Page 114 of Realm of Nightmares
ChapterThirty-Three
Tiernan sat at the head of a long dining table in the ballroom of his palace. The dinner spread had already been cleared away as he and his guests delved into discussions pertaining to the upcoming war against Parisa. All blades within the Courts of Summer, Autumn, and Winter were to be dipped in nightshade, and a routine of alternate day and night training was to be implemented within every legion. Instead of protecting the borders of each individual Crown City, Tiernan, Ciara, and Dorian had all agreed to combine forces, collectively forming one single perimeter along the outermost edges of the Spring Court, effectively protecting all three Courts from any preemptive attacks from the dark fae. However, they needed to deal with the matter of the imprisoned, poisoned fae and the prospect of new allies.
At Dorian’s behest, Aran took the lead on an alliance with one of the eastern realms. He smoothed the front of his gold vest, then leaned forward, steepling his fingers together in a manner quite reminiscent of his father. “As most of you know, my travels as a former Dorai have taken me many places, more often than not to the east. I’m on good terms with a few of the neighboring realms, most notably Prava and Wenfyre. While Prava has the resources and numbers to help us make a significant stand against Parisa, Oldrich Skye, ruler of the Korvny Fae, is incredibly self-serving and pompous. I have no doubt he would expect us to grant him a significant favor in return.”
“Which then leaves the other kingdom you mentioned.” Tiernan made a note to ask the High Prince for a map of these two lands. “Wenfyre, was it?”
“Right. Wenfyre is located along the southeastern rim of the Gaelsong Sea. Their queen, Ariawyn Pethorn, is a powerful druid. She’s loved by her people and feared by her enemies. Ariawyn is brilliant, direct, and has been known to be duplicitous on more than one occasion.” Aran cracked his knuckles, so the inlaid ruby ring he wore sparked like fire. “I believe she’d make a formidable ally.”
Saoirse leaned over the table, craning her neck to look the High Prince in the eyes. Her silver braid tumbled over one shoulder. A barely green palm frond was woven into the shape of a flower and tucked behind her ear. “Is she pretty?”
Brynn bit down on a smile as Ciara laughed. Malachy sent his queen a withering look, but Saoirse remained unaffected, her gaze trained on the High Prince of Autumn. Aran sat back, amusement illuminating his features. “Would it please you more or less if I lied?”
The warrior scoffed. “I think you’ll find me an incredibly difficult woman to please, Your Highness.”
“Oh,” Aran drawled, “I’m sure I’d manage just fine.”
Lir stiffened in his seat, going as rigid as stone, and Merrick groaned.
“Gods,” he muttered. “Must everything allude to sex?”
Brynn snorted, plucking her toothpick from between her teeth, and taking aim at the hunter. “Coming from the prince of not-so-subtle innuendo, that’s laughable.”
A chorus of laughter broke out among the group, but Saoirse didn’t smile. Neither did Dorian.
“Why do you ask, Lady Saoirse?” Dorian’s smooth, melancholy voice cut through the diversion,quieting the banter. “About whether or not Queen Ariawyn is fair of face?”
“For one reason only, Your Grace. Of all the fae, druids are the most in tune with nature. It is an aspect of their soul, a testament to the magic flowing through their veins. What they enjoy, what they’re passionate about on the inside, displays itself in a mirrored reflection of who they are on the outside.” Saoirse glanced pointedly at Ceridwen, who dipped her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Therefore, if Queen Ariawyn is quite beautiful, then her heart is pure. But if she’s repulsive or even rather plain, it’s likely she’s been poisoned by corruption or some other immoral act and is not to be trusted.”
Stunned silence befell the table.
Tiernan had to admit, he was damned impressed with Saoirse’s knowledge of druids. It was mildly surprising.
“Well.” Aran coughed lightly into his fist, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Damn.”
“How did…” Lir swiveled in his seat to face Saoirse. He raked a hand through the twists of dark hair on his head, so the beads binding them tinkled against one another. His brow furrowed. “How do you know all of this?”
To his commander, the silver-haired warrior offered a dazzling smile. “Our Maeve isn’t the only one who likes to read.”
“What of the druid queen, then?” Malachy asked, angling himself to face the High Prince of Autumn.
“She’s quite lovely.” Aran nodded in agreement.
“And would you be willing to travel to Wenfyre and ask Queen Ariawyn to join forces with us?” Tiernan asked.
The High Prince glanced over at his father, who gave a barely imperceptible nod of his head. “How soon would you like me to sail, my lord?”
“As soon as theAmshiris ready.” Tiernan caught Ciara’s eye and her lips pursed, crinkling at the corners. “Your Grace, do you have anything you want to add?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Ciara patted her white hair, smoothing the silken strands that framed her face. Coldness radiated from her, chilling the air. “The prince of Brackroth owes me a favor.”
“Brackroth?” Merrick reared back in his seat, a deep line furrowing across his brow. He lifted one hand and gave a quick shake of his head. “You said Aeramere owed you a favor, not Brackroth.”
“Darling brother,” Ciara crooned, intentionally toying with the silver necklace of sapphires that fell across her bosom like droplets of ocean water. Tiernan kept his gaze trained on the High Queen’s face, but Malachy fell victim to her game. “You must’ve misheard. The prince of Brackroth owesmea favor, but it is I who owes an unpaid debt to Aeramere.”
Merrick ducked his head, scowling. “Perhaps it was you who misspoke.”
“I would never.” Light from the orbs of faerie fire danced over one half of Ciara’s face, dousing the rest of her in shadows. It was slightly alarming, and a stab of apprehension lodged itself in Tiernan’s back, giving him pause. A flicker of distrust. Then the glow of light drenched her once more, and the feeling ebbed away. “If I call upon anyone to aid us, it will be Prince Drake Kalstrand of Brackroth, as he owes me a great deal.”
