Page 53 of The Longing

If Fenrother is bothered by Warden’s appearance, he doesn’t show it. I’m dying to ask more questions about how they know each other, about Warden’s lost mate and what he and Fenrother did together in the Night Lands, given he didn’t mention having to fight with anyone else, but I don’t get a chance.

“Wyrm.” There’s a group of six Redcaps, all with large pikes, stood at the end of the row we’re in. “Lord Guyzance wants you.”

“Lord Guyzance can jump off his battlements. I have no wish to see him,” Fenrother replies, striding at their ranks.

They close up, pikes pointed at my Fenrother, their silver spikes glinting dully in the light. I catch up and put my hand on his arm. He flinches before seeing it is me holding onto him. There’s something in the light of his eyes which catches me. It’s not fear. I don’t think Fenrother fears anything in any way I might. It’s something else, something feral and ancient.

“Fine,” he grunts, backing down. “I’ll see Lord Guyzance.”

The pike party lift their weapons and part to allow Fenrother and me to continue past them, before forming up behind us. Thebuzz of the market resumes as if it was collectively holding its breath.

We’re marched away from the square and up a wide street, initially flanked with grand looking houses before the stone turns into a high wall and I feel like we’re in some sort of box.

Ahead is a huge wooden gate, studded with golden spikes. It swings open at our approach, and we walk through a set of arches, Redcaps on either side as we enter the main courtyard of the sprawling castle.

The yard is probably about as different to the one in Fenrother’s castle as he is to Warden the centaur. Here, we’ve walked straight from the main gate into a formal garden. Low box hedges make a fragrant mini maze. Butterflies flutter from various flowering bushes, clipped to within an inch of their lives. But there is a tension in the air, something which appears to be holding all of this together.

Straight ahead are a set of eight shallow steps leading up to yet another enormous door, this one is intricately carved, inlaid in places with what looks like bone. There are symbols I don’t recognise along with creatures which might have come from a nightmare.

Fenrother sighs as we walk up the stairs.

“We could just leave,” I whisper. “We don’t have to stay or see this Lord…whatever.”

“You wanted to see the Yeavering, mate, and I cannot keep it from you,” Fenrother replies. “If a Faerie Lord wishes to see us, then he shall see us, and we can take our leave after.” He sounds resigned.

Behind us, the Redcaps rattle their weapons. My heart drifts to my boots. I wanted this. I wanted to see the Yeavering, and now we’re in danger. It doesn’t seem worth it. This place might be my new home, but I can already see the reasons Fenrother stayed away from the rest of the population.

Why would you, as an outsider in the extreme, put yourself in this position? Fenrother had no reason to, so he didn’t. But I came along and changed everything for him. I made him do people things.

I was wrong.

I slip my hand into his and he looks down at it, then at me.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

Fenrother’s eyes flare, and a growl rumbles in his chest. “Do not be.”

Together we walk up to the door, which swings open as if electrically operated, although it will be magic, and into a hall even larger than Fenrother’s.

Long banners hang from the wooden vaulted ceiling. They’re yellow with a green curling, swirling creature, not dissimilar to Fenrother, embroidered up on them. Each one swings slightly in the breeze we’ve created.

Underneath them are groups of people. As we enter, they stop what they are doing and stare.

I recognise the pointed ears, the way they hold themselves, the long unnaturally straight hair hanging to their waists, male or female. The rich fabrics which they wear are like silk but better.

These are all Faerie folk. If nothing else was a giveaway, the look of sheer disgust on their faces tells me what they are.

A look they couldn’t even disguise when they appeared to save the world. As if they were doing us the greatest of favours that could never be repaid.

Fenrother ignores them, walking us slowly to the far end where there is a great throne set up high above the rest of the court.

It is surrounded by a high gallery, and I’m sure I spot a pair of red eyes gazing down on us, but they quickly disappear.

“Fenrother, Wyrm of Lambton,” someone calls out, “and Alice Graham of the Beyond.”

It’s shocking to hear my full name said in this context, but also the strange reference to where I’m from throws me. My name is followed by a long, low, hollow howl which echoes somewhere in this castle. It sends a shiver up my spine like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Fenrother ignores everything, instead ambling easily over to a table to one side of the ornate throne platform which groans with food. He starts eating without asking, taking bites out of chunks of meat and putting them back.

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