The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

They all look away from him.

“Traitors,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Seidhr.”

He glares at me while he eats his new slice. “A while, okay? You were asleep so I got up and gave you a blanket and came downstairs and Cybel woke up and we’ve been sitting down here talking until you joined us.”

I glance across the table at Cybel. He doesn’t say a word, but the way he risks a look at the front door tells me enough. “You were going to go for a ride?”

Lugh’s mouth drops open, exposing the half-chewed bread. It is disgustingly unattractive. “I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to. It’s what you always do. We don’t have time to spend exploring.”

We all look toward the doors at the unexpected sound of hoofbeats outside, our mood changing from relaxed to attentive in a moment. Drest rises, half-eaten slice of bread still in hand, and moves to the door. Whatever he sees outside must be good, because he grins and lifts a hand in greeting. He glances back over his shoulder toward us. “Visitors,” he declares.

“This early?” Lugh mumbles. “Who is it?”

A trio of figures appears behind Drest in the doorway. The moment the leader steps into the dim light of the hall, we all give up hoots and cries of welcome. Voll, the huscarl of this territory, shakes her head at our greeting, as though we’re a group of rowdy children, not the legendary Horned King and his Wild Hunt.

“When I heard rumors that the Horned King had arrived in my lands,” she muses on her way toward us, “I refused to believe it. Surely he wouldn’t come here and steal my glory by killing the creature attacking this village. Surely he wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh,” Lugh says deadpan, “he dared and he succeeded.”

Voll and Lugh stare at each other for a long moment before they both burst into simultaneous laughter. She strides forward to close the rest of the distance and wraps him in a spine-crushing hug, which he returns with equal fervor. Voll’s attendants, two young warriors I don’t recognize, try to hide their awe when they see their leader’s friendly response to the Horned King. I doubt they know the depth of our history.

Voll is one of the most loyal Northern huscarls to Thegn Aage and the closest thing Lugh has to an aunt. She and Aage grew up watching our rise to fame in the Wylds. In the bloody power struggles that arose after Thegn Svend’s death, Voll and Aage were a united force, and the Hunt fought beside them. When Aage won those battles and took on his position as thegn over all the Sluagh, he declared Lugh would retain his title of Horned King. Voll was the first huscarl to stand and declare her allegiance to the old traditions and offices, and her fiery defense of the Sluagh’s ancient practices is likely the reason we’re still revered here in the North. Lugh’s admiration and fondness for her only increased after that moment, and his continued return to explore and defend her lands means his legend is probably strongest here.

She finally breaks away from Lugh to greet the rest of us in the Hunt. Drest hugs her, murmuring something quiet in her ear as they embrace. She nods at whatever he says and moves on to Armel and Cybel, who greet her with equal warmth. Armel even dares to press a kiss to her cheek, which makes her flush like a maid from the old tales. By the time she reaches me, I’ve already stood. Her blond braid shimmers with silver as it swings when she tilts her head up to look at me.

“Poet,” she says, voice warm and fond, “have you already spun the story of yesterday’s battle?”

“Of course,” I answer. “Perhaps sometime we could visit you and share it.”

“You’re always welcome in my hall. You know how my people love your presence in our lands.” Her mouth purses slightly. “Though it sounds as if you don’t expect to stop by so

on.”

“Our duty is to the thegn,” Lugh remarks. He takes his seat once again and gestures to an open space in invitation. Voll accepts the offer after dismissing her attendants to care for the horses.

Once they’ve left and the hall goes quiet once again, she glances quickly at all our faces and asks somberly, “Does he know you ride to Eyjar?”

“We haven’t sent word ahead,” Lugh admits. “Our decision to visit arose recently.”

Voll makes a thoughtful sound. “Have you planned your route yet?”

Armel glances toward me. Something in Voll’s seemingly casual question sets both our senses off. He dips a hand into his jacket and pulls out our main map, unfolding it and laying it across the table where Voll can see it too. “No. Is there something we should be aware of?”

For the first time, she looks uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat and attempts to shrug, but the frown twisting her mouth doesn’t leave. “I’m not sure. Some traders recently returned from the Mainland and brought...troubling rumors with them. It may be nothing, but I sent a messenger to Aage to see what counsel he could give.”

“What kind of rumors?” Lugh asks. He prepares another slice of bread, but his methodical movements give away his thoughtfulness.

She draws a short seax, one of the blades we gave her ages ago in battle, and taps at one of the areas we’ve frequented in the past while traveling. “The trade in Bouchard’s territory was poor. Fewer items available. And the hospitality was lacking, my traders said. Closed ranks against visitors. The land gave little for the harvest, so food wasn’t offered freely.” Voll sheathes her knife, accepts Lugh’s proffered slice of bread, and takes a delicate bite. “We may need to find new trade partners to ensure we’re prepared for winter.”

“Not much time left for that,” I say.

She wrinkles her nose and nods. “Aye. That’s a concern I’ve heard frequently, especially as the pantheons still refuse to trade with us.” She takes another bite, then sets down the bread, inspecting her fingers for stray jam. “We’ll manage without anyone’s help though. We always have.”

“Is that why you came here?” Lugh asks suddenly. “Checking this village is ready for winter?”