Page 70 of Crown of Roses
When her feet landed upon solid ground, her body continued to vibrate with the potent rush of passion pulsing through her veins. She melted into Rowan, then gasped with relief when her lungs could once again fill with the sweet taste of oxygen.
He glanced down at her, and absently brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Are you alright?”
She nodded. “What was that?”
“It’s called fading.” He offered her his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “A way of traveling from one location to another, when we need to get somewhere quickly.”
Fading. She remembered reading about the term. That was how Lir had gotten her out of her room so quickly when the dark fae attacked. She peered up at Rowan. “Can all faeries fade?”
“No, only the more powerful ones.” He winked, then swept into a low bow. “Welcome to the Autumn Court, Princess.”
Maeve was looking through a kaleidoscope.
Twilight sprinkled in through the overhead canopy of trees. A brisk autumn breeze picked up leaves from the forest floor and swirled them around in a whirlwind of crimson, amber, and goldenrod. The woods were alive with small creatures scampering about to hide in the hollow of a nearby tree, burrow into a pile of fallen leaves, or take shelter in an abandoned moss-covered log. Some of the animals Maeve recognized—foxes, squirrels, and rabbits. Others were not so natural. They kept to the shadows with their glowing eyes and beating wings. Every so often bushes would rustle, or she would catch something dart into the sky from the corner of her eye, but she made it a point not to look too long or too hard.
It was an autumn wonderland, filled with the kind of magic that caused her heart to flutter and her blood to hum. It danced along her skin. Shifted through the trees. It was so much like the world of summer, and yet not.
The air was different.
It was fresh. Crisp. Wild. Wonderful. She was drawn, pulled to the smell of bonfires and cinnamon, of sodden earth and decay.
A chill crept down Maeve’s spine. An aura of unease lingered over the Court, tinged with tension and hostility.
“We walk from here.” Rowan guided her down a trail of logs and planks. It was a staircase of wooden steps embedded into the ground.
Maeve edged closer to him as the forest seemed to swallow them whole. The trees grew thicker and the hollow of leaves above them stretched into a canopy of autumnal colors, nearly blinking out the setting sun. “So, other than Aran, who are the Archfae of Autumn?”
“It used to be Dorian and Fianna, the High King and High Queen. But now it’s Aran’s younger brothers, Garvan and Shay.” Rowan lifted a branch of gilded leaves and allowed Maeve to pass under it first. “A long time ago, the Autumn Court was decadent. They hosted lavish parties. Masquerades. They were a glittering Court of rubies and gold. Of excess and splendor.”
“Sounds marvelous,” Maeve murmured.
“It was. Their magic was even grander. Dorian could shape shift into any creature of the forest, most notably a fox. He could bring death and decay with a touch.” Rowan dipped under an archway of blood red dahlias. Maeve followed, and the forest opened into a clearing. She stood at the edge of a black lake, whose surface was as smooth as glass. It was so still, she could see the reflection of the surrounding trees perfectly. It was a mirror image of every branch, every leaf, cast upon an endless pool of inky water. A memory tugged at the back of her mind, like it was something she’d seen before. A dream, maybe. Or a vision. “Fianna controlled fire. She, too, could bring death. Though her magic in that sense was more subdued, more subtle.”
Maeve looked up at the darkening sky, and wondered about the magic from before. “So their magic could kill?”
“If they so chose it, yes. But only in the rarest of cases did they ever use it upon another living creature.” He scooped up a pebble from the damp shoreline and launched it across the lake. It skipped four times before exploding into a cascade of ripples and disappearing into the dark waters. “Garvan is not so kind.”
Maeve kept her eyes on the surface of the lake. She wasn’t sure whether or not a monster would surge up from its black depths, or if vexed merrows would appear and drag him down to a watery death, but she was certain Rowan’s skipping stone disturbed something.
His hand casually reached for hers, and Maeve’s blood warmed, gave her the courage to ask the lingering question in the back of her mind. “What happened to them?”
“After the purge of the dark fae from Faeven, after the Evernight War, the Autumn Court was one of the first among us to begin recovery. At least, until…” Rowan’s voice trailed off and he glanced down at her. His expression was torn, and he looked at war with himself on what to say next. “Until a new sort of scourge began. A plague, some call it. Others just refer to it as the darkness.”
Maeve remembered hearing about this, about the horrors that ravaged all of Faeven. It was the same story Casimir told her, and there had been mentions of the spreading darkness in some of her books, though never in much detail. “You’re talking about when the goddess Danua came from Maghmell and purged the Courts of the evil?”
Rowan nodded and led her away from the lake. “Yes. But the darkness controlled us for another thirty years. We weren’t prepared for that sort of attack after the Evernight War, and our realm suffered for it. Despite being one of the strongest Courts to rebound after the war, Autumn was the first to fall. It wasn’t long until the rest of the Courts followed, and Faeven was left in a shroud of darkness, destruction, and death.” Leaves crunched beneath their feet, and the sun sank even further until the sky was painted with shades of orange, pink, and plum; the brushstrokes of an autumn sunset. “Fianna disappeared two years before Danua saved Faeven. There was no trace of her anywhere, even after the purge. Dorian searched for his wife for years, but she was never found. Eventually, her loss drove him into a state of madness and despair.”
“How awful.” She curled her fingers into the crook of his elbow, and tugged her fur around her to keep the chill at bay. “Is Aran the High King of Autumn then? Or is it his brother, Garvan?”
“Neither.” Rowan’s hand covered hers. “Fianna vanished, and no one knows what became of her or her powers. And well, even though Dorian was driven to madness, his power never transferred to Aran or Garvan, so…”
“So, you think he might still be alive?”
“It’s a possibility.” They came across a path of stepping stones dotting a stream whose waters sparkled like crushed garnets and citrine. Rowan didn’t even pause. He braced one arm around Maeve’s back and hooked the other under her knees, lifting her up to carry her across the slippery stones. “But no one has seen him in years.”
No wonder the Autumn Court was full of trooping fae, of solitary fae, of fae that decided to live a life of their own choosing. They suffered great loss. They were ravaged by plague, their queen had disappeared, and from what she could gather, Garvan was a shitty ruler. Kells would soon endure a similar fate under the swarm of the Scathing if she didn’t do something, and soon.
He set her down on the opposite side of the bank. Dusk was settling throughout the woods and the scent of smoke and the sounds of revelry were drawing closer. They were almost there. He took her hand once more, leading her down a worn and winding path, and the distinctive beating of a drum echoed through the trees. If she didn’t ask now, she may not get the opportunity to do so again.
