26. Chapter 26
Lunette
The man who styled himself a social dandy understood far more about people than he let on. On horseback, more than a day after our meeting, I still thought of my final conversation with Nisien before he’d departed for Tir Gelida.
“I truly like you, Lady Lunette,” he’d said. “You have fire, but also a rare type of altruism.”
Altruism was antithetical to survival where I came from. “Thank you,” I replied. Then, more quietly, “I think.”
“It is a compliment,” he’d responded. “Every good leader I’ve ever known has a similar spirit.”
Leader? That didn’t exactly apply to me, but I’d let it go without argument.
“A crown is…heavy, Lunette,” Nisien added softly, without preamble. “Let your anger burn but remember to acknowledge the world as it is.”
His parting words followed me into the night, eventually bleeding into my fitful slumber.
I dreamed of Owain in the cabin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fixing something like a common laborer instead of a prince.
He’d smiled when he saw me, that infuriating gentleness softening his face as he crossed the room and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“You’re exhausted, Luna,” he murmured, concern in every syllable.
Even in dreams, the air between us thrummed with restless, waiting energy.
“Always tired since you left,” dream-me admitted, uninhibited within the safety of fantasy.
His expression faltered. “There were no good choices.”
“I understood leaving, but what you’re doing to me now?” Anger cut through the longing so quickly it startled me. “You could’ve chosen differently.”
Pain flashed across his face with such raw intensity that I nearly reached for him. “Could I really?”
Dawn roused me from that sleep, a transition that only shifted my exhaustion around rather than relieving it.
I sat up, disoriented in the unfamiliar tent, reaching for something that wasn’t there—Owain’s name a painful knot lodged in my throat that I couldn’t quite swallow back down.
His final question occupied my thoughts for hours afterward.
Our group crested the rise above Tir Larethia just as the sun hit midday. In the lowlands, the trees still blazed with their autumnal colors, while the air hung thick and humid. So unlike my mountainous home. I shifted in the saddle, muscles protesting the movement, even as I marveled at the sight.
Sprawled below us was a city. No border village clinging to life by torn fingernails. It was a permanent place of power, built of stone and brick.
An oval of pale tan and honeyed beige stone shot into the sky.
From above, the buildings arranged in broad squares and straight avenues softened into crooked lanes the farther they drifted from the center, looking less planned and more a consequence of life growing too abundantly to be contained.
Even from afar, the market squares were alive with the bustle of people.
The keep rose at the heart of it all. Six round towers stood sentry around a castle, each crowned with a gleaming bronze helmet dome that mirrored the midday sun in fiery streaks. The castle itself was broader and taller than the battlements that surrounded it.
A solitary drawbridge, spanning a dark moat, offered the only access to a gatehouse heavily fortified with iron.
It was gorgeous. It would’ve been much easier to hate this place if it were ugly.
Beyond the city walls, vineyards lined the surrounding hills in disciplined rows that curved with the land, the leafless vines promising abundance by late summer.
Outbuildings and watch posts—cut from the same honeyed beige stone as the city itself—punctuated the fields in a loose, circular pattern.
Each was marked with bands of gleaming white paint. The architects of these structures had planned for more than beauty—those pale surfaces drank in the sun’s fury from the gleaming domes, breaking the heat while serving other functions that kept the city safe.
The young hunter who’d been feeding Muffin these past days slowed his horse beside mine.
He and the rest of the soldiers hadn’t even glanced at my ears after that first day.
It could’ve been acceptance or their orders.
Either way, I appreciated it, just as much as his next words: “Welcome to Tir Larethia, Lady Lunette.”
I swallowed past the tightness in my throat, eyes tracing the pale stone city that now owned me.
“It’s very…tidy,” I said. The most magnificent city in Avanfell, and I’d called it tidy. Truly, no bard would ever immortalize my eloquence. I was utterly flustered, my senses reeling from the unprecedented sight of so many people and so many things gathered in one place.
“Yes and no, lady.” He snorted softly. “Best place in Avanfell, though.”
Muffin rolled over in his nest of fabric at the sound of conversation.
He was still exhausted from clinging to Nisien’s armor for an entire day’s ride.
While the shine of gold might’ve initially caught my veska’s eye, he’d stayed put because Nisien had petted him at every opportunity.
It made me think of his moody relationship with Owain…
Traitor.
An absolute mercenary of a creature. I’d raised a critter with zero principles. All it took was someone with warm hands and gold-plated armor to sway his love.
Nope.
I wasn’t going to think about Owain’s hands. Or his chest.
But Fate didn’t care about my wishes. The road to the city gates felt heavy with foreboding as the sharp ache in my chest returned, as though something inside me knew I was riding toward the one person I was least prepared to face.
Getting out of Selmont had always been my dream—just not like this.
As our traveling party was about to approach the first watch post, Richart sidled his horse alongside mine. His basso voice carried easily over the sound of the hooves. “Time to dismount, lady.”
My back and thighs throbbed with exhaustion from so many continuous hours on horseback, pleading with me to do just that, even though it seemed premature.
We weren’t even past the first checkpoints yet.
Deciding to trust him, I gently tugged on the reins, guiding my mare to the side of the path as I followed him toward the small fortification.
Legs wobbly, I waited next to my small trunk and Muffin’s cage as he handed our horses off to two of the other riders. He said nothing as he strolled to the iron door of the watch post and tapped out a series of knocks that could only have been a sort of password.
The door swung open just as he was preparing to knock once more. He flinched but immediately found his way into a deep bow. From my angle, I couldn’t tell who he was bowing to, but I braced myself for the emotional blow anyway.
A feminine voice whipped out like a smack. “Get up, Richart. Shouldn’t you be carrying the lady’s things in?”
He shot out of the bow with startling swiftness. “Yes, Duchess.”
He rushed over to us and reached for the trunk. I held Muffin’s cage tight. “I’ll be carrying this,” I said, my tone sharp.
Maybe you should cut the poor sod some slack, Luna. He’s here under orders, just like you.
“Thank you for the thought, though, Richart. Lead on.”
He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure.
Looks like I made the right choice.
I entered through the open door ahead of him, cage tucked under my arm.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior.
Inside, the same beige stone stretched onward, its rough texture catching the flickering, solitary torch.
And there, standing in a corner, was a woman, staring back at me with the same midnight purple eyes as Owain.
His aunt.
I took her in. Her hair was a deep, rich brown, nearly black, and her skin had a slightly deeper tan than Owain’s.
Their noses were the same too—though his had certainly been broken in the past. She wore a sleek cobalt blue gown, trimmed with gilt stitching, and cinched at the waist with a delicate gold belt.
Because I didn’t know what else to do, I performed a messy curtsy. When I straightened, I caught the tail end of some emotion quickly and carefully leashed. She allowed curiosity to cross her face before one eyebrow went up in quiet censure. “Well, we certainly have work to do on that.”
Her genuine smile and gesture to come closer softened the blow. “I’m Reina.” She offered her hand and said, brooking no questions, “Now, let’s get a move on.”
Was the king hidden up the staircase leading to the top of the watch post? Because I saw nothing here besides a table, one chair, the solitary torch, and the stairs. That was until she stomped her foot once, and I felt the telltale vibration of magic in the air.
Benevolent gods.
I watched, mouth gaping, as an illusion—the first I’d ever seen—fell away beneath her feet. Reina was standing atop a wooden trapdoor. She took a step back then motioned for Richart to open it. Setting the trunk down, he hastened to comply.
Before I knew it, I was climbing down an impossibly tall iron ladder, plunging into the earth’s depths. Nobody had mentioned ominous caverns—a significant omission in Owain and Nisien’s pitches about coming to the Tir.
Reina stood at the bottom of the descent, casting a magelight to guide us—another magical first for me—and Richart braced himself to catch me if I fell.
The moment my boots hit the stone floor, Reina ordered Richart to take Muffin’s cage and the trunk. “Your king requires your strength,” she reasoned. Though from her, it sounded more like a command than an explanation.
I couldn’t puzzle it out. Why weren’t we using the main gates?
The part of me still secretly enchanted by tales of Fae courts and their magical castles wanted to see the moat and the massive drawbridge up close.
I’d waited my entire life to see a city.
Nobody had mentioned I’d be smuggled into it through a hole in the ground like contraband.