Page 94 of Marked By the Enemy
Branwen gasped when a golden-haired woman stepped forward. Her crown shimmered with sunflower gold and curling ivy. Bright green leaves and sunbursts circled her wrist like a living brand.
“Summer,” Branwen whispered.
The queen held up her hand, and the sigil glowed—sunburst and vine, twined into a golden loop.
“I was Queen of the Summer Court. The Binding Vow has stopped being theirs to hold.”
Beside her, Nessa was shaking slightly. A navy mark blinked across her forearm. It grew darker, twisting until it formed a flame caught inside a twilight star—burning blue from within.
The man before her had the same. His robes were flame-touched, but his eyes were dark as the ocean at dusk. “I was the Flame Seat of the Twilight Court. You, Nessa Tidehook, carry both.”
“I thought I belonged to water.”
“You still do,” he said. “But your fire was never for destruction. Only warmth.”
Ulric stepped forward before his match could speak. The brown-skinned woman wore the same robes as Jack and Ruen’s ancestor—the robes of the Iron Seat—and had eyes like a black sky with swirling stars.
“Storm Court,” Ulric said, already knowing, and lifting his arm. His runes had already transformed into a smithing hammer and tongs crossed with a streak of lightning, one, two, three, four times, on his palm, wrist, forearm, and chest.
The woman nodded once. “I grant the Binding Vow its freedom.”
Fen blinked when a man cloaked in stars stepped forward. His robe rippled with fire, like a flame kept alive across centuries. The folds flickered orange and red, then deepened to amber. The stars across his chest did not burn out.
His skin was deep bronze, and his eyes were molten yellow. When he raised his hand, the fire in his robe flowed into his palm. A rune flared across Fen’s forearm. It took the shape of a yellow flame in a star.
The man nodded and stared at Lord Fen. “I am the Flame Seat from the Star Court, and I am your great-great-grandfather.”
The Star Court flame flickered in Fen’s skin. He didn’t speak. The fire spoke for him.
“You read patterns. I watched the stars, too. But you see more than I ever did.” He raised his hand again. “Let The Binding Vow return to what it was.”
Lord Jeyin and Lymseia were already kneeling side by side. The woman before them wore robes like layered stone—deep brown shot through with red and green, vines stitched into the folds like veins. Her sleeves shifted as she moved, and the cloak behind her rippled like moss stirred by wind.
She raised both palms. One glowed with the sigil of Earth—a spiral carved from bright red light. The other showed a curved arc of wind, edged in copper. Her eyes were the color of crimson clay.
“Ember Court. Earth Seat. Your line held, even when we fell, my cousins of cousins.” She turned, facing the center of the circle. “It has stopped being theirs to hold.”
The smuggler, Bramlin, stepped forward. He hadn’t spoken. His blind nephew, Ben, had been clutching his coat. But now the boy stood on his own.
A woman with long, dark green hair stepped out. Her robe shimmered like a sea pulled by memory. The waves bore the sigil of the forgotten court. Water gathered at the hem and caught the corridor’s light. Her eyes were deep ocean blue.
She lifted one palm. The sigil there glowed—a droplet balanced above wavy lines, framed by a prism of pale light. “Glass Court. Water Seat. Let it return to what it was.”
Bramlin whispered, “I thought we were just smugglers and sailors.”
“You were always more than that,” she said. “But the Glass Court is a forgotten one, so your job may be harder, my dear great great grandsons.”
Two wolves walked forward next, shoulder to shoulder. One white. One grey. On their chests blinked the black and white snowflake sigil of the Winter Court. They did not bow. They raised their heads.
“Our bonded were the young princes of the Winter Court, across the Northern Sea,” said the white wolf. “We remember.”
Above them, a falcon circled once. Another joined it. Then both landed and changed. The birds shimmered, and for a blink, they had faces.
“Our bond was never broken,” said one. “The Winter Court lives through us. Our princes of the Winter Court would have come if the woodcutter twins were still alive. But they’re not, so we must replace our princes.” The three wolvesand three falcons who had joined us in the corridor approached their ancestor animals and rubbed noses and beaks.
A voice echoed across the corridor, a voice I recognized. “Talia of Tarnwick, daughter of the original Valari singers. Finally, we meet again.”
Valari singers?My stomach fluttered, but I didn’t have time to process my confusion.
