Chapter 13

Thirteen

Rhoswyn

I have to go.

The glowing embers of the fire pit are still smouldering as I slip from Bree’s arms and away from the camp that night. He’s sleeping so deeply he doesn’t notice I’m gone, curled up in a warm winged cocoon that I really want to disappear back into.

I cast a cursory glance at the rest of the group as I pass, but they’re all out as well. Caed and Prae are sleeping with their swords clutched tightly by their sides on ‘their’ side of the camp, and Jaro is on his back across from them, his mouth open on a sonorous snore. Lore’s feet are the only part of him I can see. He’s buried himself in his bedroll upside down, his bare toes pointed in the direction of the last few embers of the fire.

The urging in the back of my chest pangs again, returning my attention to why I woke in the first place. There’s something… off.

Almost anticipatory.

This part of the Summer Court is all dappled jungle glades and deep turquoise pools of water, both welcome in the midst of the baking heat and unrelenting sunshine. My Guard chose to make our latest camp on the bank of one of the wide, tranquil ponds. Something flashes in the corner of my eye, drawing my attention across the moss-covered stones to the trunks of the whispering, silver-barked aspens on the far side of the water.

A flicker of white disappears before I can make out what it is.

My heartbeat quickens. Someone—or something—is there. Hidden in the darkness of the ancient trees. Something that… calls to me. The ache in my chest strains towards it, and before I can do anything else, like reach out for my males, my bare feet are skittering across the rocks, drawing me out over boulders that extend from the water like stepping stones, then retreat beneath the surface once I’ve passed.

Magic, I realise, relaxing a little.

No Fomorian could do this. That doesn’t mean I’m not in danger, but it does ease the terror in my chest slightly as I reach the opposite bank and look back over my shoulder.

My males haven’t stirred, and that more than anything, convinces me that something else is afoot here. With gritted teeth, I force myself to stop with my toes buried deep in the loamy soil. Dotted between the trees are arches and crumbling walls, the remnants of an ancient villa—or so Bree said on our way here. Apparently, the Summer Court is full of such places. The high fae moved towards the coast over the years, lured by the wealth of the ocean, leaving behind those under fae who revel in the deep wild places; leshens and kikimory and the occasional ogre.

Their old villas have been reclaimed by the forest, and I stumble through the ruined archways left behind as the pressure in my chest becomes more insistent.

I can pick out a blur of white in the distance, and I just can’t ignore it. The chase is exhilarating, my pace quickening as I give in and surrender completely to the compulsion to follow.

Cool mosaic floor beneath my toes makes me shiver as I hurry after it. Ferns caress my ankles, and I swear the foliage is moving out of my way, creating a path where there wasn’t one before. A glance behind me confirms it. I’m being led, and the plants are rallying behind me. Cutting me off from my Guard. Crowding me forward.

Is this why Drystan hasn’t found me yet, even though he’s on watch?

Faerie is doing this. Mab said it would always aid the Nicnevin, but that doesn’t explain what’s happening now.

My breath starts to come in choppy little pants, and before I know it, I’m running, chasing them on trembling legs. A stitch burns in my side as I trip into what was clearly once some kind of courtyard, but now is so overgrown that only the finest slivers of moonlight can break through to illuminate the space.

A statue of a nude fae reclines against a giant tree on the far side. Water cascades from a jug on her shoulder over her full breasts and down her legs into a broken pond at her feet. There, at the base, and drinking deeply from the flowing water, is the largest white stag I’ve ever seen.

He’s huge, looming taller than I am, even without the magnificent rack of golden antlers atop its head, and that height becomes even more obvious as he straightens and pins me with a pair of coal-black eyes.

The weight in them lances through me like a burst of thunder. Dark, ageless knowledge, the likes of which does not belong in the realms of mortals nor fae, pierces me like a knife. I feel seen, flayed, broken, and reformed all in the space of one glance. My skull shrieks, ears ringing as the intensity grows until I can’t take it anymore.

Bowing my head and breaking contact is a matter of survival. Still, my head pounds and my eyes water as the ache in my chest finally falls silent.

The white hart.

What was it Titania said? The white hart is a sign from Danu and bestows wisdom on the fae who finds it…I don’t feel like it bestowed wisdom. In fact, I’m pretty sure it just split my brain in two.

No part of me wants to repeat that experience.

There’s a pause, then a slow snicker of a breath echoes from beyond me.

“No bow and arrow? No net? Some hunter you are, young Nicnevin.”

It talks? And in a voice so cold and mocking, too. I shake my head violently, but it only makes the pain worse.

“I’m no hunter,” I reply, voice quaking.

There’s a gentling of his aura—something I didn’t realise I was seeing until now. It no longer pulses against my skin like a bruise and that gives me the courage to look up again, though I stay away from those eyes.

He’s coming closer, all long graceful limbs and regal bearing as he stalks through the soft mud. His glowing white fur is immaculate, despite the humid air and the dirt. It makes me feel oddly naked, even though I’m wearing Jaro’s enormous shirt.

I suppose I do look more like a lost child than a queen right now, though I suspect even a full set of armour wouldn’t lessen this sense of vulnerability.

“Do you wish to hear a truth, young Nicnevin?” he asks, stopping close enough that I can see the droplets of water still clinging to his pink nose as his breath washes over me in wet gusts.

Is this a dream? I ask myself silently. This place certainly has a dream-like quality to it. And a truth? What truth? I’m painfully aware that the truth can be crueller than a lie, but if this stag does give out wisdom, surely, I’d be an idiot to turn him down.

“Y-yes.” It would somehow be fundamentally rude to decline the offer, though I have no idea where that knowledge is coming from.

His muzzle presses against my shoulder, and I reach up to stroke it without thinking. His pleased sound reverberates through my body.

“Then I offer you your truth in the form of a question,” he says after a long moment of gentle petting. “As Nicnevin, you are connected to many, but which of those connections is the most vital?”

I bite my lower lip, closing my eyes to think. The most obvious answer is my connection to Danu. That’s what gives me my power and my position as high queen. But my connection to Faerie is what brings the fae life and magic. Memories of the tiny infants carried by the Wild Hunt—who died because they were born without magic—and of the ravaged landscapes of the courts before I reconnected them to Danu flash behind my eyelids.

A niggling in my gut makes me want to say that my Guard is the answer, but while they’re surely the most important connection to me, and the one I’ve selfishly chosen above others before, surely a connection that sustains the lives of thousands is what a good Nicnevin should choose?

“Faerie?” I ask. The answer doesn’t quite feel right, but his patient gaze demands one, anyway.

He snorts, but there’s a paternal kind of gentleness in his tone when he says, “Try again.”

“Danu?”

My heart falls as he pushes me lightly in reprimand.

“Honour the gift of truth with the same, or I shall rescind my offer.”

“My Guard,” I say, and he nods. “But isn’t that… selfish? If I love them more than the Goddess or my people, doesn’t that make me a bad Nicnevin?”

A true queen would put her own desires last, surely?

The stag shakes his head. “That is not how it works, young one. Tell me, on the eve of battle, who better serves them? A Nicnevin well cared for, rested, and whole, surrounded by her fiercest supporters, or a leader isolated, suffocated under the weight of her burdens and her loneliness?”

When he puts it like that…

“They are born to be your greatest strength.” He backs away, breath washing over me one last time. “Nourish them, and you shall reap the benefits. When you are united as one crown and one Guard, everything else falls into place.”

He’s leaving? Just like that?

“But how do I do that?” I call after his retreating scut, my voice wobbling. “They’re hurting, and they hate each other.”

The white hart looks over his shoulder, pausing. “When their love for you is stronger than their hate for one another, they will put their differences aside.”

I’m not so sure, but before I can question him further, a loud bark echoes from our left. He rears, thundering into the bush, and I whirl, searching for what spooked him.

A pair of hands clasp my shoulders, fingers digging in and stopping me mid-motion.

Only the familiar buzz that accompanies the harsh touch stops me from screaming.

“ Never ,” Drystan pants, hair wild and tone hard. “Ever sneak out of camp like that again. Do you even know what I—? You could’ve been on your way to Fellgotha for all I knew.”

“Was that…?” Bree asks, landing close to us.

“The white hart,” Drystan confirms. “I wondered why you were so difficult to wake, and the others didn’t stir.” Amber eyes full of flames scan me. “What did he say to you, huntress?”

“That’s between her and the hart,” Bree interjects. “We weren’t given an audience.”

“Well, he’ll keep Wraith busy, at least,” the dullahan mutters, and I startle.

That explains the barking, but… “Wraith won’t hurt him, will he?”

“No. I doubt even a barghest could catch the hart,” Bree reassures me.

Drystan looks at the bush the stag disappeared behind with an odd sense of longing on his face until I snuggle into his hold. That freezes him, and I chuckle softly to myself. My winter lord still doesn’t know how to respond to a cuddle.

“Let’s go back to the others,” I say quietly. “I have… lots to think on.”

The white hart confirmed what I’d been saying to them, but he didn’t tell me how to fix it. Honestly, a step-by-step guide to dealing with immortal egos and overprotective males would’ve gone a lot further than a couple of mystic comments about unity and nourishing.

Bree comes up behind me and presses a kiss to my temple. “Whatever’s putting that look on your face, it will work out. Look at all you’ve faced so far.”

I snort but work hard to soften the crease between my brows. Something tells me that falling from the throne room in Siabetha will seem easy compared to getting Caed and the rest of my Guard on speaking terms.