Page 55 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

She was exhausted, and her senses were overwhelmed. But as she was conscious of Laure’s eyes on her, Aisling feigned a smile and laughed along with the courtiers while they traded stories of their travels and encounters. Laure spoke very little, simply observing and allowing herself to be entertained by her subjects. Niamh, too, was largely silent. They held hands atop the table, Laure’s thumb tracing circles over Niamh’s knuckles.

The feast stretched on into the night, and it wasn’t until they’d run out of bottles of wine that guests began staggering out of the room.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Tadhg said, excusing himself from the table. Before leaving, he leaned down, cuppingLaure’s cheek gently and kissing her goodnight. Aisling averted her gaze from the tender moment, but she didn’t miss the way Niamh’s hand tightened on Laure’s just slightly.

Once it was only the four of them left, Laure sighed. “I apologize for Darragh; it’s in his nature to behave that way. I would not have brought him here tonight had I known he would cause a scene. I hope he hasn’t made you think less of us.”

“We’d like to visit your archives in the morning,” Rodney spoke for Aisling, and she shot him an appreciative smile.

“Of course, I will make sure it is arranged. A keeper will meet you at the steps.” She and Niamh stood together, and Aisling and Rodney followed suit, rousing Briar from where he’d fallen asleep beneath the table. “I’d like to sit down with you tomorrow afternoon, Aisling, and discuss plans. This war has gone on long enough. Send for me when you return?”

Aisling only nodded. The company parted ways at the dining room door and Laure and Niamh disappeared down a dark corridor.

The human statues were gone, and the hallways were barely lit as Aisling, Rodney, and Briar navigated back to her chamber to collapse on the bed. Neither had the energy to change, though Aisling shed the uncomfortable corset as soon as they entered the room.

“What is Darragh?” she asked once they’d settled in.

“Gancanagh,”Rodney pronounced. “They call them Love Talkers.”

“I didn’t like him. I didn’t like any of them.” Aisling pulled the sheet tighter around her shoulders. Mercifully, despite the chill theevening had left in her bones, the wine pulsing warmly through her bloodstream coaxed her to relax. Distantly, she recalled the first book Kael had given her—A Historical Record of Fae and Human Relations.She’d thought it propaganda then, the account of the Unseelie Court’s demand to establish and guard Thin Places to separate their realms. Maybe it hadn’t been, after all.

That bone-deep chill lingered on into the next morning; even the sunlight streaming in through the windows did little to chase it away. Aisling was still on edge, even more uncomfortable now after a night of dreams plagued by living statues reaching out to her from behind darkened corners.

Voices and laughter carried in from the front of the palace, loud enough that she could hear it through the closed windows of her chamber. Music, too. A plucky tune that felt light and effervescent. Aisling wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and crossed to peer out through the gauzy curtains. A crowd of Fae had taken to the lawn. They lounged splayed out in the grass, many of them nude, sunning themselves.

There were no human statues now, but several more children of varying ages danced in a circle. They clutched each other’s hands, barely able to keep their feet beneath them. The woman she’d seen the day before sang for a small audience, wearing that same dazed look. She was joined by a man who looked equally entranced. His baritone timbre contrasted with her voice stunningly, but Aisling wondered whether either was aware of the other’s presence at all.

The Seelie Court was circus-like in its extravagance, a noisy bacchanal of giddy, cruel delights. Under that shining springtime sun, there was no place to hide. And so instead, these sorts of proclivities were embraced. Welcomed. Encouraged. If the Unseelie Court had seemed like a nightmare, this felt to Aisling more akin to a fever dream: beautiful, if unsettling. At once both enticing and horrifying. She didn’t want to look, yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

The bad taste the scene left in her mouth was even worse than the remnants of the wine that coated her tongue and stained her lips purple.

“Ash,” Rodney called her name, pulling her out of her head. He held up her clothes, which had been washed, folded, and returned while they’d been away at dinner. “Get changed and let’s go.”

Aisling left Briar locked in the large bathroom with a bowl of water and another plate of boiled meat that was delivered with their breakfast tray. She left the rest of the food untouched but wrapped a piece of bread and an apple in a napkin to take along in case her appetite returned later in the day. She’d eaten very little since their arrival.

The stable hob was waiting with two horses just beyond the Fae gathering. Aisling made her way through the revelry following close behind Rodney. So focused on keeping her eyes trained on his heels, she nearly tripped over one of the children. The little girl, with black hair and blacker eyes, looked dully up at Aisling.

“Hi,” Aisling said. The girl offered no response, instead opening her mouth wide. A large butterfly crawled out of it and fell wetly to the earth before taking flight. Aisling reeled back, revolted. The girl let out a high-pitched giggle and skipped back to the circle. Rodney had turned just in time to see the insect emerge from her mouth; he too wore an expression of pure disgust.

Aisling was eager now to put as much distance between herself and the group as she could. She grasped the reins of her dappled horse and lined herself up at the stirrup to climb on. Rodney sprang into the saddle of a brown mare with surprising grace.

“My life didn’t begin on Brook Isle, you know,” he teased when he caught Aisling’s incredulous look. “I’ve ridden once or twice.”

Having seen the hob whisper to each of the horses before setting them loose, Aisling was confident in their ability to navigate to Solanthis with little direction from their riders. Rodney seemed to enjoy the trip. Again, she was focused mainly on keeping her balance in the saddle.

As they drew further away from the gathering on the lawn and the sounds of singing and laughter became faint, Aisling’s discomfort eased. Rodney, however, only became more despondent as the temple steps shimmered into view on the horizon. His face was contorted into a grimace from the first step to thelast, and it was only with Aisling’s constant urging that he made it to the top at all. Aisling didn’t fare much better; her legs were still burning from making that same climb with Laure.

They collapsed at the top, neither able nor willing to appreciate the view. It was hotter today, and the breeze had died down before they’d even reached the halfway mark. But just as it seemed they’d finally caught their breath, they were summoned by a soft voice from inside the mouth of the temple.

The keeper—the sidhe Aisling had noticed during her previous visit—turned once she’d caught their attention and drifted inside. Every inch of her glimmered in the light that streamed into the nave; when she passed through the pool of it beneath the dome she appeared as little more than a thick cloud of glitter.

“The archives are kept in the tower,” she said over her shoulder as they followed her up the wide staircase. Her voice was barely stronger than a whisper. “You have access to everything inside. You need not replace the things you’ve read; I’ll take care of that when you’re through. But I must ask that your bags remain outside. Nothing but your bodies and minds go in or out of that room.” She gestured to a gilded door, tall and narrow. Aisling shrugged off her pack and set it against the wall.

“How long may we stay?” she asked.

“I will retrieve you when your time is up. Hands?” The pair held out their hands. The sidhe examined them closely, checking their palms and under their nails for any trace of dirt. Once she was satisfied they were clean, she stepped forward. She placed both of her palms flat against the door and lowered her head as though shewas murmuring to it. The filigree shone for a moment so brightly that Rodney looked away and Aisling closed her eyes tightly against the glare.

As silent as Solanthis felt in the nave, there in the archives the absence of sound was even more stark. It felt different somehow. Comforting. The sidhe, who had remained behind them in the doorway, drew in a reverent breath. Aisling did the same. It smelled of incense and leather and brittle pages. Of knowledge, of history. A sharp pang cracked across her ribs when she thought of Kael’s head bent over his own ancient tomes, silver hair hanging down like a curtain.

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