9. Keira

Chapter 9

Keira

I hardly sleep all night, tossing and turning under my blankets. I gasp awake, drenched in sweat and heart hammering, and with no recollection of the dream that caused the night terror. The shadows of the room choke me. I create a fire orb to chase them away, watching as it slowly makes a meandering path up to the ceiling.

What if I made a mistake? If the risks of the pilgrimage are too high?

I must be insane for choosing to trespass into the lands of our greatest enemy, like a lamb to the sacrifice.

I slip out of bed and pad to the barred windows, pulling back the velvet curtains and sliding open the small glass pane. Cool air rushes over my face, causing a shiver to run down my spine, but relaxing the knots of my mind.

I can do this.

The world outside is bathed in the silvery light of a full moon. I soak in the entire sight, committing every single detail to mind. There is a sharp drop from my chambers to multiple levels of red-tiled roofs slanted against the main body of the castle.

A full view stretches before me, of the snaking inner wall with guards prowling its top, to the expanse of the meadows and orchards beyond the bridge and ravine. There are more protectors making their rounds in the shadows, especially with the king in attendance.

It seems hard to believe that my grandmother was once one of those guards. That she met my grandfather and fell so deeply in love with the heir to the lord protector that she took the pilgrimage to fall pregnant to the magic, so she could throw off the shackles of her low class and marry him.

How far she rose in her lifetime, born as a peasant, to become Lady Appleshield, then high priestess when my mother took over the role of matriarch of our house.

There is fighters' blood in my veins.

I remain there, a silent sentinel, as the sun rises above the horizon, bleeding light across the sky in streaks of orange and red, and the Appleshield grounds wake up.

Teams of people and oxen erect marquee tents along the road that leads through the orchards, huge ones where performers and musicians will entertain crowds, and rows of smaller ones for market stalls. They tie thousands of ribbons to the branches of trees and large garlands of colorful blooms are brought into the courtyard and tied along the bridge.

The celebrations will not begin until the portals open and we pilgrims leave this realm. My legs turn to jelly at the thought.

You are braver than any warrior. My grandmother’s words return to me, and I know the truth of them.

The bell of the clock tower chimes eight times, marking the hour, and servants flood into my rooms. Sick anticipation rolls through me as my hair is brushed, pulled, and fixed, and my face is painted. A mirror is brought before me so I can appreciate my maids’ handiwork.

The top half of my hair is braided into a simple crown with fresh white flowers woven into it, and the rest of my fiery curls drape down my back. My full lips are painted in a shade of crushed berries. Colored powders make my already huge, hazel eyes look wide and innocent and the hint of rogue covers some of my freckles and adds to the image.

A sweet harmless human girl, hiding the killer of fae beneath .

The servants then help me into a simple gown of pale sage green wool. It laces at my bust, and the skirts are very narrow, parted discreetly for riding, like wide, flowy pants. Leather boots lace up my shins, with discreet blades tucked into each one.

A maid approaches from behind and drapes an olive cloak over my shoulders and fastens it at my neck, while another holds out a leather satchel to me. It is my only accessory, containing everything I need to take with me. A change of clothes, a needle and thread, contraceptive herbs that will stop my cycle while I travel, a spar blade and so much more.

I leave my chambers in a daze, and follow the sounds of revelry to the small ballroom, where the other pilgrims gather nervously.

We are arranged into a procession by rank, the priestesses at our head, followed by Caitlin, then me, with the lower nobility behind us, then the women of the villages. We appear drab and plain compared to the glory of the priestesses in their showy white gowns, like we are a shadow cast by their brilliant light. They are dressed to inspire awe, and we for travel.

I can’t help smiling at Caitlin’s outfit. She wears a dark blue variation of her guard’s uniform. A light woolen dress that reaches just past her knees, instead of her overcoat, but split at the sides to reveal tight leather pants and knee-high boots. Her cloak is of a deep navy, with slits in the sides for her arms to reach through.

I am surprised they managed to stop her from wearing a sword at her side. There are flowers braided into her hair, and they are at complete odds with the scowl on her face.

My heart twists as the procession begins.

The cool morning air bites my skin as we step outside, moving in our long column through the main courtyard. The usually drab space has a rainbow of petals scattered across the grey pavers and my house banners drape from the inner wall and gatehouse. They billow slightly in the breeze, their flapping the only sound other than our feet clicking on stone.

The line moves across the broad bridge that spans the gap between the castle and the orchards beyond, its entire parapet colonized by freshly picked flowers bound to it with string. A thick mist hides the valley below, with only the treetops visible.

Slow, winding music reaches my ears, and a cheer rises as the high priestess rides her elk onto the road that winds down the hill of the keep. Our people line it on either side, forming a thick tunnel of bodies. The sight of support is uplifting from the bridge, but when I reach the midst of that crowd it becomes utterly overwhelming.

People throw petals at us, reaching out to touch our arms as we pass, and so many smiling faces compete for my attention, waving and calling out my name.

Their joyful voices are incredibly loud.

I am being crushed under all those well-wishers, under those eyes expecting something from me. The world constricts to a sea of faces and of moving bodies that all become alike.

My breaths come hard and fast, as I try to acknowledge every single person who sacrificed their morning for this show of support, but it is too much. I glance at Caitlin. She stares straight ahead, and I use her tall, slim form as an anchoring point. I plaster a smile on my face and wave absently, instead of trying to hold each person’s eye.

Often, I try to give so much more than is expected.

My feet continue on that path of crushed petals as the amalgamation of voices and wind instruments jumble around in my head, causing it to spin, but I keep my spine straight.

The moment I step through the outer gate and leave Appleshield Fortress, it is like a bubble pops. There is not a single person flanking the road through the countryside and the stillness and quiet is incredibly peaceful. A bright blue sky without a single cloud soars above us and the calls of birds are the only songs we need.

Our steps on the paved road take us through rolling meadows with sleepy villages in the distance, past farms and orchards, toward the woods. The great, open expanses of green end at the foot of the woods. My second home.

The stone road leads through a tunnel of gnarled, ancient trees. Their trunks are wider than a man, covered in spongy moss. Their twisted branches reach up to the heavens and white blossoms cover many of the canopies, alongside green sprays of new growth. Rocky outcrops occupy the spaces between the great, snaking roots.

The trek gets much harder in the forest, on a path that has dips and divots, corroded in places, all at a steady incline. I am short on breath as we near our destination.

Not a single woman breaks the formation, not to utter a word or lag behind. This procession is part of the ceremony, symbolizing the journey we are to take. That while we cannot speak to each other, we take this pilgrimage together. There is a strange comfort in that. I am a part of something larger than myself.

Every so often, Caitlin reaches behind and squeezes my arm, if just to reassure herself that I am still there. That she isn’t doing this alone.

The broad path cuts through a narrow valley between two sharp, rocky hills. All those stones and boulders on either side of us seem to be held in place by roots thicker than my arms. Ropey vines hang high over our heads and small ferns grow out of alcoves.

The damp coolness of the forest seeps into my skin, as though spring has not quite arrived here. I pull my cloak tighter, convincing myself it is the air that makes me shiver and not my nervousness.

We pass under the first stone arch, spanning over the road. It has three mermaids chiseled into it, with shells, seawater and fae runes all around them. An ornamental gateway that once honored the Summer Court of the fae.

I hungrily examine every detail as I step under it, despite the chill of foreboding that ripples through my skin.

The next arch represents the autumn court, with engraved leaves scattered around fae with butterfly wings. Winter has a single beautiful woman, completely naked and removing a seal skin from her body, with another selky still in its seal form beside her, snowflakes drifting around them.

A tremor runs through me at the last arch. The Spring Court of the fae, my destination. Something draws me there. Something I cannot quite put my finger on. A massive Cú Sídhe is chiseled in mid-leap across the top of the gate, its skeletal maw wide open and its mossy fur appearing to ripple. Flowers bloom all around it .

The path opens to the Moonstone Labyrinth.

Our procession of priestesses and pilgrims funnel into the huge grassy bowl, cut straight into the surrounding hills of slate and into the circle of stones. Each set of arches and pillars in the circle are cut from immense rectangular slabs. The granite sparkles every shade of grey, with much of its area covered in yellow lichen.

Druids and priestesses line the inside of that stone circle, white robes intermingled with brown, facing The Tower.

My heart skips as the high priestess, my grandmother, takes center of place at the foot of The Tower. I drag my eyes up and up to the top of that tower.

An ancient staircase wraps around its outside, and the strongest magic wielders of the druids and priestesses climb its height.

The Tower is completely hollow, its exterior walls are rows upon rows of arches, and those mages on the stairs are visible through them even when they are on the opposite side of the building. Already figures wait on the platform roof, circling the jade plinth sparkling in the sunlight.

I gather before the high priestess with the other pilgrims, every step made as though through water.

It is then that I hear the music. It is wild and free.

Voices sing in a language I do not recognize, accompanied by the sorrowful sounds of flutes. It comes from the druids that encircle us. Beyond them, outside of the circle of stone arches, are our spectators and supporters. Our loved ones, the court of the Appleshield Protectorate and the royal court.

“The blessing upon you who dare make this pilgrimage to the Otherworld,” the high priestess echoes through the valley, her words projecting through an air wield. “Your sacrifices, your strength and bravery will save our kingdom. All of you gathered here will enrich our realm with precious magic. May the grace of the old gods protect you and speed your steps back to us. When you return, you shall be initiated into the order of the priestesses.”

Caitlin takes my hand and squeezes it. The other pilgrims around me sigh .

“Let the opening ceremony begin!” The high priestess raises her arms directly above her shoulders and tips her head back, ivory and pearl bracelets jingling. My grandmother shoots duel shafts of lightning into the air, dancing and crackling with intense light, then gone a moment later.

Our family never puzzled out where her rare magic originated from.

The fae of the autumn court where my father descends from have the magic of fire and destructive earth. Winter court fae wield ice and water. Spring court fae specialize in creation earth magic and spring rains. The Summer Court fae wield wildfires and sandstorms. All have varying dominions over air magic. None I have read about wield lightning.

All human magic comes from mixing our blood with the fae’s, and there must be more courts that we do not know of.

My gaze travels to the apex of The Tower. The jade plinth glows softly, building in intensity. Magic wielders surround it, mere silhouettes that fuel jets of raw magic into the plinth.

Thick white beams whip out from their forms, glittering with the colors of the rainbow. The light around them intensifies, blinding in its radiance until the people are no longer visible.

I force my eyes away, and black auras dance across my visual field. A knot forms in my throat and a vice clenches my chest.

The melody of the druid’s incantation increases in speed and intensity, those voices growing louder until they reach a deafening note.

The jade plinth explodes green light across the valley.

The power is captured in a great stream of magic like liquid diamonds that shoots down the hollow center of The Tower.

It hits the jade altar beneath and splits in four directions, one for each fae court, quartering the original beam. Those fluid bodies bubble and boil as they hurl into a second set of altars beneath the immense granite arches, and the rainbow flow of raw magic splits again into at least fifty paths, each one slamming into the portals themselves .

Those Otherworld gateways transform immediately, from dirty, dull, unpolished moonstone that was almost indistinguishable from the slate around it, to a rainbow iridescence that could rival diamonds. A light glows from within the moonstone, revealing a swirling mosaic pattern, where before the portals appeared as haphazard pilings of rocks.

Thick, white mists now curl within the entrance of each, rather than the shallow alcoves I had become so accustomed to.

I turn in a full circle, taking in the sight of all those activated portals to the Otherworld. They will be guarded day and night, because now it is just as easy for fae to slip into our realm through them, as it is for us to sneak into theirs.

The portals pull at me. That open connection to the fae lands makes my magic swell beneath my skin. I was born to take this crossing.

A priestess approaches each pilgrim, ready to usher us to our destination. One comes for me, and another for Caitlin.

“We are going together.” Caitlin grips my arm with fingers of bruising strength.

“It is not wise to travel in a group.” A priestess with a silk hood covering her hair and part of her face says.

“Not a group. Just the two of us,” Caitlin cuts in.

“Then please make sure no others take the same portal as us,” I chime in at the same time.

“As you wish. Where are you going?” the priestess replies.

“The Spring Court,” Caitlin says.

The priestess simply walks off, and it takes a moment for us to recover and follow her. She strolls under one archway of the stone circle and stops at the altar before the spring portals.

“It is yours to choose the portal you take,” she says in the most unhelpful manner.

She takes two moonstone bracelets from a pouch at her side and places them on our wrists. I immediately feel a gentle tug of the glowing portals before me.

“Can you sense the pull of the spring portals on the bracelet? ”

We both nod.

“Good.” The priestess purrs. “It contains one stone from each portal. Hold a single bead between your fingers, and it will guide you to the active portal. If you do not feel the call, it means the portals have closed. Do remember that you have until the festival of Beltane to return. It is little over a month in our human realm, but closer to three months in the fae world. Their time moves differently from ours, slower. You may cross now.”

I stare at her, rooted to the spot. Caitlin is so still next to me I wonder if she even breathes. It is our time to cross. There is nothing holding us back. No ceremony left. Our entire bodies have frozen in place

The priestess moves an outstretched arm toward the portals. “Your loved ones are waiting to send you off—or to take you home if you cannot make the crossing.” There is no judgment at all on her face.

My gaze follows her pointing finger.

A tunnel, formed by bodies, arms outstretched and holding branches of orange blossoms. My father and mother are opposite each other at the front, Breanna and Diarmuid beside them. High-ranking members of the guard who are close friends with Caitlin, including Gwyneth. My childhood friends from our court. And at the very end, stands Finan. My heart twists to see him there, looking so out of place. Guilt rolls through me, at the way I have ignored him the past weeks.

The priestesses never revealed this surprise show of support we would receive at our crossing.

I approach my loved ones on shaking legs, with the world spinning around me. I tug Caitlin behind me, our hands interlocked. A tear rolls down my father’s cheek and is lost in his beard, but a huge, proud smile beams across his face. He pulls me into a bear hug, his cheek pressed against mine, then releases me just as quickly.

He holds me before him, examining my face intently, his large green eyes full of emotion and fiery hair in disarray. I pick petals out of his short-cropped beard. “Keira. He may be hunting for you in the Otherworld.” His words die on his lips .

“What? Who?” Panic rears within me.

“Never mind. Keep hidden from the high fae and you will be safe. Remember what they did to your grandmother.” His hands shake slightly where he grips me, then he pulls me into another crushing embrace. Before I can question him, I am passed to my mother.

She gives me a quick squeeze, then brushes my hair with her fingers. “Stay together. You will do well.”

As I pass my brother and sister, I squeeze each of their hands, then offer smiles to the rest of the people. A warmth fills me, lending me the confidence to conquer the world.

I finally reach Finan and crumble into his arms. He holds me so tight, kissing my cheek, then my hair, and I almost don’t want to leave. In this moment of fear and vulnerability, I nearly forgive him and want to stay in his safe arms instead of crossing into the unknown.

He pulls back. “There is no convincing you to stay?” Tears form at the corners of his eyes as I shake my head. “The temptation to hold you here and never let you go is incredibly strong, but your father will throttle me. I won’t leave Appleshield until you return. I don’t care how long it takes.”

I nod, then peel his hands from me. Caitlin’s grip finds mine and tugs me along those crucial steps toward our portal. She scrubs tears from her face with a single, angry swipe of her sleeve.

The moonstone gate vibrates with magic. It is a sweet song that beckons us to the Otherworld, daring us to take the leap. I become entranced by its beauty and there is no doubt in my mind of what I need to do.

Mists curl from its depths, obscuring what lays beyond the veil.

Caitlin’s hand wrapped around mine is an anchoring point, as we step through the portal. Brilliant white light burns my eyes and the high-pitched melody of magic overrides all other sounds. The mist curls in thick tendrils around us, blocking my sight of my own feet, moving sluggishly across our path as I breathe it in, damp, heavy, and scented with flowers.

We take one sturdy step after another, on an even ground that doesn’t feel completely solid. An ethereal calm settles over me. Our slow march seems to last a lifetime as we cross realms and universes, stretching on and on, but is also over within no time at all.

The mist thins, swirling quickly and parting to reveal a circle of light at the end of the tunnel, one that grows to show the trees beyond. The music dims until Caitin’s panting breaths are audible again…and other sounds from the Otherworld beyond.

I strain to understand what my senses are detecting. Shouts, the winnowing of horses and the grunts of beasts. A high-pitched snickering. The scent of trampled earth hits me, with the iron tang of blood. Sporadic clangs of metal hitting metal scream out and I grab Caitlin’s arm as panic flashes through me.

I know those sounds. They are not dissimilar to the thick of a fight on a hunt.

We are walking into a battle.

I try to scurry backward in the portal, but the ground gives no purchase. It only continues to push us forward. The wall of mist continues to clear.

At the center of that parting, a man stands on top of a massive, crumbling tree stump. The long sword gripped in his hand drips with black blood as he surveys his surroundings.

Dark brown hair flows down to his shoulders, framing a severe face that is all sharp angles. Thick bands of black war paint accentuate the hard planes of his high cheekbones, sharp jaw and straight nose. His intense gaze is mostly hidden in shadows. Narrow, branching horns adorn either side of his head, like a crown of twigs.

I forget to breathe. Every single rational thought escapes me. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I cannot drag my gaze away, soaking up every inch of him.

It doesn’t matter that he wears battle armor of brown leather and bronzed metal plate, that each segment of the shoulder guards end in spikes and adorned with fae runes. My scrutiny dips down to where the leather is unlaced over his deeply tanned chest, revealing rippling muscles beneath. The blood splattered across him doesn't even register.

I want to reach out and touch him .

Caitlin tugs me to the side and I stumble, but I can’t drag my gaze away. I am completely transfixed.

His amber eyes flick up to me and narrow, holding my gaze with simmering intensity, as broad eyebrows crease over them. His stare does not lift from me, even as his sword slices through the air and cleaves a treelike beast in front of him, spraying more black blood. A spriggan. Those beasts are spriggans.

I know without a doubt this brutal, beautiful man is high fae .

And we are to avoid high fae at all costs.

Our misty shroud disappears completely, and we step into a high fae battle almost completely unarmed.