Lara
Talamh Cúig is a breathtaking tribute to the elements.
On the high bridge that leads to the city’s entrance, the horses shift from a lazy amble into a brisk walk, and I speed up behind them, gaping at green, turreted towers and smooth black walls that drip with mossy vines, and ethereal waterfalls twisting in a tumble of molten silver down to the river.
Despite the eerie light, teal spires glint brightly as they spear through gloomy clouds like points of a crown. Terra River rushes below us, and ornately carved gates, the color of dark jade, loom above.
The vision is a wild fantasy, a dark dream. Strange, yet so familiar because for the first fifteen years of my life, this very sight—the jagged mountain, the sprawling city—graced our dining room wall. My mother painted Ever’s home, and without a doubt, she once stood in this exact same spot. I burn to ask if he remembers her, what she did here, how was she treated, and how she managed to return home.
But, of course, I don’t.
As we approach the gates, two black-armored sentries lift curling animal horns to their mouths and blow. They herald our arrival with long mournful calls that reverberate out over the valley.
“Damn, there’s no chance of sneaking in now.” Raff tosses his chestnut hair and speaks loud enough for me to hear as I trail behind the horses like a slave the princes have purchased at market.
Other than the sculptured lines of Raff’s handsome face, being quick to smile and laugh, he’s so unlike his surly older brother that it’s difficult to believe they were raised in the same family. Although—I’m not sure if the word family is the correct way to describe a royal fae household.
Commands are shouted. The massive green gates shudder, then glide open, and we move forward.
Over the loud rush of waterfalls, the órga falcons cry in the sky above, and the horses’ hooves clip-clop against the ground. Other than those sounds, all is quiet, the clove-scented air thrumming with tension. The whole city stands still as we enter.
A rider appears in the distance, his horse trotting briskly toward us over a gleaming silver-colored road, the castle shining brightly at the end of it.
This is really happening. I’m walking into a Faery city, a captive of a cruel prince, with no idea what will become of me. My heart pounds in time with Jinn’s hoofbeats.
One two. One two. One two. One two.
The tall, white-haired fae dressed in flowing leaf-green robes dismounts and sketches a low bow to the brothers. Going by his haughty bearing, he’s probably an adviser or a diplomat. “Your Highnesses, welcome home. Prince Everend, we are very glad of your return.”
Ever inclines his head.
“What about me?” asks Raff. “Are you glad to see me also?”
The fae’s smile pinches tight. “Prince Rafael, you’ve been gone not half a day and we haven’t had time to miss you. We’ve been without Prince Everend’s company for almost a week.”
“Next time, I shall stay away longer, then.” Raff laughs.
Long robes swirl as the man turns back to Ever. “The queen wishes an immediate audience with your party in the Great Hall. She is in a disagreeable mood. I would not tarry.”
Ever rolls his eyes at Raff’s wide grin. “So, there is to be no rest for the terminally exhausted then, Lord Gavrin? I suppose I’d better make myself presentable.”
Spine straightening, his huntsman’s glamor wavers, morphing into the silver and gold armor he revealed briefly to me at the top of Mount Cúig. Transformation complete, he looks every bit the royal prince returning to his kingdom. Proud. Regal. Terrifying.
He turns and studies me, his mouth pulling into a grimace. “We don’t have time to do anything about the mortal. I suppose she’ll have to appear as she is, filthy and bedraggled.” His gaze follows the road that snakes gently up the hill, ending at the castle, then flicks back to me. “But she appears likely to pass out at any moment and will no doubt slow our progress. Lord Gavrin, go on ahead and advise my mother she must be patient. We will arrive as soon as we can.”
Lord Gavrin materializes in front of me. His violet eyes narrow as he inspects my buttonless coat, the torn purple uniform and ripped jeans with nearly all the dirt from Ithalah forest ground into them. “Your Highness, please allow me to carry the human on my horse. I’ll transport her directly to the Great Hall.”
“No,” says Ever. “I shall do it.”
“Brother, that wouldn’t be wise—” Raff begins.
Thunder shakes the sky and the órga falcons shriek.
“Raff, it is fine,” Ever snaps, the look he gives his brother icy enough to freeze him solid. “The human is unpredictable, believe me. You and Lord Gavrin have no idea how to manage her or have any authority in this regard. Remember, it was I who found her.”
Mouth a grim line, Raff says, “As you please, brother.”
With wide eyes, the stately Lord Gavrin bows once again, then backs away before climbing into the saddle.
“Come here, mortal.” Ever signals with his palm, frowning like a roadside worker commanding pesky ill-timed traffic.
My feet ache. My bones, too. Everything hurts. I shuffle wearily to Jinn’s side and meet his rider’s molten-steel gaze. Leaning down, Ever scoops me up, and then deposits me in front of him, side-saddle this time. Even so, his forearm presses as tightly as always against my waist, locking me in place. Trapping me against sharp metal.
Glancing side to side and up and down as we ride, I try to take in all the sights.
The city is a contradiction. Appearing both ancient and new, it teems with abundant growth and crumbling decay. It’s the oddest place. Jaw-dropping. Awe-inspiring. Stunningly beautiful. And real. That’s the part I’m having trouble believing—the place Mom painted is actually real.
To calm my nerves, I hum softly to myself, and the prince’s fingers suddenly dig into my stomach. The shock makes me moan. He inhales a sharp breath, squeezing me tighter. Then the sun bursts through the clouds, a fresh earthy scent filling the air as warm drops of rain fall on my hair and shoulders.
Ever has made a gloriously brilliant sun shower.
“Is that your doing?” I ask, trying not to sound too impressed.
He ignores me, and says, “What was that noise you made a moment ago?”
“It’s called humming.” Or moaning. “Surely, you’ve heard of such a thing before.”
“Don’t do it again,” he commands, and instantly the rain ceases, the sun ducking behind puffy clouds. “Listen carefully. Many of the Folk will stare, because they haven’t seen the likes of you before—seemingly part troll, part wasp, but a human nevertheless. You must pay them no heed.”
I say nothing.
“The Emerald Castle is ahead. We will enter directly into the foyer of the Great Hall. Prepare yourself to meet my mother. If you can help it, do not show fear. And more importantly, don’t even think of provoking her.”
I’m too busy gaping at the town and its people to answer. As our three horses trot briskly toward the castle, all manner of strange creatures and exquisitely regal fae line the path, peer down from high arched windows in the buildings, or peek from lush nooks set into the city wall.
One two. One two. One two. One two is the beat I’ve been forbidden to hum along with.
“Make no mistake, if you wish to survive your encounter with the queen, I suggest you do not speak to her the way you do to me.”
Again, I don’t answer.
“Do you hear me?” he asks.
“Yes, with your booming voice, how could I not? Learning that you’re a prince hasn’t changed my low opinion of you. I don’t have to speak to you if I don’t want to.”
He sighs. “And that is precisely the attitude that will get you killed. As they hold a blade to your throat, or perhaps worse, if you can speak, please do not waste your last breath to say I didn’t warn you.”
We dismount in a jangle and clang of bridles and swords then walk up marble steps toward enormous carved wooden doors, fortified with decorative metal strapping and set deep into a Gothic archway. Inlaid with green gemstones, a bronze, six-pointed star decorates the door’s center, perhaps an important symbol for the realm.
I look behind me as we reach the landing and watch two guards guide the horses down a side street.
The princes lead the way into the castle, Spark riding Raff’s shoulders and Balor walking sedately at Ever’s side. I totter behind them on shaking legs, and closing the formation behind me is Lord Gavrin, his long robes whispering secrets with every step. All else is silent, the vast space empty of courtiers.
We pass row upon row of vine-wrapped emerald columns that soar upward until they merge with a glass, vaulted ceiling that’s surely as high as the stars.
It’s all quite beautiful and charming until I squint more closely at the walls. Engraved and painted in alcoves are graphic scenes of dismemberment and torture, not all of them battle scenes either.
“If this is the Seelie palace,” I say under my breath but loud enough for the princes to hear me, “then I’d hate to see the Court of Merits.”
“Yes, you would,” replies Ever, still facing straight ahead. With the hunter’s glamor gone, pointed ears peek through his silver-gold hair. Despite their strangeness, there’s something quite adorable about them.
At the end of the hall, a throne glitters, spikes of clear quartz spearing out at jagged angles, and on it sits Ever and Rafael’s mother. The queen. At this distance, I can’t tell if she’s smiling.
“Where’s your father?” I hiss.
This time, Ever whips his head around to glare at me. “Dead.”
Okay, then.
“Be quiet.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes, but I obey and zip my lips as we stop in front of his mother. Lord Gavrin backs away, melting into the shadows.
Flanked by two armored guards and a green-skinned creature at her right hand, the queen gazes impassively at her sons from the dais. With a flourish of cloaks, those sons offer her dramatic low bows, and the severity of her appearance pulls at my insides, willing me to do the same. To beg. To curtsy and grovel.
But I don’t.
She wears a towering black crown spiked with dark needles of obsidian or tourmaline and flecked with diamonds that spray dancing rainbows on her skin. Like her eldest son’s, her eyes are silver but far colder than his. Hair, the color of clean snow, falls over a shimmery gown in wavy sheets to the floor. She’s beautiful, but terrifying to behold.
“My Queen,” Ever says, dropping to a knee at her feet.
As though I don’t exist, the queen ignores me, her eyes soaking in every inch of the prince before she beckons him closer with an elegant hand.
He stands and goes to her, bending to kiss her pale fingers.
“My son,” she purrs. “Welcome home. How was your hunt?”
He rises again. “It was very good. I tracked three draygonets and killed them, two by bow and the last by sword.”
A silver eyebrow rises. “Well done. And I see on this journey you have captured something far more interesting than draygonets.” Only then does her gaze slide to mine.
What I see in the wintry depths of those silver orbs chills my bones. No warmth. No sympathy. Pure ruthlessness.
“Yes. As you can see, I found a human girl.”
The queen tilts forward. “Bring her to me.”
Ever spins and stalks over. Gripping my arm, he tugs me to the throne.
I swallow and hope she can’t hear it.
“Human, I present you to Queen Varenus, Empress of the Land of Five, Sovereign of the Five Elements and Ruler of the Seas of All Time.” He gives me a quick shake. “Make your bow.”
I offer a clumsy curtsy.
Ever waves a hand at the official standing next to Varenus. “And this is the queen’s Master of Five, Lord Stavros.”
The lanky fae smiles, his green skin darkening to a leery blush.
This time, my curtsy is steadier.
The queen slowly cants her snow-white head, eyes narrowing as they trace my body.
Finally, she says, “Ah, human, you seem familiar. What is your name?”
“Lara.”
“Your Majesty,” insists Lord Stavros in a firm voice. “You must address Queen Varenus correctly.”
“Of course, I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” I dip another curtsy. “My name is Lara.”
“And do you possess a family name?”
My gut tightens. A warning not to tell her. “O’Sullivan,” I lie.
Unimpressed, the queen’s gaze returns to Ever. She hasn’t even acknowledged her youngest son yet. Poor Raff. “Where did you find this human?”
“In the forest, unconscious by Merrin Creek.”
“Is she able-bodied?”
“I believe so.” Ever’s silver eyes sweep over me. “Yes. Despite her ragged appearance, she seems to be holding together sufficiently.”
The queen’s adviser steps down to inspect me more closely. He prizes my jaw open with a bony finger, then prods at my teeth. I bat his hand away.
“Lara, please, do not!” Ever drags me backward. “Lord Stavros bites.”
I look at Raff, and he mouths, “Lara, please,” then smirks in Ever’s direction.
The reed-thin lord flashes rows of needle-sharp teeth and winks at me. It’s not a comforting gesture.
Varenus raises a silver brow. She looks amused and… something else. It’s an emotion I can’t name but, whatever it is, I don’t like it.
“She is healthy, my Queen,” Lord Stavros simpers, rejoining her on the dais.
“Good. Good.” Icy-blue nails tapping her chin, she stares through me as if she’s forgotten I exist. When Spark chirps, she blinks. “Yes. The human is a quaint little thing. I believe we shall put her to work while I decide what is to be done with her.”
Beside me, Ever’s shoulders loosen, and he releases a short breath.
“What are your special talents?” asks Lord Stavros. “Do you stitch fine gowns? Dance, play music, or perhaps sing?”
Ever shuffles beside me and sighs again, the word, “No,” whispered under his breath. I think he’s telling me not to mention my love of singing.
“I can cook pretty well.”
The queen laughs as if I’ve said something witty. “That may be so. However, we cannot trust your kind to make our food. Tell Magret to assign her duties in the garden. If she is useless, give her to the dullahan. He’ll be traveling by our lands again just before Samhain and will be thankful of my gift. She has a fortnight to prove her worth with the vegetables.”
The prince bows and takes my arm. As he turns me toward the exit, the queen says, “Not you, Everend. Lord Stavros shall take the human down to the servants.”
Raff grins down at his shiny boots.
My captor tows me back and hands me over to the queen’s Master of Whatever-he-is.
Lord Stavros bows to the queen.
Arms crossed, Ever stares at the marble floor. As we go to move past him, his eyes lift and hold mine, then drop and linger briefly on the lord’s fingers digging into my upper arm. His lips compress into a grim line.
Ever must believe only he is allowed to hurt me.
As I’m led from the Great Hall down dark spiraling steps toward God-knows-where, I remind myself to feel grateful—the audience with the Queen of Five could have gone so much worse. I could already be dead.
Then my knees go wobbly from exhaustion and hunger, and I think two things before I faint into Lord Stavros’s elegant arms.
Faeries are scary.
And I hope he doesn’t bite me.
