Chapter 8
Cillian
“Marriage trials?” I asked the table full of council members. “What are the marriage trials?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Wolfe’s voice rumbled across the room as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his muscled arms, lips twitching under his full beard.
A huge book was splayed out in front of Fargus, and he looked down at the ancient text. “We haven’t seen these trials since the days of Fairwitch,” he said.
Fairwitch. The leader of all the godwitches and also the godwitch most likely responsible for our castle’s magic.
At Fargus’s mention of Fairwitch, a few of the Fair Folk in the room stiffened.
The Fair Folk had a long, contentious history with the leader of the godwitches, and many of the faeries in this room had been alive when Fairwitch reigned over the land.
Ambrose, one of my council members, actually growled, shoving a hand through his thick blue hair.
“Fargus, explain.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
He cleared his throat. “Fairwitch invoked marriage trials for kings and queens across the continent to ensure they found the strongest match possible. The marriage trials pit contestants against each other in a series of challenges, each challenge judged by Fairwitch. Contestants would be eliminated during each round, and by the end of the marriage trials, whoever remained won.”
“They won a marriage?” I asked.
“They won power.” Fargus closed the book, dust rising in the air that he waved away with his wing. “It appears the castle is continuing with Fairwitch’s tradition and has decided to use the marriage trials to find you the strongest queen among us.”
“Godwitches be,” Wolfe murmured.
Unbelievable. I’d finally found a wife and was about to get married and give the castle a queen, and it just couldn’t be happy. It had to interfere, to remind me that I had no actual power. I was just a pawn it had chosen, a puppet whose strings it continued to pull.
I may not have wanted to marry Siobhan, but at least it had been my choice to do so. Sort of. The council technically put her forward as my best choice, but I’d agreed in the end, knowing it had been the only path forward.
“What happens to those who lose the trials?” Wolfe leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Are they in danger?”
I thought of Ceri, and my spine straightened.
One of the oldest Fair Folk cleared her throat, twisting a strand of her long silver hair around a finger.
“These are not trials steeped in danger. Fairwitch was often much more interested in strength of character, strength of loyalty, strength of morals. They actually started the trials to ensure the kings and queens across the realms were matched with the best possible partners.”
“Did the Fair Folk ever participate?” I asked.
One of the faeries hissed while Ambrose stared stonily ahead. All the humans in the room shot each other unsure glances.
“What is happening?” I asked.
Ambrose cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing, speaking in that same lyrical accent that belonged to all the faeries. “The Fair Folk weren’t allowed to marry.”
“One of the many reasons Aoife the Warrior Queen led us in rebellion.” Fargus looked over at Ambrose, whose jaw ticked. “Sorry,” my adviser said quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Aoife was my . . .” He trailed off like he didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to say either. “She was mine,” he finished.
Was. So she’d died. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Fairwitch was always trying to kill Aoife’s spirit, but even they weren’t powerful enough to do something like that. Aoife fought until the end. Until she was killed in an uprising she led against the godwitches.”
Right. The Fair Folk had been created by the godwitches, meant to be their slaves, and that they’d rebelled.
This had been their punishment from Fairwitch before they and all the godwitches left for the Otherworld—invisible to all, forgotten by humankind, who thought the Fair Folk to be nothing but myth.
Until the faeries stumbled upon Fairwitch Isle, and we discovered we could see them, though we didn’t exactly know why.
Some of our scholars surmised it was due to the castle’s powerful and unique magic.
Ambrose sighed. “The trials should be safe enough for those chosen to compete.”
I placed my hands on the table. “What does that mean?” These Fair Folk loved speaking in riddles, all packaged in their lovely little accents.
“I can help!” A pink wyrm with wings and the head of a dragon slithered up onto the table. He inched toward the book sitting in front of Fargus, and relief spread through me.
“Yes, please.”
Morton didn’t mince words. If anyone would give me the answers I sought, it would be him.
I’d had enough of these Fair Folk. Sometimes I wondered if they really wanted to be our allies.
They had saved us two years ago when the Brotherhood of Magic had found our invisible city and were on the verge of attack.
The Fair Folk appeared in our time of need and portaled our entire city to the top of Kiln Mountain, where their people resided.
Since then we’d been trying to merge our communities, and it hadn’t been easy.
Fargus sighed and looked at Morton through the spectacles on the tip of his nose. “Do you truly have to devour the book?”
Morton paid him no mind as his mouth hinged open like a snake. Several of the Fair Folk looked away in disgust. He chomped the book, bits and pieces of paper and binding flying through the air, one hitting Fargus in the face. My adviser batted it away.
Finally, the book was gone, and Morton’s belly was distended and huge.
He smacked his lips together. “Very old and stale.” He let out a loud belch that made Fargus flinch, and then the entire contents of the book came back out.
A few of the Fair Folk squeezed their eyes shut like the entire ordeal was offensive.
The paper pieced itself back together with dizzying speed until the book was whole again, sitting on the table like Morton had never touched it.
“Well?” I asked.
Morton raised a shaggy brow. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
“Morton,” I warned, my patience wearing thin. The people were waiting for answers, waiting to understand what all of this meant, and it was my job to give it to them.
So I actually needed some damn answers from someone.
Morton raised his tail in the air. “Seven contestants. Six trials. Each one judged by the castle itself in place of Fairwitch.”
“What?” Fargus asked. “Where did it say that in the book?”
Morton’s shaggy brows furrowed. “It was an addendum. If I had to guess, it was added by Castle since Fairwitch is not here to judge. But their magic can still judge through Castle.”
I crossed my arms, not sure I liked this.
“What are the trials? When are they? How are the contestants judged? And are they in danger?” I thought of Ceri again, my throat growing tight.
“I’m getting there,” Morton said. “You know, you could do with a little patience.”
I stared into his glassy black eyes. “This is me being patient. Now get on with it.”
Morton harrumphed. “The trials are a surprise. Contestants will not find out what they are until the day they begin, when an appointed trials master will be there to explain the rules and make sure they are followed. If any contestant breaks a rule, the punishment is being locked in a room by Castle that may or may not disappear.”
My hands curled into fists.
“But I’m sure the rules will be followed!” Morton said, voice far too chipper. “When it is time for a trial, the contestants will be summoned.”
“Summoned how?” I asked. “And who’s summoning them?”
“I didn’t say I had all the answers. I only know what the book told me. I suppose we’ll find out when the first trial happens.”
“Maybe they get summoned by letter?” Wolfe suggested.
If I knew Castle, letters would be far too tame for its taste.
“What of these trials themselves?” another council member asked.
Morton’s forked tongue flicked out. “The trials will be appropriate for determining who is not only the best match for queen but the best match for the high prince. As long as the rules are followed, none of the contestants should be in any danger.”
That didn’t exactly assuage my fears, mainly because I wasn’t sure I trusted Castle.
“It is clear that Castle is finally taking charge and giving you a queen,” Fargus said. “You said yourself this has been a problem that’s plagued your tenure—no queen, weakening magic.”
“But why now?” Wolfe murmured.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Morton asked, blinking as everyone’s attention turned to him. “The high prince was about to get married, and Castle was having doubts. It wants to ensure Siobhan is the right choice.”
Ambrose frowned, stroking his clean-shaven jaw. “I thought the entire point of this was to merge our communities. How can we do that if Castle chooses one of their people to be queen? Then we have no one representing the Fair Folk.”
I shot him a look. “What are you saying? You’ll kick us out if one of the Fair Folk isn’t chosen? Portal us back where we came from?”
I knew the answer would be no. The Fair Folk needed us.
They were dying out, only able to reproduce with mortals.
They relied on mortals to continue their lines, and some Fair Folk and humans had already formed relationships and fallen in love.
It wouldn’t be easy to just separate our communities.
But we did have to find a way to get along and work together.
Fargus held up a talon. “Let’s not be hasty.
I know we’re not always trusting of Fairwitch’s magic, but let’s see what Castle does with these trials, what its plan is.
Maybe we’ll be pleasantly surprised.” For once, I was thankful for my adviser and his propensity for following the rules.
The other Fair Folk settled back, thoughtful expressions crossing their faces.
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
Everyone stayed silent, shooting each other unsure looks.
“Oh, you all are exhausting,” Morton said. “Did you hear a thing I said?”
Forget what I’d originally thought about the bookwyrm. I was now regretting ever inviting him and his attitude into the council room.
He sighed, his wings lifting and falling with the movement. “I suppose I have to spell everything out for you all. What do we do now? It’s simple. We wait for the first trial to begin.”