16. Puck
Chapter 16
Puck
I pace outside the Shining Host’s grand chambers, my footsteps echoing off living crystal walls. Gilt doors carved with faerie revelry scenes stand closed before me. Dragon-bonded scents seep through—ozone and brimstone mingling with laughter and heated arguments.
“What are you waiting for?” the Baleful Hunt growls in my mind. “Moonrise was five minutes ago.”
I straighten my emerald doublet, its silver threads catching the light. “Patience. An entrance is everything . . . unless there’s no one to witness it.”
The dragon harrumphs. Chalky smoke curls from my nostrils.
“No snide quip? No scathing retort?” I smirk. “Perhaps you’re learning from me after all.”
He yawns, stretching within me. Restless claws scrape my insides. I contain him through sheer will, gritting my teeth. I must ratify this bond. The Shining Host could strip everything from me in an instant.
Tasting magic on my tongue, I thrust open the doors and stride in, chin high.
The chamber unfolds—a masterpiece of faerie architecture. Cobweb curtains shimmer between towering crystal columns pulsing with inner light. A circular moonstone table sparkles at the center, surrounded by six ornate chairs carved to represent each dragon. The Queen’s throne, woven botanicals blooming with starlight, sits empty. The Weaving Hunt perches behind it, incandescent light shimmering around its dozing form.
What a joke. The Weaving Hunt weakens yearly; its once-iridescent scales are now dull. Titania thinks she can hide the problem behind clouds, but I see them. And the Wild Hunt—supposedly the other High Dragon—is a mere hatchling in hiding.
The Baleful Hunt’s seat remains vacant. He resides within me now, a constant pressure behind my eyes. But I refuse to unleash him again, not after what happened at the cabinet temple. I’m lucky to have escaped with my life.
“Why did they let you go?” the dragon prods. “Seems curious to me, considering who you faced.”
I’ve wondered that myself. All I can think of is the Shadow. She holds some kind of power or influence I’m not privy to. But also, they’re not foolish enough to leave a dragon without a host. “ Even they were aware of the dangers of a rogue, unbonded dragon.”
It’s well documented that dragons left unchecked and unbonded will grow wild and destructive. If the Sluagh had killed me, the Baleful Hunt would have instantly sensed the bond breaking. If another host has not taken precautions to take over immediately, control is a slippery slope, leading to disaster. For all these Radiants know, I saved them untold drama.
One more vote is all I need.
The chamber buzzes with bickering and gossip. No one spares me a glance.
I survey the remaining dragon-bonded:
The Fever Hunt smolders behind Marquess Ignarius, smoke and lava oozing from a scaled hide. The dragon’s eyes glow like embers, reflecting its bonded’s fiery temperament.
Beside them, Lady Nivene argues with the Marquess, her voice fluid as the Dread Hunt coils behind her like a serpent. Water droplets sizzle when they meet the Fever Hunt’s heat nearby.
The Hollow Hunt’s luminous form watches with unblinking eyes, moonlight dancing across its ethereal scales. Its mistress, Duchess Selene, whispers with the Knight Commander—Legion is a dark presence leeching her radiance. Today, he sports a rather absurd change in fashion. Round brass spectacles adorn his nose, partly hiding his perfectly shaped black brows. The old-world fashion throws me. He’s not the type for gaudy accessories. His structured cheekbones and jaw are enough decoration. Radiants don’t need spectacles. Their vision is perfect.
Whatever fashion statement he makes, he poses the greatest threat to my power play. Not his rabid runt of a wayward dragon but his very role. The Knights could impose martial law at any hint of danger to Avorlorna. All he needs is proof to back up his claim.
“Fool,” the dragon scoffs. “He doesn’t need proof. He is the danger.”
“Silence.” I force a smile through clenched teeth. Any minute now, they’ll notice me.
“You’ll botch this without me,” he grumbles. “You don’t even grasp the dragons’ true purpose.”
Lady Nivene’s melodic voice cuts through the chatter. “You know, Puck, your dragon should be present during these meetings.” She gestures to the Dread Hunt, its wings extending in a show of dripping power, irritating the Fever Hunt as more droplets sizzle on its tail.
The two glare at each other. I have the sense if they were ever to be freed from their bondages, they would rip each other to shreds. Or fuck.
“Do you doubt that I hold him?” I step forward and let my hold on the dragon slip for a second. The Baleful Hunt’s stony gaze echoes from my eyes. The chalky scent of rock permeates the air.
I glance at the empty dragon nest behind Legion.
“Where is the Wild Hunt?” I ask. “Why does nobody seem to care about its existence or lack thereof?”
As usual, they ignore my reference to the missing hatchling.
Duchess Selene purses her lips. “Before we ratify this turn of events, you must explain.”
“Explain? What’s to explain?” I throw up my hands, pointing to my eyes where the Baleful Hunt’s presence swirls. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Lady Nivene raises an eyebrow. “My, my, Puck. Did you forget to bow before addressing the Shining Host? Or perhaps you left your manners in the old mortal realm?”
Lord Ignarius snorts, brimstone intensifying. “Tell me, imposter, do you always stomp about like a bull in a china shop, or is this a special performance for us?”
Laughter ripples around the table. Heat floods my cheeks.
“I wasn’t aware we’d invited a court jester to our proceedings,” Lord Ignarius stage-whispers to Lady Nivene. “Though I must admit, his lack of grace is rather entertaining.”
Selene’s lips twitch. “Perhaps we should provide our colleague with a guidebook on etiquette. It seems he’s more accustomed to entertaining mortals than addressing nobility.”
Anger bubbles within me. I force a smile. “My apologies, esteemed colleagues. I was simply eager to begin our important business.”
“Did you murder Lord Sylvanar?” the Knight Commander’s voice cuts through the air.
He stares at me steadily, dark eyes unreadable behind those ridiculous spectacles. What’s he playing at? He knows I’m bound by Fox’s bargain not to reveal the truth. Unless . . . perhaps this Shadow of theirs has caused a rift, and the Spymaster never told his Commander the whole story.
“No,” I answer simply, meeting his gaze.
“Good enough for me,” Lord Ignarius grumbles, holding out his empty chalice. “This bickering is tedious.”
They return to their conversations, ignoring me again. I slam my chalice down. “We have business to attend!”
But they’re lost in their own world. Lady Nivene wrinkles her nose. “The stench of mortals has permeated even the highest towers. I can scarcely enjoy my morning nectar without hearing their incessant wailing.”
“I put the mewling ones to work,” Lord Ignatius suggests dryly. “My tower is sparkling.”
Duchess Selene sighs dramatically, pressing a scented handkerchief to her forehead. “Three of my prized moonbloom gardens were trampled yesterday! Is no one to speak of the dissenters rioting through our midst?”
I listen to their complaints and see opportunities forming. These self-absorbed Fae and their petty grievances . . . if I play this right, I might just get what I need.
“My esteemed colleagues,” I begin, infusing my voice with honeyed charm, “let us not forget the very essence of who we are. We are the Fair Folk, the Good Neighbors. Our realm is one of beauty, revelry, and eternal joy.” I gesture to Titania’s smiling portrait overhead. “We must ensure that we uphold our values, even in these . . . challenging times.”
I pause, letting my words sink in. “The dissenters clamor at our doors not because they wish to disrupt our peace but because they yearn for a taste of our perfection. But we cannot let their disruptions mar our festivities.”
“Do you really think festivities are appropriate considering Sylvanar’s death?” Legion interjects.
I mentally sigh. He’s always trying to bring the mood down with reality.
“He’s right,” the Duchess remarks. “It is one thing to celebrate in the face of rioting peasants, but it is another to do so when one of our own is lost. Is it not more pertinent to hold a wake than to focus on festivities?”
“Why can’t we do both?” I suggest.
“And what do you propose, Puck?” Lady Nivene asks, leaning forward with interest. Her sea-salt perfume wafts towards me.
“Leave the rioting people to me,” I reply, grinning. “I have a plan that will not only quell their discontent but also provide us with the grandest spectacle Avorlorna has seen. And as to the wake, why not do it at the Solstice Ball during the revelry? We should celebrate life, not death. Otherwise, we draw closer to the Subterranean ways, do we not?”
Murmurs of agreement travel around the table.
Legion challenges, his voice low and threatening, “And what of the increasing danger in our midst? The nightmares cropping up from watergates that should be frozen but aren’t?”
I falter for a moment, caught off guard. “Why does Titania even want the Knights here?” I think. “They belong with Oberon in the Subterranean.”
“Because if she controls them,” the dragon tells me, “she controls the Wild Hunt.”
“A mere hatchling,” I scoff inwardly.
“The hatchling, ” he warns, “will soon feed on souls, and once he has no more, he will feed on us.”
“Surely five dragons can overpower one.”
“Four,” he corrects. “The Weaving Hunt is nothing but dreams and starlight.”
“What does that mean?”
But the Hunt goes quiet. I refocus on the Shining Host, determined to win their approval.
“My friends,” I say, my voice low and conspiratorial, “I assure you, I have plans in motion to address these . . . nightmarish intrusions. But to implement them fully, I need your trust, your support.” I look each of them in the eye. “Together, we can ensure that Avorlorna remains a shining jewel, untouched by the darkness threatening to encroach upon us.”
I speak of grand festivals to distract the masses, enchantments to soothe their discontent, and illusions so beautiful they’ll forget their hunger and strife. I promise each dragon-bonded something they desire—more power for Lord Ignarius, finer silks for Lady Nivene, rarer books of magic for Lady Selene. Finally, I declare, “Now, it’s time to ratify my position within the Shining Host as the Baleful Hunt’s new bonded Radiant.”
They stare at me, their dragons alert behind them.
“As the queen’s proxy,” I announce, standing tall, “I am the first to put forward the motion.” I move to the side, affecting a different posture. “And I, Lord Robin Goodfellow, second your motion.”
All we need is one more.
“If you are with me, you know what to say.” I look to each of the Host expectantly, particularly Lord Ignarius. But he remains stubbornly silent, suddenly fascinated by his wine glass.
No one raises their hand. Fury bubbles within me, threatening to burst forth in a torrent of chaos magic.
Until Legion raises his hand, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “Aye.”
The chamber falls silent, all eyes turning to the Knight Commander. There’s only one reason my enemy would vote me in. Mutually assured destruction. He knows I know his Knights are Sluagh—that this very war is likely over them, despite what lies Titania tells the rest of the kingdom.
When he doesn’t share my triumphant grin, I realize that while I may have won this battle, the war between us is far from over.