Page 24 of Lord of the Hollow Court
Just One Swipe
If he had to put a name to this morning’s smell, it would be broken dreams and strong black tea. Braam stretched over the desk he’d spent an hour of stolen sleep upon, then accepted a cup of tea from Misman.
There were additional scents to this dewy dawn, all of which he’d lumped under broken dreams. They were the scents of decaying leaves and bracing fall air, both of which flowed through the clawed-out gaps in his study wall.
“How go the tallies, m’lord?” Misman asked, eyeing the same unintentional windows.
Braam rubbed his cheek with ink-stained fingers. Leaning back to retrieve more papers from the drawer—the lock to which would’ve been broken if not for the strong enchantment upon it, and which had the claw marks to prove it—Braam hummed a breath and found the documents he needed. “The total,” he said, “is ruinous.”
Misman’s chest rose as he inhaled, then stayed that way. It was as if he could not bear to let it out. As if that would mean the final word on all of this. “Is it for certain, m’lord?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Our guests haven’t departed yet. Perhaps—”
“I’ll not beg, Misman.”
Misman raised a brow. “There are subtler ways, sir.”
“Unless our guests are carrying a small fortune each and willing to forget revel protocol,” Braam said, placing his head in his hands, “we’ll be joined with the Court of Claws by Beltane at latest.”
Placid demeanor cracking, Misman found an intact stuffed chair and sat in it. He toed a clump of stuffing from another that had not fared so well. “So soon?”
Braam’s eyes felt loaded with sand as he squeezed them shut, replying to Misman with only a nod. It would be all they could do to patch the place up before any autumn mold set in, let alone to protect the manor from the coming snow. The High Fae were indiscriminate in what they destroyed during a Wild Hunt—and particularly vicious when their quarry could not be found.
With disheartening quickness, Braam had come to terms with his court’s fate and focused on keeping his folk safe. The High Fae could not be reasoned with—some had eyes turned entirely too black, while others behaved like sightless night hunters, relying on their smell to the exclusion of all other senses. Near mad with their frustrated prey drive, they did not care if walls or furniture stood in their way. The sole objective was to destroy—anything and everything.
It had been a long night of warding the woods and living quarters of Hollow Hall, where his servants cowered. Only with Misman’s help had Braam made it to the town of Boogard in time, so close to its lord’s Hall and so vulnerable. Together, Braam and Misman sealed the valley holding it, crafting an illusion that made the hills fold together, as if there were no lowlands at all. That, too, had called for a difficult decision. A spell that advanced was beyond them, unless a price was paid. The town of Boogard would not reappear until the morning of the new moon.
For the other towns of his domain, brave sprites had been sent out with word, so that the magicians there might protect the towns. Braam hoped each of the twelve would return sometime this morning; it was hard not to worry that some would be absent.
Braam winced at the memories of last night—of finding Madeleif crawling along the ground, naked as when she had left him. The thoughts of their night together, of the way he’d deemed her a wild animal in her lovemaking, left him disquieted. Last night, he watched helplessly as she pawed the ground, clawing at a scent in the compacted earth. As she caught the trail at last, her blue eyes were swallowed by black. With a fearsome shriek, she bounded into the woods on all fours.
Braam wished he hadn’t seen her that way. For to see her brought so low was worse, somehow, than watching her leave him, even while knowing she was soon to replace him with an intolerable other. He wished he’d spotted Aleksandr instead of her, seen him reduced to his most base behavior, but he had not crossed the Lord of the Court of Swords.
Only King Bakker, strangely, was unaffected by it all. Braam had returned to Hollow Hall relying heavily on both Misman and his cane, the magic of sealing the valley having drained what remained of his energies. As they approached the delivery door, the reclined form of King Bakker took shape in the mist.
Bakker sat outside the kitchen on a chair he’d pulled from somewhere, sipping a glass of black wine while he watched the proceedings. The door itself lay in the middle of a garden bed.
“My liege,” Braam said, eyes narrowed. He expected some manner of trick—and that Bakker was as beyond reason as the rest of them.
But Bakker smiled slowly and sadly, shaking his head. “The folly of our race,” he said mournfully, then took another sip. With a heavy sigh, he stood and dusted his gold clothing, then held his arm out as if to usher Braam and Misman inside.
“I can show you to your room,” Braam said when he had gone past. He tried not to think of his trysts with Madeleif then, but it was not easy. The two were more fused in his mind than he preferred—more so now that she knew of the pair’s agreement. Even in the daze of overspent magic, Braam worried Bakker knew of their meeting tonight.
“You need not watch them destroy themselves,” Braam offered
“Good fellow, it isn’t them I worry for,” King Bakker said, arching a brow. “What kind of king would I be if I did not protect the lesser folk?”
It was a noble sentiment—if Braam could disregard his folk being called lesser. The term “low fae” was a bad enough classification as it was. But Braam had no spirit left for quarreling, particularly with the one High Fae who still showed some sense.
“We shall guard the front,” Braam said. “I thank you for your help, Bakker.”
“No need, dear boy.” He tilted his head at a crash. “I wonder whether you ought to station someone on the roof.”
“Rineke is there,” Braam’s tone was immediately dismissive, “a faerie more than capable.”
“Ah,” Bakker said, raising his glass. “And I think of them as such delicate creatures.”
