Page 91 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Cerridwen Ardencourt, a mortal knight of faerie, led a dwarven battalion against a golem uprising in the Silver Age, 457. She single-handedly destroyed Brutus Greysirite, the creator of the golems, and saved an entire stronghold from annihilation.
Aislinn glanced back at Beau, whose eyes were widening.
Minerva stood behind them. “Ah, yes, Cerridwen. Fine warrior. Last human or fae we ever had down here. Heck of a woman.”
“You knew her?”
“Fought beside her in the uprising. Bell too.”
“And you didn’t think to maybe mention it?”
“Why would I?”
“Um,” said Beau, “because Aislinn looks just like her and her name is Ardencourt?”
Minerva blinked back. “All you human-fae look the same to me.”
Beau groaned. “That’s ourgrandma.”
“Your grandma?” Minerva arched an eyebrow. “Ha! Fancy that.”
“That’s all?”
Minerva shrugged. “I had no idea you were related. You said your name was Ardenthorn and I’ve no idea how fae or mortal names work.”
“How do dwarven last names work?”
“For the most part, children carry the name of one of their parents—usuallytirordiradded to the end for ‘son’ or ‘daughter’. But most will gain a new name as they grow—Gearheart for an inventor, Highcliff for the location of their forge, maybe Axeblade for a fearsome warrior—some nobles might keep a family name, though. How does it work for fae?”
“There’s a ranking system amongst the noble houses,” Aislinn explained. “You take the name of the highest-ranking one. Except the royal family—they had no surname, until us. My parents merged my mother’s surname of Ardencourt with thorns that symbolise the royal family.”
“And the common folk?”
“Surnames are usually hereditary. Most couples pick one to go by. Some choose a new one or keep their own. You can gain another, like you say. Our grandmother lived in Autumn when she first came to Faerie and took the name of Ardencourt when she moved to the capital. She had quite the reputation. Our grandfather used her name after they married. He’d grown up in the mortal realm. I don’t think he’d had a surname, there.”
Aislinn did not know much about either of her grandfathers. Hawthorn had barely had a relationship with his, but Markham Ardencourt had raised his daughter largely by himself. There were moments when Juliana would recall him, some sweet memory of training with him as soon as she was old enough to hold a sword… and then the sweetness would wash away.
He’d died in the Unseelie King’s attempt to overthrow Queen Maytree, but it wasn’t lingering grief that prevented Juliana from talking about him—or at least, that’s the conclusion they’d drawn over the years.
They had given up asking, eventually.
“Well, you learn something new every day,” said Minerva. “But come on, let’s not dawdle further. It’s still a fair trek to the palace, and I doubt we’ll get the wargis on the tram.”
“Tram?” Beau frowned. “What’s a tram?”
“You’ll see.”
The party marched forward, and the great stone doors at the other end swung open into the city of Avalinth.
The sound hit them first; an endless pounding hum, merged with the noise of a thousand voices all talking at once. Aislinn stared in disbelief at the scene ahead of her.
She had seen etchings of Avalinth before in history books—hundreds of years out of date. They had depicted Avalinth as a place carved entirely out of stone and hard, solid edges.
Part of this remained. There were still pillars the size of houses holding up a colossal ceiling, the buildings were still straight and solid. But the rest…
Horseless carriages bustled through the streets, following tracks in the ground and lines overhead. Great moving platforms shuddered and jerked in the side of the cliffaces, offering transport to the dozens of other structures protruding out of the rock—the layers upon layers of roads and levels. An enormous clock hung from a ceiling veined with red lines. Lights stood suspended on iron poles, and all around them was the constant clickety-clack of clockwork and the grinding of gears.
Avalinth was a clockwork city.
