Page 144 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

“He tried to overthrow the Froshtyn family,” Drystan mutters. “He succeeded in killing the King and Queen of Winter, but failed to finish the job by killing their three boys. It had nothing to do with the hunt, and more to do with petty rivalry between nobles.”

He sighs. “But because everyone knew he was Lord of the Wild Hunt, Cedwyn’s first act as king after executing him was to wipe out his family and anyone publicly known to be a member of the host.”

The anger in his voice is too deep for this not to be personal. “Did you know him?” I ask.

Drystan snorts. “No. I wasn’t even born.”

His tone doesn’t invite further questions, so I look away, focusing on the world below us.

“What’s that?” I ask, staring at the glowing mass nestled high into the mountainside.

Drystan hesitates for a second before answering in a typical curt tone. “Calimnel.”

I recognise the name from my lessons. “That’s the Winter Court capital, right?”

“Yes.”

Chewing my lip, I try to remember what Kitarni said about it as I peer down, “Carved from ice?”

“You’ll see for yourself.”

His voice makes it clear he won’t say any more on the subject, and I pout in disappointment. I’d hoped maybe, since the Winter Court is his home, that he’d tell me more about it. Apparently not.

He is working,I think to myself. I’m probably bothering him when he’s trying to focus on his job.

I resolve to keep my questions to myself for the rest of the night. At least we’re drawing closer to the city. The host is spiralling down, and I quickly realise we’re headed for Calimnel itself. The details get clearer with every passing second, despite the snow, and eventually, I can make out the source of the glowing.

A ghostly golden tree stands several storeys tall in the centre of the ice city on the mountain. At first I think it’s made of glass, but it pulses with an inner light that doesn’t make sense.

When we’re almost on top of it, I realise it’s not glass, it’s crystal. Veined with strands of multihued light and tipped with leaves of the same material. Around it, the ice city is carved in a series of ornate, perfectly concentric rings, each one getting taller the closer it is to the centre. It’s a testament to the crystal tree’s size that the ring that surrounds the base of it only reaches halfway up the trunk.

That must be the palace.

I’m staring open-mouthed, but who can blame me? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

It has to have a story behind it, but I’m prevented from asking about it by the birds returning.

“How are the numbers?” Drystan calls.

One of the huge valravne drops from above to soar in midair beside us and opens its teeth-lined beak.

“More than expected.”

Oh my Goddess, they can talk?

Drystan’s hands go white on the reins for a half second, but that’s the only indication he gives. “Let the others know.”

The valravn lets out an awful croak and banks left, flapping towards the other horses in the column behind us.

I’m silent as I process what the bird said. More than expected? Is that because of the war?

Drystan, as usual, offers no explanation, but I’m quickly distracted from pestering him again.

We’re now at roof level, and the barghests are…

Walking through the walls as if they’re not there, chasing and herding out…

Spirits.

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