Page 126 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
The whispers that spring up are full of delight and humour. Only one phrase matters, though.
“She doesn’t know,” is repeated by over a dozen mouths and even louder by the children present.
It ripples through the crowd, crossing the divide between males and females until a barbegazi slaps Drystan on the back, followed swiftly by other males, as if he’s done something worthy of approval from the hard-to-read fae. Even Prae’s eyebrows rise behind the mask of deep navy war paint that covers everything north of her cheekbones, smirking like she’s in on the joke.
The stoic priestess breaks into a small smile. “I see. He didn’t tell you, then?”
My hand rises to touch the snowflake in the centre of the antlers at my collarbone, ass falling the last few inches to the cushion in shock. “He… said it was an heirloom. That it was enchanted and would protect me.”
Prae nods. “It’s also traditional for Winter Court males to trick their mate into wearing engagement jewellery.”
My eyes travel over the heads around us—something that’s more difficult than it seems when there are trolls in the room—and find him and the others. My Guard is deep in discussion with the other males of the village, even Caed is listening in from his spot leaning against the wall, but I’m more focused on the two unseelie of the group.
Lore knew. The bangles I’ve been wearing on my arm and Drystan’s reaction to each one suddenly make an odd kind of sense. He was teasing Drystan by loading me up with all the jewellery he could get his hands on.
I’m not angry. How can I be when Lore put his hat on my head—the redcap equivalent—within hours of meeting me? But shock has turned my cheeks pink, and the heat in them only grows as his amber eyes meet mine, and then he has the audacity towink.
He gave me the necklace after I asked him to admit he cared. He proposed to me and then broke winter fae convention totell me he loved me. Goddess damn him, I think my heart just melted.
“He tricked me,” I whisper, admitting it. “He just said it was an enchantment to keep me from feeling the cold.”
“Ah, the Spring Princess’s jewels.” A goblin with her ears and nose heavy with piercings nods knowingly. “He’s had it altered with the antlers, but that explains it. I knew I recognised those gems.”
“Spring Princess?” I ask, accepting a mug of something that smells strongly of alcohol but is still warm.
I know who they mean—the last queen of winter—but it seems odd for them to refer to her like that.
“King Cedwyn’s mother,” the goblin explains, mistaking my confusion for ignorance. “She was a soft little seelie from the Spring Court. His father commissioned the jewels to keep her warm and grew the crystal tree of Calimnel to remind her of her nice, easy life in the south.”
“She was his mate,” the priestess points out. “He was right to please the female Danu sent to him.”
“Danu sent her to live here, not the other way round. She should’ve learned to respect the ways of our people and become a true queen of winter.” The goblin is attracting her fair share of nods. “Instead, what did she do? Made him weak. Barely worth the title of Winter Queen, if you ask me. Archibald was right to slaughter them both.”
“For all the good that did him.” A different high fae argues. “Everyone knows Winter only thrives when the two great houses are in harmony. Since then, we’ve had five hundred years of a paranoid king who never leaves his castle.”
Prae and I exchange looks but say nothing. Everything I can learn about Cedwyn is useful.
“If he left it, that Iceblyd snake would just plonk her ass on his throne and call herself queen,” a troll retorts. “Fat lot of useshe’d be in a war. She can’t throw her pretty gowns and poisons at the Fomorians and expect them to cower.”
“I’d still rather that than a king who won’t answer the summons of Danu herself!”
This debate is obviously a familiar one, because the other women have begun to mutter amongst themselves. A second later, I’m drawn into a different conversation, but my mind remains fixed on the things I’ve learned.
Neither of Drystan’s parents are popular. Good to know, but not exactly the attitude I need if Cedwyn’s supposed to rally these fae for war. Cressida and Aiyana might be bitches, but the two of them have the loyalty of their people. Will the Winter Court follow their king to battle if he asks it of them?
My grim musings distract me long into the night, keeping me awake even when Lore’s sleep-chuckles echo from the pile of soft furs behind me.
Thirty-Eight
Rhoswyn
I’m still mulling things over as we trek through the snow the next day. Lost in thoughts of Cedwyn and Hawkith and the battle that awaits us after this final stage in my pilgrimage.
It all seemed so abstract before, and now it looms closer by the day. What do I even do in a battle? Sure, I’ve been helping my Guard take back territory along the coast, but those are still small skirmishes compared to what awaits us in Elfhame.
“You’re quiet.” Drystan observes. “Are you… angry about the engagement necklace?”
His hesitant tone draws me out of my funk, and I chuckle. “I’m not angry. Just surprised, really. You seem to hate everything about your court, but you kept that tradition, and you did it again with the lantern ritual.”
