Chapter 49
Isink into my bath, exhausted. My body flickers with memories of Rion’s kiss and the way his lips brushed over my collarbone. I can’t stop thinking about the feel of his hand moving down my body, over the silk.
At the same time, I feel drained of all life, like a piece of paper bleached by the sun. My muscles burn with exhaustion, and my eyelids are heavy.
I slept a few hours today, but I still feel exhausted. About five hours after Aneirin stole the grail from me, alarm bells began to ring across the castle. They’re still ringing now, reverberating in my skull. They can’t possibly serve a purpose. Everyone knows by now that Aneirin escaped.
After four hours, the Cloaked Ones alerted Niniane, and she set the whole fortress on alert with the bloody bell.
But apart from Rion, no one knows why Aneirin ran away, or that he took the grail with him. I pray to the gods that he’ll keep my secret while I try to get it back.
I’m going to do everything I can to hold the grail in my hands once more.
But right now, the bell ringing is setting my teeth on edge. I feel like Niniane is furious with the world and wants us all to wallow in misery with her. She’s doing a good job of making me feel unhinged. No wonder Mabon drinks so much to quiet his thoughts.
I run the soap over my skin.
Steam rises from the bath around me, and it gleams rose-gold as the setting sunlight slants in through the windows.
My jaw clenches. It now seems more likely than ever that these will be my last few days here—one way or another. Unless I get the grail back by Sunday, I’ll probably be executed, either hunted by the Cloaked Ones or burned to death right here.
Losing the grail means everything is over for me.
More than anything, I need Tristan back. I need guidance and answers. I need a portal to Aneirin.
And most importantly, I need an update about Vero.
If all else fails, I need Tristan to help me escape this place so I can spend the rest of my life on the run.
I rinse the rest of the soap off my body and rise from the bath. Warm water drips down my skin, catching in the sunlight. I towel off.
It’s tempting to slip on my pajamas and crawl into bed, but I’ll never be able to sleep with everything hanging over me.
Naked, I cross into my room. I dress in soft leggings and a plain black shirt.
As I’m pulling on my clothes, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. It’s the little golden raven sitting on my bookshelf.
I cross to the table, where the note sits on the oak.
Let the raven guide your way, it says.
My gaze flicks back up to the object. The finely crafted wings seem to have delicate hinges, like joints.
I pick it up and inspect it. When I tilt the raven, the feathers shift a little. The head is connected separately, like it’s designed to swivel.
When I look closely, it seems too intricately crafted to be just ornamental.
What if it’s a magical tool of some kind? Like the moths.
I turn the little bird in my palm. “Guide me,” I say. “Tell me what to do.”
Nothing happens. For a second, I feel stupid, but no one else is here to witness my shame.
I look closer. The wings are definitely designed to move, I think.
Carefully, I pry my fingernail under one of the wings, shifting it up a little.
The raven hums to life, its head turning back and forth, wings outspread. From my palm, it lifts into the air, then settles on a bookshelf and cocks its head at me.
I’m so startled, I’m not even sure what to ask first. My pulse races, and I stare at it in wonder. At last, I ask it the most burning question in my mind: “Where is Vero?”
And with that, the raven takes off.
Quickly, I slip into my shoes and chase the bronze raven down the stairwell. Through the windows, coral light streams inside, catching on the raven’s wings. I’m so sleep deprived, I feel like a child chasing a toy.
I rush after him into the courtyard.
I wonder where it’s going, because clearly, Vero isn’t in the fortress. I have a terrible feeling he’s simply going to fly to Vero, and I’ll be stuck here.
As I pass the Aether Tower, I see that Aneirin’s unicorn banner has been ripped down.
The raven arcs over to the library, where he flutters in front of the painted image of the chained book.
I pull open the bright red door, and the raven zooms inside. I race to keep up with him as he sweeps into the library, soaring beneath the rib-vaulted ceiling.
As I run, swaying lanterns light my way with warm light. I chase the bird beneath the twinkling wisps of clouds that float through the library.
At last, he hovers before a cabinet of rolled maps. I open the cabinet, and he swoops in, pecking at a roll of parchment. I pull it out and lay the map on a table.
The raven hops south until he finally lands in the Melian Forest, exactly in the spot where Vero lives, an hour from the capital.
Brilliant.
I close my eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. I was almost positive Aneirin was telling the truth about her, but now it’s confirmed.
I clear my throat. “Where do I find Aneirin of Castle Catreath?”
The raven hops north, closer to the Veiled Court, not far from the Barenton River.
It’s about thirty miles from here. Judging by the route, I think Aneirin might be heading back home to his castle.
What’s he planning to do with the grail in his empty palace?
I imagine he could sell it to get out of his debt. Sell it to whom, though? And what’s he planning to do about the Cloaked Ones who will hound him to the ends of the earth?
“And Tristan?” I ask, hoping to learn he’s already back in Brocéliande.
But the little raven flits back to the maps again, selecting a new one. When I unroll this map, I’m frustrated to find it’s of England. The raven pecks at the West Country, where Camelot lies hidden behind a veil.
Bollocks.
I slide the maps into place, then pick up the bird again and hold him in my palm. “Can you help me understand? What are they doing with the grail?”
The bird flies into the air again. He loops around a few times, appearing confused. This question is probably more complex than he can handle. Still, I get the impression he’s trying.
He sweeps across the library to a dark alcove flanked by stone pillars. Inside the alcove, a tapestry hangs at the back, depicting a cauldron.
I have no idea what to do at this point. I’m not sure the raven and I can communicate very well. But he seems to be growing more insistent, slapping against the tapestry. He cocks his head and makes a clucking sound, like he’s angry with me.
And the space almost sounds hollow behind him—
I peel back the tapestry and find a shelf with a wooden cabinet—just about two feet high.
It’s locked, and this time, I don’t have any lock-picking tools with me.
What I do have is a wild combination of desperation, sleep deprivation, and utter impatience.
I turn back to look at the library. Not a single person here. I breathe in the scent of old oak and books, and all I hear are the bells ringing outside. It’s only me and the floating lanterns.
Pulling back the tapestry again, I slam my boot through the wood of the little wooden cabinet, then reach through the splintered mahogany and open it from the inside.
A single book lies inside, barely thirty pages long. Golden lines trace images of the grail, a leafy bough, and a sword. The metallic lines shift and glimmer over a velvety green cover. In my hands, the little book hums with magic.
I pull the book out and start reading, slowly translating the language of ancient Fey. I flip past the names of kings and a few queens—so many of them. Each of them ruled for a single year, each reign beginning on Tanos and ending the day before the festival.
Who are these rulers? Apart from the name Vortigern, I haven’t heard of any of them.
Once I get past all their names, I find a few handwritten paragraphs about the ancient Fey monarchy.
My jaw drops open as I read.
For one year, we grant a monarch the three sacred relics—the sword, the grail, and the golden bough.
With these relics, our gardens and crops grow verdant with life.
Through a ritual bond between the monarch and the land, Fey power blossoms. Life, crops, and magic grow stronger when a king’s power is bound to the earth.
So the relics are part of some kind of ritual to amplify a monarch’s power. If Aneirin is going to sell the grail, who could possibly buy it?
Then, I read on.
Tanos starts our year, and Tanos Eve ends it. A Fey monarch rules during this time.
When the year ends, we return the monarch’s life to the earth. We open the body, and his blood feeds the soil, renewing the bond.
Thus, we complete the ritual.
My breath quickens. I close the book, and I stare at the empty library before me.
There’s the missing piece. And I doubt all these people after the grail have this information.
In the Golden Age of the Fey, we killed our kings.