9. Crowns

Crowns

I felt them come—a sudden sense of presence, like anticipating a bolt of lightning before the strike. Vaduin plummeted from the sky in a gold-and-white blur. His wide wings clawed at the sky. When he set his foot on the ground, it was with no more force than if he'd been stepping down from a stair.

He set Danica down. The two exchanged a look of sheer delight and stepped to either side of the thrones, each holding a crown.

The one in Vaduin's hands was made of heavy silver, a thick band with sharp points and a single upside-down teardrop cabochon-cut stone, the ruddy kind of black that marked it as a black garnet. It looked like the crown of a conqueror, or a tyrant.

If anything, the crown Danica held was even more evil-looking. It was clearly made out of iron, not expensive metal, and the tines were sharp blades. Smaller black garnets encircled the band, each set beneath the knife-like points. It practically screamed "evil fairytale Queen."

The high priestess started chanting in a sing-song voice. The words curled, familiar and yet alien, like hearing a song in a half-remembered language. Underneath me, the world roused. For one terrifying, elating moment, I felt like I was standing on a fantasy island as the great sea turtle beneath woke, everything shifting with ancient focus, the head of an unknowable beast lifting and its world-weary eyes opening to take in the sun.

Cass let out a panting breath. His hands closed into fists, then flexed open. The strain of his tendons transferred to me, a pleasant tension that made me want to grab onto a ledge and haul myself up, feeling all my weight on my arms.

He stepped forward.

I stepped with him.

As if we'd done this a thousand times – as if the land itself knew where we should go, our feet falling in the same places as those who'd come before – we walked to the high priestess, and in silent unison, we knelt.

The high priestess looked down at us, her dark eyes holding mysteries, and set her fingertips on our heads. She went still, connecting the two of us, Cass' magic flashing through her to pour into me.

In an instant, I knew his body as well as my own, the focus of the Court and the first physical contact between us conspiring to flare my sense of him into full wakefulness. He held the weight of his body on his knees and the balls of his feet; had balance to rival any dancer or tightrope-walker. His bronze feathers were resting on the ground, the angle putting strain on his wings. The tension in his shoulders and ribs was for me and from me, his focus not on the priestess or the Court but on me : face turning to look at me, ear cocked towards me, his power singing in my blood.

I could feel his beating heart in my chest. I'd followed that heartbeat to him, and now here we were.

I tilted my head back, hair brushing against the nape of my neck, and made myself breathe.

"Xarcassah Marys," the high priestess intoned, her voice level and melodious. "You have been chosen by the Court of Mercy, and thus by its goddess, Ithronel. Until your death, you are the Merciful King."

She lifted her hands off of us. The intensity of connection between me and Cass cut like someone flipping a switch, leaving me only with the same physical sensations from him that I'd grown used to: the placement of his body and the commands he gave it.

It wasn't a relief. It was like getting a blanket snatched off of me, leaving all my skin bare and cold.

Vaduin stepped forward and got down onto one knee, proffering the crown. The high priestess took it in silence, turning to Cass with the mountain breeze rustling the leaves of her corset.

Even on his knees, he cut an imposing figure. His broad shoulders and solid body made him immovable, and though the fae high priestess was taller than me by at least six inches, that just meant that the top of Cass' head came up to her chest instead of her chin. She had to lift her hands to set the crown on his dark hair, moving with smooth strength.

He didn't move, his face impassive and breathing calm. In the distance, I heard a wolf howl, and then another, and another, until it seemed like every wolf pack in the mountains was singing to each other, the faint, eerie sounds floating on the wind.

"Let this crown be a reminder of the weight of your duty to Mercy," the high priestess intoned. One of her ears tilted towards the mountains, as if monitoring the wolfsong. "Its people are yours. Its land and treasure are yours. You answer to Mercy, and none other."

The Court responded as the crown settled onto Cass' head. Dust swirled in eddies across the entire surface of the stone platform, swept across it by a sharp gust of wind. The leaves on the high priestess' corset rattled. Several tore off and floated off into the void. On the twin thrones, the carvings of bramble roses shifted, going from simple illustrative carvings to high relief, stems polished and thorns gleaming wickedly sharp.

Mirroring her soulmate, Danica stepped forward and knelt, holding the iron crown up.

Iron burns fae. Glancing contact won't hurt them severely, but the longer they hold it or the longer it's inside them, the worse the damage and pain gets. I'd been told that an iron arrowhead could kill a fae within half an hour if it wasn't removed, dissolving in their blood and leaving them fatally poisoned, and that holding cold iron would leave burns.

She still picked it up, sliding her fingers carefully beneath the rim. The lowest part of the crown gleamed with a silkier tone than the rest— silver , I realized, to protect the head that wore it and the hands that touched it.

The high priestess didn't crown me. She turned and held out the crown to Cass, a faint smile touching her mouth. "Even more than a Court, a soulmate is the greatest gift Faery may grant, whether to fae or mortal. Mercy chose your soul, and your soul chose hers. Thus, it is you who should crown your soulmate, Merciful King."

Cass took the crown, his brows drawn together and with anxiety tensing his face. He shifted, turning towards me while still on his knees.

"Are you willing?" he asked, holding my iron crown.

It was more than a question of if I was willing to wear a crown on my head for the sake of pageantry. Cass met my eyes with quiet determination, and he gave me the opportunity to choose him… or not. Was I willing? To wear a fae crown, to have a soulmate, to learn how the two of us would correspond?

To stay?

It wasn't a fair question. It wasn't a fair situation , not for him and not for me. Faery had thrown us together, and now we were here, with the Court's entire focus on us.

"He's land-tied," Danica had said, in a way that made me wonder if my sense of the Court as part of Cass' body was more than merely the connection from his magic. That he was bound to the Court in a bone-deep way, and that if he set his crown on my head, I would be, too.

He'd healed the raw wound of the opal mine. He'd healed me. Protected me from death and injury, over and over again, without even needing to think about it. The Court was his body, and if I agreed, it would be mine, too.

To say yes was to agree to never set foot off this Court again. To remain in Faery, with him, forever.

He could simply have crowned me—claimed me. Bound me to the Court, and thus, to him.

But he'd asked.

"I 'm willing," I said, holding his gaze.

His lashes fluttered, and Cass gave me a tiny nod. "Then I crown you, Quyen Anh, Queen of Mercy," he said softly, talking only to me. His fingers brushed my scalp, and for a moment I was as much him as myself.

—anxious, wanting, terrified, hoping—

The weight of the crown settled onto my head, cool and inflexible, and with the sensation of a sigh, the Court settled into me, like an old dog laying its head into its master's lap to sleep.

"Let this crown be a reminder of the weight of your duty to Mercy," Cass said with quiet intensity, his dark eyes holding me captive. "Its people are yours. Its land and treasure are yours. You answer to Mercy, and none other."

"Rise," the high priestess said, "and claim your thrones."