Page 48 of Lord of the Hollow Court
Letting out a tightly held breath, Braam forced himself to relax. Misman was right. If anyone had knowledge that could help Katty, it would be him—even if he had failed to ascend the Order, he had learned much as an apprentice. That it had been hundreds of years before hardly mattered. Once the Order of the Valkyrie taught something, it was not a lesson easily forgotten.
Braam swallowed. If Misman didn’t know enough to help, there must besomeway to contact the Order. But how he could he ask? One did not summon the Valkyrie lightly. What seemed an important matter to the fae often meant little to the magical beings, who were of a separate class than fae—greater, even, than the High Fae, and far more elusive. No one even knew the number of Valkyrie out in the world.
Braam hoped they would not require such aid. Misman would know enough. The Order of Valkyrie was where he learned all his best tales, and how to be such a vibrant storyteller. There was a saying among the servants: What Misman does not know, Lula does. Betwixt the two of them, virtually all the world’s knowledge existed in the Hollow Court, and was damned good at polishing silver besides.
“Continue,” Braam urged him, pushing down a flutter of hope in his chest.
Misman stiffened. “Geasa can be vague, and that makes them far-reaching, in certain cases. In this instance, the geas was for Lady Braam to restore the Hollow Court, which at the time was both covered in spells and damaged by the fae, two things she was meant to see undone before the geas would release her.”
Braam paled, realizing the direction in which Misman headed.
“Furthermore,” Misman said, looking as discomfited as Braam felt, “the court faces an existential threat, on top of its already dwindling magic.” The knot of his throat bobbed. “There are tales like this, of a court’s magic lashing out in one final attempt to save itself. It can be unpredictable at best.”
Squeezing his eyes shut would not make the problem disappear, but Braam tried it. He understood of what Misman spoke—that the geas was not dissolved because of their marriage, as Braam had assumed, and that it was not Braam’s fault he’d lied in his proposal to Katty. The latter he could not believe, for he ought to have guessed at the former. He was the Court’s Lord. If he did not understand its magic, he had no one to blame but himself.
Compounding the problem was the method in which the court chose to save itself: Katty was sensitive to fae magic not only because she was human, but because it was what the court needed. The same vulnerability that brought her low through fae music was perfect for pinpointing the court’s needs, and dastardly when it came to coping with magic set upon her. Yet that was not the worst of it.
Katty would not be released from the geas until the Hollow Court was restored—to its former glory. No vow to watch over the court as its Lady could do away with an obligation that powerful.
“I told her our marriage would end the geas,” Braam said, pressing his fingertips into his forehead until it ached. “I told her she’d be able to return home to see her family.”
Misman’s reply was too gentle to bear. “You believed it to be true, m’lord.”
A miserable note tore from Braam’s throat, ending in a burr of despair. Even as Lord of the Hollow Court, there were bound to be things he could not account for, acts the oldest fae magic would carry out without his leave. But he should’ve known. He should’ve.
Until the day the Hollow Court was restored to its earlier glory—from the days when the diadem from Lindendam protected it with powerful Old World magic and that of the Golden Fae ruled all—Katty would be tethered to a place whose magic was dangerous to her. Magic that might even prove deadly.
Braam wished to protect her so badly it hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Two
An Ember of Magic
In the morning, Braam used that once familiar door again, the one that led from his sitting room to the Lady of the Hollow Court’s chambers. Before the previous night, the last time he’d used it was as a boy skipping between his parents’ rooms, hiding in the hall while playing games with the servants’ children. He’d looked forward to the day of the apple harvest then, all thoughts of presiding over it impossibly far. All of it was great fun and had nothing to do with tithes.
The hall seemed so small now, narrow and a touch musty from disuse. He must send someone to freshen it. He must do so many things to make this right for Katty. It was an unpleasant task, coming to terms with how irresponsible he’d been for much of his life, even as he thought he did what was best for his court. It was clear now that he had not been serious enough, that grumbling and barking orders was no replacement for the diligence his failing court required—and that his human bride required he do better. And hewoulddo better. He swore it to the fae gods.
Despite his knocking and the breathy creak of the door, there were no sounds of movement within Katty’s bedroom as Braam peered inside.
Rineke and Bibi no longer lay across her limbs. Instead, they sprawled at odd angles on the bed, mouths open as they slept deeply. Only Rineke stirred as he neared. Braam cast his eyes on his bride almost reluctantly, fearing what he would find.
Hair strewn across her pillow, Katty was a less peaceful version of the bride he’d lain with in the Lord’s Grove. Dark half moons hung beneath her eyes. Braam leaned in to stroke her forehead lightly, his smallest finger straying by instinct into her lustrous hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This is all my fault.”
Her breathing scarcely hitched in acknowledgment. At least she now rested.
One of the faerie servants had draped a blanket over Katty for warmth. He cursed himself for not thinking of it last night, for not seeking to comfort his bride in a hundred different ways. A few hours as a husband and already he did poorly. The ring of the Hollow Court’s Lady was not even on her finger. He was supposed to give her the ruby ring, shaped from the same stone as the one he wore below his wedding band, before they retired for the night.
It was as if he could do nothing right.
What could he do now to help her? How could he care for a creature he did not understand? If a wedding celebration caused this much pain for her, what other harmless fae traditions would turn threatening? What if one of them did worse than this terrifying but temporary harm, and how would he learn to watch out for such an occurrence? Magic was like air to the fae. Was the arrival of the apple tithe safe for her? Must he worry over exposing her to the cold morning air?
Braam strode from the room, cane in hand, and closed the door softly behind him. His hands immediately curled into fists around the raven-headed cane, the celebratory swan cast aside. If he hadn’t been so quick to turn that High Fae sorcerer away—if Braam’s field of vision hadn’t narrowed so much that all he could see was the Samhain revel—he might have the solution already.
I could find him,Braam realized.I’m not without my resources as Court’s Lord—not yet.
He would do that immediately after the last of the apple carts were brought in. Tradition said that the Lord of the Hollow Court must preside over the arrival of his tithe from any harvest. Fae from every part of his domain set out yesterday so their town’s apple carts would arrive at the same time as Boogard’s. It was the last celebration of the autumn season, and it wouldn’t do to skip out now.
But if Misman were to go for him...
