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With a feeling of extreme trepidation, I took a step closer to the raised platform. There was a set of short stairs leading up toward the throne, and I stepped up onto the lowest one.
At that moment, the crowd seemed to part, and I stopped to see what they were all looking at.
My feet froze in place, and my jaw dropped open when Ambrose strode purposefully from the depths of the golden tent, his dark gaze fixed intently on me. I blinked rapidly and my heart skipped a traitorous beat.
I’d always had trouble picturing Ambrose amongst the glittering seelie court. He was certainly handsome, and carried himself with a raw power and confidence that could only be attributed to royalty. Still, there was something a bit too wild and unrefined about him that didn’t seem to belong here among all the golden silk.
Now, I saw clearly that I’d been wrong.
The male striding toward us didn’t look like he’d ever seen a battlefield. His hair was loose and perfectly styled to hide his tattoos and pierced ears behind a curtain of gleaming silver. Like Scion, he wore silver rings on each of his long fingers, and his blue silk jacket was open at the collar, showing just a hint of his muscled chest.
I swallowed thickly, finding my throat had gone dry.
Clearing my throat, I smiled widely by way of greeting, thinking that whatever I said he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the tittering crowd. To my surprise, Ambrose didn’t acknowledge me. In fact, as he grew closer, I noticed something slightly manic in his expression.
He stopped in front of us, breathing heavily. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I startled, taken aback by the anger in his tone, so at odds with the refined picture of elegance that was his persona tonight.
“We stepped out,” Scion snapped, moving to stand more firmly in front of me. “That alright with you?”
Ambrose growled in frustration, and it was only then that I saw how his eyes were slightly unfocused, as if he were pretending to look at me but really staring at some distant point over my shoulder. I glanced behind me, and found nothing worth looking at.
I suddenly remembered the comment that Bael had made to me in passing–that seers were often out of touch with reality, and seemed strange when in the midst of a vision.
I assessed him more carefully, just as a bead of sweat rolled down Ambrose’s temple and disappeared into his silver bright hair. He looked almost feverish.
“Wait,” I hissed, putting out a hand to hold Scion back. "What’s wrong with him?”
Scion cocked his head, glaring at his brother. Then he stiffened, and I could practically feel the moment he saw what I did. “What did you see?” he demanded urgently, his entire demeanor changing on a dime.
Ambrose blinked rapidly, his eyes sliding in and out of focus. He reached out and gripped Scion’s forearm so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and I knew if he’d grabbed me like that my arm would have snapped. “Take her to the healer,” he said. “Go now.”
Scion looked at me, and I could see the conflict swirling behind his eyes. Before any of us could say or do anything, however, my dread came to fruition.
I heard Bael’s voice over the crowd, calling to me and I turned over my shoulder to see him beckoning to the other side of the dais. The druidic priest had already taken his position in front of the enormous carved obsidian throne and was watching me, silent and staring.
In the same sharp moment I realized that the music had quieted. The crowd around me had stopped their shouting and laughing, and now only whispers rippled through the mass of assembled high Fae.
“I have to go,” I muttered to Scion and Ambrose. “We can sort this out after.”
“Wait!” Scion called after me.
But then, some melodious bell rang out over the evening, seeming to signal to all that we were about to begin. The wisp lanterns on the edges of the clearings went out, leaving only the dais illuminated and then, to my horror, the entire crowd moved as one.
Every single member of the court fell to their knees in a deep low bow, leaving only me, Scion, Ambrose and the priest standing. I couldn’t even see Bael, and wasn’t sure if he’d decided to bow or not, but as my gaze flitted over in that direction I caught sight of another figure standing in the shadows of the waywoods.
Idris had not bowed, and was instead leaning against a tree watching me.
A shiver traveled down my spine and I faltered wanting to get as far away from this place as I could.
Except, then the druid was holding out a hand to me and somehow I was taking it, allowing him to pull me up onto the stage.
Here, I felt almost dizzy staring out over the crowd of bowing fairies. I knew from past experience that I had to tell them to rise or they might stay like that forever, passing out or falling asleep where they knelt rather than disobeying the custom. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any moment in which to address them.
The druid began to speak, addressing the crowd. After a long moment in which my brain struggled to make sense of what he was saying, I realized that I didn’t understand him. Not only in an intellectual sense, but I literally did not speak the language. He was saying something undoubtedly important, but he was saying it in the old language of the Fae. The language that was spoken in Nevermore and by most nobles, but had never been taught to me growing up in the kitchens.
I felt sweat bead on my brow and a nervous heat crept over my skin. What if he asked me something important? What if I had to agree to some bargain or pact that I didn’t understand?
