Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

He wants me. Despite our past, despite my family’s behavior, he wants me.

Stop. Don’t think about him. This isn’t the time or place.

I add a few more layers of glamour in an effort to hide my arousal. I have no intention of Mother discovering Smith’s new hold over me. And if she were to discover it, there’s no doubt it would be today. Several servants and guards I passed this morning warned me she was not to be disturbed, that her mood was volatile. As her son, I ignored their warnings, said a quick prayer, and came to find her anyway.

They weren’t exaggerating. I pick my way carefully over the sheet of ice that has crept out from under Mother’s door and knock once. A sharp prick of magick from inside, and the door opens with a gust of wind.

She hasn’t bothered to turn to look at me, still too focused on her scrying mirror. The flawless ice is surrounded by candles which illuminate Mother’s face, but little else in the room. I step farther inside, close the door quietly behind me, and listen intently to the conversation still taking place.

“Your Majesty,” the woman in the mirror continues, “we assure you, we will speak with the other pantheons and express our concerns, but there has been no evidence of corroboration. We would advise you to proceed with caution if you take defensive measures.”

Mother inclines her head, the candlelight reflecting off her ornate silver crown. “My deepest thanks, Mahakali. The Winter Court will obey the Pantheons’ missives.”

A shudder and the scrying ends. I wait, barely daring to breathe, and subtly brace against my glamour, shielding myself.

The explosion of Mother’s magick doesn’t come close to me. Instead, the icy blast of wind snuffs out all the candles in the room, along with her fire. All heat vanishes, and I wince when my eyes and skin frost over as her power seeps through my glamour. A heartbeat later, the frost is gone and I can breathe without fear of freezing my lungs.

Sure her rare outburst is over, I stretch my glamour to the fireplace, summoning a lick of flame, and then move to the candles. I go beyond those near her mirror, working on all in the room. Their wicks snap and pop as they illuminate the space, revealing Mother’s motionless form.

It was an important call for her to have dressed so ornately. She hates the trappings of royalty, yet she chose one of her regalia costumes: a shimmering, fluttering dress of sapphire blue coated in whorls of frost, accented with a wisp of a cape fashioned from stardust. The crown is one I recognize from my childhood. She’s only worn it twice that I can remember, on jubilees she celebrated with her people. The silver is ancient, heavy, handcrafted by Picts who worshipped her in her youth.

She removes it with reverence, setting it carefully on the table beneath the mirror. Without its weight, her body seems to lighten, and she gives me an appraising look. “As delighted as I am to see you, mo leanbh, I didn’t expect you to have time to meet me until later.”

I keep my glamour in place, afraid I’ll inadvertently give away a clue of how flustered Smith made me. “Can’t a son change his plans without provoking his mother’s suspicion?”

“No,” she says, eyes narrowing.

I didn’t think she’d buy it. I sigh and stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “You said we had a great deal to discuss this weekend. I thought we could start early.”

“Very well. Do you have the names of the Seelie students yet?”

“I’m working on it. I have to collect them through word of mouth and then verify with their friends or students who were in the same class. It’s taking longer than planned.”

She tilts her head in consideration, and I wonder just how many of my mannerisms were stolen from her without intention. “What have you learned so far?”

I shrug. “So far I can confirm thirty-one students who have left, most of them children of the aristocracy. That’s probably why the high-caste hasn’t thrown any parties in a while and why I’ve received fewer reports from harassed students.”

“Princess Aileen is one who returned home,” Mother says, lifting a single finger and motioning for me to spin around. “Goodfellow delivered the news to me the week after the ball.”

I turn. Aileen retreated back to the Seelie sídhe. That explains why there hasn’t been any follow-up to our discussion. “Are you hungry?” I ask. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Not yet.” Her cool hand clutches the crook of my elbow, so I glance over. I can’t hide my smile when I notice she’s changed back into her familiar garb, a heavy, simple dress designed for comfort over elegance.

“You need to eat,” I chide gently, leading her from her chambers.

The corner of her mouth twitches. “You intend to lecture me, Roark?”

“No, Mother.”

She pats my arm absently. “Let’s eat first. The rest can wait.”

The halls of the sídhe bustle with Unseelie who bow or incline their heads respectfully as we pass before they continue on their way. Normally a small army of hobs, redcaps, and various goblins keep the sídhe running. They wander unobtrusively through the warren of corridors, polite, but focused on not disturbing the royal family. Today, I can’t manage to accurately tally the varied classes of Unseelie we pass.

“It seems...crowded,” I comment as Mother and I narrowly sidestep a tiny, floating lutin who’s focused on plaiting knots into a frost sprite’s hair.

“I’ve invited our subjects to move back to the sídhe in preparation for the Samhain festivities.”

“Of course.” The festivities, while grand, never require the assistance of all the Unseelie host. Mother’s moving her pieces into position. How soon will she start maneuvering me?