch, its shadow sliding over the stone as if the page holds a window instead of ink.
I touch a fingertip to it. The cloud keeps moving, indifferent to me.
Queens fall. Bargains shatter. The balance of power shifts across the Courts, and Underhill remembers every fracture.
Before the first word of our history is spoken, the foundations of the Four Courts must be understood, as well as the ones who stand apart.
This record lives because Underhill lives. Should Underhill die, this record will cease.
Ink alters when crowns pass, when oaths break, when debts are paid, and when blood is spilled. Borders shift upon these pages when the land accepts a claim. Names appear when power rises. Names fade when power is taken, surrendered, or cut from its root.
Reader, whoever you are, understand this before you turn further.
Underhill is older than its Courts.
Mountain. Wild. Hollow. Sea.
And beyond them, the Guard that watches.
I run my finger over the line.
The Guard.
It must mean the Nightwild Guard. What else could it mean?
Still, the wording makes something tighten low in my stomach. The Guard that watches sounds less like an order of warriors, and more like a warning.
I look at the moving clouds again, then turn the page.
A palace carved into a mountainside fills the sheet.
It clings to the side of a sheer cliff, built from pale stone, and lined with high narrow windows.
Red light flickers through cracks in the rock.
It’s severe and cold, with nothing welcoming about it.
It reminds me a little of the palace I grew up in.
Words appear beneath the image as I watch.
The Mountain Court is seated in the Palace of the First Flame, within Mount Veyrakar, and ruled by Queen Maelthra Caerith.
The oldest and most traditional of the Courts, it draws its magic from the unyielding rock, and the unseen Sun.
A Mountain fae can be slow to act, and slower to forgive. Offer them an insult, and they will remember the slight for centuries, often exacting their revenge long after the offense occurred.
Approach their halls with care, and prepare to be weighed, measured, and judged.
I read that final line again.
Weighed, measured, and judged.
I know what that feels like.
I reach for my tea and take a sip, letting it warm me, before I turn the page.
Every shade of green greets me. The palace is almost hidden inside the forest. Branches arch around it. Roots twist through stone. Dark leaves shift in a wind I can’t feel, and I swear I see something moving between the trees.
I lean closer, searching the image, but there’s nothing there.
The words begin to appear, pulling my eyes to them.
The Wild Court is seated in the Thornheart Palace, at the heart of Bloodroot Wood, and ruled by Queen Rhavena Ilyr.
The second Court to rise, its magic is driven by blood and root, growth and decay.
The Wild fae are armed with sharp teeth and feral instincts. They despise stagnant negotiations, instead choosing to settle disputes through action, pursuit, and blood.
They operate entirely by the raw laws of the forest—the sudden bloom of life, the inevitable rot of decay, and the feral instincts of the hunt.
My fingers tighten on the edge of the page, and I ease my grip before I tear it. The words remind me of Huntsman Dell, the antlers on the walls, and the way humans dress slaughter up as sport.
Would the Wild fae do the same, and call it judgment?
I turn the page.
The next image is beautiful. The Hollow palace sits low beneath the violet sky, with land rolling above it, and arched openings leading down into the earth. Gardens spread around the entrance, petals unfurling as I watch.
The ink shifts, and the words rise.
The Hollow Court is seated in the Palace Beneath, under the Amber Plains, and ruled by Queen Elyssan Vael.
It was lost long before this history began whether Hollow formed before Sea, and both will claim the title of third if asked.
Hollow magic is healing magic, drawing deep from the well of life.
The Hollow fae do not rush into conflict. They play the longest game of dominion, using endless patience to secure their power.
They claim the greatest numbers. They hoard the deepest resources. And unlike the other Courts, they understand the inevitability of time.
Caelum and Serath come to mind as I read about the Hollow Court. Gentle, yes, but not harmless. A court built around healing should sound safer than the others, but this one doesn’t.
When I turn the page, my breath hitches.
Moonlight spills across the paper. A palace rises above dark water, pale against the cliffs, with waves breaking below it and mist curling around its lower walls.
The sea moves in the image, restless and blue, and the longer I look, the more the water seems to pull at the edges of the page, as though it wants out.
My fingers twitch, wanting to touch it and see if I can feel the wetness, but I don’t. Instead, I drop my eyes to the words appearing beneath the palace.
The Sea Court is seated in the Palace of the Ninth Tide, in Sorynmar, and ruled by Queen Lirael Thalor.
Third or fourth to rise, it matters not, for the Sea Court is the most unpredictable. Its magic moves with the moon, churning through currents, crushing depths, and unpredictable storms.