CHAPTER 54
The old spriggan shook his head, looking out at the valley, his wrinkled eyelids drooping. “It’s been a long time,” he said, his voice wistful.
Certain traditions were an elusive element of the Choosing Ceremony that Tyghan still needed to understand.
The fae who started them were long dead in this world.
The living who carried on the traditions had only history and hearsay to guide them.
Especially when it came to the Choosing Ceremony.
Since it happened just once every hundred years, neither Tyghan nor any of his officers had ever witnessed one.
Most of those in Danu hadn’t. But there was one fae, Shane of Dubrick, an old spriggan knight retired from service, who had witnessed three.
He had been invited on their fact-finding expedition—a last-minute mission.
Now that Bristol could open massive portals, some strategies had changed as to how they would advance their troops. Logistics needed to be nailed down.
“The Choosing always happens when the sun’s at its highest,” Shane told them.
“But normally, monarchs, challengers, and their entourages show up the day before for the Parley of Royals. It’s a chance to size up the opposition, share meals, and let tempers and ambitions cool.
It’s the Stone that chooses, of course, but reducing the competition is the goal.
The fewer who step past the Mother Ring onto the sacred grounds, the better your chances are of being chosen. ”
They stared at the tall double row of standing stones, pitted and aged by time, almost like crooked teeth protecting the Stone of Destiny at the center. That was Kormick’s goal—to ensure no one stepped past the inner ring of stones except him. He would be the only choice by default.
“Sometimes everyone agrees on a clear choice,” the old spriggan continued, “and they go home happy and with full stomachs. Other times not. That’s when blood is shed.”
Shane squinted as he scanned the valley.
Weathered leaves on his shoulders crumbed in the breeze.
“Nothing has changed here,” he said with mild surprise.
“My first ceremony was bloody, three stubborn fools vying for the crown, but it was an unassuming cobbler who stepped up and was granted cauldron and crown by the Stone—just like that.” He cackled.
“That sure punched the piss out of the rest. They went home with wounds in their sides and their tails between their legs.”
The officers laughed uneasily, hoping there would be no tails between their own legs—or spears in their sides. Tyghan pressed the knight, needing to know more. “What about the kingdoms that came? Where did their entourages set up for the parleys in the past?” he asked. “Can you still remember?”
Shane pointed his crooked finger, circling the valley.
“Always on the rim where they could see everything. Colorful little cities popped up overnight, fanciful tents shining in the sun like jewels, with their kingdom banners raised high and flapping in the wind. It was a sight to behold. Proud and hopeful moments for everyone. But many came with no interest in claiming the crown at all. The ceremony was a once-in-a-century affair, not to be missed. Nobles who had no business being there tagged along too. It gave them bragging rights to history.”
“What about Fomoria? Was there a certain place they set up?” Tyghan asked.
Shane rubbed his bristled chin, thinking.
“Most who made the journey tended to set up in a direct line from their kingdoms—easy to retreat that way—so Fomoria would have set up right about . . .” He raised his arm and pointed to a spot just east of a stand of oak trees.
“There. Yes, just above that steep rocky region, that was it. I remember their black and silver banners.”
“And Danu?”
“That one’s easy. I helped set the tentpoles. Right there.” He pointed to the opposite side of the valley, which was exactly what Tyghan hoped. “Only six days left,” Shane said. “Think you’ve got this one? Need an extra hand?”
Tyghan grasped Shane’s forearm and thanked him. “You’ve given more than your share of service, my friend.” Junior knights escorted the old knight back to his farm, and Tyghan and his officers invoked their veils of invisibility and set to work, riding the rim.
“Archers up there,” Cully said. “And there. With the sun high and in Fomoria’s eyes, these would be the best places to join the fray.”
Tyghan agreed. This time there would be no marking the landscape—only memorizing it. Four points of entry for the garrison troops, high above the valley.
Quin, Dalagorn, and Kasta eagerly weighed in. Sky fighters here and here. Shield guards there. Spear platoons here. Sorcerers and ward casters interspersed. Greymarch forces can come in here and Eideris here.
Tyghan heard the fervor renewed in his officers’ voices.
Despite all the death his knights had witnessed, they still weren’t immune to its horror, and seeing Samuel, an innocent, so cruelly taken, had invigorated their hatred of everything that was Fomorian.
Maire’s name was never said, especially not in Bristol’s presence, but it always simmered beneath the surface.
The plan hinged, however, on Bristol eliminating the restless dead from the equation. And now they had little doubt that she could make that happen.
“Bloodmarked,” Dalagorn said under his breath. “Damn if we didn’t get lucky.”
“And she’s on our side,” Cully added. “I’m sorry for what I said about her at the garrison—”
Tyghan shook his head. “You were grieving, Cully. It’s behind us.”
“What about those blue nails of hers?” Quin asked. “I thought maybe she had another kind of fae in her. What happened with those?”
“It was nothing,” Tyghan replied, the practiced answer ready on his tongue. “According to the Sisters, it was only unstable magic inside her.”
Quin hissed. “Miserable tick.”
Only unstable magic. It was what Tyghan wanted to believe, but the worry he had seen in Jasmine’s eyes continued to circle his mind. Worry for what?
“All done here?” Dalagorn said. “Horses need grazing.”
What he meant was that he was hungry, and they returned to the valley floor to await Bristol’s squad—and so Dalagorn could quiet his ogre-size stomach.
Tyghan stood beside August, searching through his pack.
Master Woodhouse always wrapped up light provisions for them before they left on a journey of any length.
Kasta was not far away, doing the same. Tyghan pulled two apples from his pack and gave one to August, who whickered his appreciation before trotting off to graze with the other horses.
Tyghan bit into his own apple, then turned to Kasta.
“Where were you last night?” he asked. “I didn’t see you at the wedding. ”
She was already sitting on the grass with a handful of fresh figs. “I was there,” she answered. “Mostly staying in the shadows. You know me, that’s where I like to be, just like you.”
Tyghan got the gentle jab. Kasta was still irked at him, like he had strayed too far from the rules—and he had.
First his affair with Bristol, then Kierus’s shortened sentence, and then Melizan’s wedding on the eve of war.
Not to mention his cold words to her: Remember your place.
He and Kasta weren’t only king and subject, they were close friends and fellow knights.
They grew up together, and they’d never been this out of step before.
He couldn’t regret the things he had done, but he didn’t want it to be this way between them either. They had too much history.
He took another bite of his apple and sat down on a rock, not far away, trying to think of some sort of order to give her. Something that showed his trust. Work always seemed to brighten her, and for Kasta, the harder the better.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said, “and it has to be done quickly. Handpick twenty knights at the garrison to be our extra witnesses at the parley. Outfit them as nobles—shallow and curious. Every detail matters. They must be able to play the roles believably—but be skilled and useful too, when the time comes. We can’t be everywhere.
They’ll be our on-the-ground eyes and help direct incoming regiments through portals.
I know it’s short notice and you already have a lot—”
“Done,” Kasta answered. And she did brighten, her eyes glowing with anticipation. He really did need the job done quickly and done well by someone he trusted, but seeing his old friend sitting across from him, instead of a distant one, was something he needed too.
When Bristol and the others arrived, most of Tyghan’s instructions were for her fellow squad members. “She’ll be concentrating on closing the Abyss portal, possibly multiple times if Maire reopens it, and she won’t be able to watch for threats. You’ll be her constant eyes, ears, and shield.”
“That’s something we already do for each other,” Rose said.
“But this time you’ll have no cover, and possibly be hundreds of feet in the air on the backs of horses. We don’t know where Maire might reopen it.”
Bristol cringed as they spoke about her mother.
“If she reopens it,” she said, but heard the weakness of her reply and the uncomfortable silence that followed.
She wished she hadn’t said it. She sounded so needy, so in denial.
She wasn’t. Like them, she knew exactly who Maire was.
The problem was, she also remembered who Leanna Keats had been.
“Of course. If she reopens it,” Tyghan said, easing the tension.
They took to the air, taking their positions around Bristol, and tackled their task with vigor as Tyghan tried to break through from every angle. They managed to block all his attempts.
“That was too easy,” Hollis said, rolling her eyes.
And then they did a second round with Tyghan—and Cully, Quin, Dalagorn, and Kasta—attacking them from all sides.