Page 52 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
“Yeah, and you’re showing every one of them.” Cressida huffs and gets to her feet, still struggling with that same leg. “I, on the other hand, am still as flawless as the day you up and fucking killed yourself!”
Suddenly the jovial attitude of before vanishes, replaced by a pain-filled angst. Cressida’s knights, who had kept their distance until now, take a step forward as one, only to stop instantly when she holds out a hand.
Her hands rise to her helm, tugging it away to reveal a sharp, diamond-shaped face and long dark hair in a mass of black warrior braids. Cressida sweeps a beaded strand back from her face and pins her old friend with the harshest, most unforgiving look I’ve ever seen.
“You fell on your own blade—and don’t fucking deny it, bitch. I was there when they sounded the victory horns. I saw you sneak away from that battlefield. Then two weeks later I receive a letter saying you left me your Goddess-damnedhorse?”
“It was a great horse.” Maeve turns away and gives me a pleading look.
“I didn’t want a horse.” Cressida’s voice rises with fury. “I wanted my best fucking friend. I grieved you for decades, put up with your useless peace-keeping twit of a daughter waffling on about maintaining lasting treaties in your name, and you’re not even going to apologise?”
Maeve’s stare hardens. “Hey, kid, I’ve punched her. You can let me go now.”
“Oh, no you—” Cressida cuts off, glancing around us, perhaps remembering how public this little argument has become, and I freeze as she pins me to the spot. “I mean, my lady Nicnevin. Might I offer you and your grandmother refreshments in Illidwen?”
Maeve raises her hand to her neck and makes a subtle slashing motion, the gesture hidden from Cressida behind her. At the same time, the autumn queen is staring me down like a predator. Wait, can Maeve eat or drink like this? She’s still technically a ghost…
Panicking under the weight of those stares, I accidentally fumble the connection to Danu, and Maeve loses her corporeal form by default.
“Refreshments sound good,” I pause, looking back at my males. “We clearly have a lot to discuss.”
“Yes. Like why the hell you have the blade prince hovering over you like a nursemaid.” Cressida’s brows furrow.
Perhaps if Eero or Aiyana had asked the same question, I might’ve floundered. But she’s friends—practically siblings—with Maeve, so I meet her gaze and shrug as I give her the answer I’d give my grandmother.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
The unseelie queen throws her head back and laughs. “Well met, Nicnevin. Come. The battle is over, and I need to sit down.”
Without waiting for any kind of acknowledgement, she turns and struts along the bridges, leading us back into the forest.
At the next trunk, Cressida presses a hand to a knot in the bark. It springs open, revealing a vertical pool of darkness just large enough for a person to cross through.
She strides into it without hesitation, and two of her knights wait at the entrance while the third—the archer—follows her inside. Taking a deep breath, I step through next, without waiting for my Guard.
The first thing I notice on the other side is the wonderful warmth emanating from a large hearth on the opposite wall, and I gravitate toward it, grateful for the heat. We’re in a large war room, and I smile as I realise the darkness still swirling behind us must have been some kind of portal.
Is the trees’ magic responsible for transporting us here, or the queen’s? Or is it enchanted, like the ladder? I have so many questions, but I force them down and focus instead on watching as the rest of my Guard file in. Cressida’s remaining two knights follow, but they don’t stay. The pair head straight for the great doors with quiet bows, leaving us with their queen.
The majority of the space is taken up by a map table in the centre of the room with chairs around it. Cressida has collapsed into one, and her archer bends, unbuckling the armour over her calf and revealing what looks like a fine network of vines hiddenbeneath. I’m so distracted by the glowing plants that I don’t immediately notice the unnatural thinness of the queen’s legs.
The part of her which should be thick and strong with muscle is barely the width of my wrist, and the other leg’s no better. Even the bones of her knees look shrunken. How on earth did I not see this before?
Glamour.
Cressida must have kept this hidden to hide the weakness from her enemies on the battlefield. I can’t tell if she’s showing me now out of necessity, or if she’s open about this with all fae.
“You know it’s rude to stare,” she quips, but Maeve rolls her eyes.
“Don’t listen to her, kid. She doesn’t care about appearances. She’s only showing you now to shock you.”
I glance at the queen, trying to figure out if what Maeve is saying is true. It’s been thousands of years since she lived, and assuming that things haven’t changed seems stupid.
The fae male at her side plunges his fingers into the vines, and I watch his brow furrow in concentration as the glow brightens. Some of the vines were severed, but they grow back into place under his care. From the blood seeping free beneath them, I’m guessing they were damaged in battle.
He finishes his work, and stands, bowing as he leaves the room, but Cressida doesn’t leave her chair.
“So, Nicnevin”—she kicks her boots up onto the map table—“how do you plan to save my court?”
