The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

“Are we returning to the sídhe then?” Armel asks.

“No. She just wanted to warn us to be careful,” I lie. I hold Keiran’s gaze and add, “She understands how important our current task is.”

An ominous air hangs over the table. Cybel glances from me to Keiran, suspicious of our mutual silence and wordless conversation. “How supportive of her,” he muses.

Drest, as always, is the one to open his big mouth and ask the question no one else dares voice. “If that happened to Prince Lyne, how much danger are you in? You don’t think Aage would strike against us like this, do you?”

I drag my spoon through the porridge and try to think. There’s no reason for Aage to condone such hostilities against our Court, since they would only result in bloodshed. The fact that only three Sluagh were involved speaks to an unsanctioned attack. Those responsible for Roark’s suffering are dead, so there’s no direct threat from them, although they may have other friends in the Wylds. The focus on Roark is what disturbs me most. Roark’s dangerous and more than capable of caring for himself. Everyone knows he’s our Triumvirate’s pillar. He’s Mother’s right hand and his loss would likely shatter us. With Sláine’s defection and my own aversion to the sídhe’s magick, it would be all too easy to topple our Court. If the Seelie wanted to beat us in this war, Roark’s fall would be the ultimate prize. The fact that it was Sluagh—not Seelie—who managed to take him unawares and torture and nearly kill him doesn’t make sense. This is the most direct attack we’ve ever fended off, and I can’t make heads or tails of it. Who knows what danger we might be heading into?

“I doubt Aage knows of it, especially since he seems unaware of his people’s struggles in the Wylds. I think we’re safe for now,” I say slowly. “We stay the course.”

Keiran supports me without hesitation, though he clarifies, “We ride for Eyjar?”

“We must.”

Armel nods. “At least three weeks’ ride.”

“If we find hospitable locals,” Drest adds. He scowls and hands his bowl over to Armel. “Took us a while to convince the locals to let us stay the night. Supplies are low here. Elsewhere too. Apparently, Aage hasn’t been sending the aid he’s promised. Supporters of the thegn are in even shorter supply in these parts. Supporters of the old ways as well.”

“Perfect,” I mutter.

The Mainland Wylds are already more difficult to travel through, thanks to the unavoidable presence of the Summer Court and its people. We can’t risk capture by King Oberon’s forces, which limits safe travel routes. If the Sluagh are arguing over resources, we’ll have to plan our resupplying stops more carefully. This could stretch into a highly uncomfortable trip in short order. Worse, if rogue Sluagh are hunting for the Unseelie royal family, I’m going to have to put serious effort into maintaining my glamour. That’ll mean more rest, more caution around settlements... Herne and the hunters, this is going to be awful.

“We’ll get the horses,” Cybel tells me. He and the men clean up their mess swiftly and leave Keiran and me to our meager breakfast.

Once we’re alone, Keiran sets down his spoon and leans across the table, so close our heads nearly butt together. “Lugh—”

“I know.” The disappointment is even harder to swallow than this porridge.

He sighs, but presses on anyway. “I’m sorry. We can keep an eye out for signs of this shadow man as we ride, but we need to reach Aage swiftly. If someone attacked Prince Lyne—”

“They’re serious about the war,” I finish. “No one would risk Roark’s wrath, or Mother’s, otherwise. This complicates everything.”

“It doesn’t have to. We get to Eyjar and learn what Aage knows of this mess.” He smooths a hand over his beard. “I can’t imagine him being involved in this.”

“Nor I,” I agree.

Keiran nods. “Good then. We warn him of these usurpers and hopefully after we sort that out, we’ll see what help he can offer the Winter Court. Then we’ll contact Queen Mab and decide our next steps.”

“And if he has to stop Sluagh from breaking the neutrality? If he can’t help with our war?”

Keiran shrugs. “Then at least we know we’ll be facing death when it begins.”

I make a face and dig out another spoonful of porridge. It’s cooler now, congealing, and it feels like a heavy lump of clay as I swallow it down. “You’re so cheery this morning.”

He takes one final mouthful of porridge and stands, taking his bowl with him. “You don’t like cheery. You like honest.”

I like you, I want to say. I’ve always liked you. But the words stay lodged in my throat, even after he follows the others. Maybe it’s better that way.

Keiran

“We don’t have to stop,” Cybel says as we look down the hill at the drab, muddy village below. His words leave his mouth in puffs of steam, a reminder of how quickly winter’s approaching, and I hope we aren’t still here, relying on dismal hospitality, when the first of the storms hit in earnest. “We have enough to make it until the next village.”

Lugh flexes his hands on the reins, stretching the material of his gloves tight over his knuckles. “We’d be cutting it too close if weather comes. The hunting’s been abysmal, and there’s not much left to gather along the way. This is the largest village between here and Eyjar. If we don’t stop now, we may not find anywhere else that can help us.” He glances to me. “How much tribute do we have left?”

I’m glad I checked the saddlebag holding our treasures this morning. “Doing well, despite everyone’s best efforts to fleece us.”

The past weeks have grown steadily worse. What started as limited and expensive supplies available has now given way to limited, expensive, and rancid supplies. Small rooms in the halls that were difficult to find are now impossible dreams; we spend almost every night camping, and aren’t greeted with any kindness when we dare to cross into a township proper. Lugh’s sick of it. It’s not just our ill-treatment that bothers him; everywhere we stop, we hear of Aage’s negligence and the impact it has on the locals. I know Lugh is struggling as he plans how best to confront our old friend. Neither of us wants to accept that Aage is no longer the reliable man we’ve known for years, but the reality we see in the Wylds is too stark to deny away. Even if Aage is an unwitting accomplice in his people’s suffering, I worry it will tarnish his image in Lugh’s eyes, leaving him with one less ally to his lonely position.