My people—my Court—shout it to the gods. I close my eyes and let the rumbling echo of their words wash over me. The legend of our Darkest Court has begun.
Epilogue
One Year Later... Keiran
The Seelie queen stands in the doorway of Meðalhall, her hair braided back out of her face, and her delicate golden circlet nowhere in sight. Since the Pantheon delegates left two days ago after the end of the Accords, she hasn’t bothered with such formalities. I know now, after hosting the monarchs of Summer and Winter Courts for several weeks, that the path we three take forward into the future is not the complicated dance I once feared. After hours of sitting through meetings together, Aislinn, Roark, and I are comrades in arms at the least, tentative friends at the best.
And this must be one of those best moments, since Aislinn murmurs, “I’m going to miss Eyjar,” when I come to stand beside her. This new camaraderie is strange. The Seelie are not the monsters I’ve hated all my life, not anymore. Aislinn is kind and brilliant and the Summer Court will thrive under her steady hands. She is going to miss Eyjar, but I’m shocked to find I’m going to miss her after she takes her leave of us.
We watch the bustle outside the open doors of Meðalhall together. The Summer Court’s retainers and guards finish the last of their travel preparations. Their task would likely go faster if my huscarls weren’t arguing over the most picturesque route to take back to the Seelie sídhe and trying to convince Fuad, Aislinn’s captain of the guard, to give up her planned route in favor of theirs. Despite their best efforts, I don’t think they’re going to win this argument. The woman’s detailed maps put Armel’s to shame.
“I’ve wanted to travel for so long, and this holiday ended far too quickly,” Aislinn says.
“You’re always welcome to visit,” I tell her. “Now that the Accords are over, you can come for a real holiday.”
Her smile is sweet and shy, as warm as the last rays of the summer sunshine against our faces. “I would like that very much. You and Lugh are gracious hosts and your people...” She laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t understand how our Courts underestimated them for so long. We were fools.”
“Already the stories from this visit are spreading through the Wylds,” I say. “You and Roark have done much to prove your dedication to healing the wounds of the past. The Sluagh may not believe your promises yet, but with time, they will.”
“I’m sure our agreement on the formal recognition of your Court by the Pantheon hasn’t hurt their opinions,” a dry voice behind me remarks.
Roark walks toward us. His time in Eyjar seems to have given him a much-needed break from the weight of the Winter Court’s crown. Gone are his formal, modern suits, replaced with the thick, warm weave of Sluagh garments. He’s even let his hair fall over his forehead. I’ve no doubt much of his ease comes from how quickly Smith took to our life here. The farm boy said it reminded him of home and even convinced Roark to stay two weeks longer, a surprise Lugh crowed about once he heard the good news.
“It hasn’t,” I agree.
He snorts when I don’t offer any sort of compliment in return, but settles in behind me and Aislinn to watch the farce play out as the last of the horses and wagons and trade goods are put in place.
“Lugh’s cutting it a little close, isn’t he?” Roark asks. He looks to Aislinn with a raised brow. “I thought you wanted to leave before midday.”
She shrugs. “If we have to stop for another night along the way, I won’t mind. It’s Sebastian who’s eager to get home.”
As much as I like Sebastian visiting, I understand his need to return home and continue improving the lives of others. The Seelie sídhe doesn’t require his presence, but the Green Man’s magick fits best there and there’s still so much left to do. The past year, as the powers of Faerie have rebalanced, both Summer and Winter Courts have been blessed by the resurgence of magickal power. Even the Sluagh have noticed the wealth of magick returning to nature. Some of our worst-hit lands have seen improved crops and better lives for their residents, especially as the shades who blighted the land have found their way to Tir na nÓg through the paths Lugh reopened when the Triumvirate was resettling.
“Roark?”
“Here, Smith,” he drawls, never looking back.
Smith joins us a moment later, his hair mussed and his body relaxed. He drapes himself over Roark, who reaches up to clasp a hand around his husband’s scarred forearm without conscious thought. During the battle, Mab failed to channel the ley line’s magick through the Knight’s bond. The treelike branches of pink scars from the ley line’s uncontrolled burst stretch up from the collar of Smith’s tunic and twist around the column of his neck, disappearing under his hair. He’s not self-conscious about the physical reminders of his brush with death and doesn’t bother hiding them, which has earned him more than one approving nod or comment from the Sluagh. He’ll never have to worry about taking such damage again, now that Roark sits on the throne and shares power with him.
“Are they back yet?” Smith asks no one in particular.
“Not yet,” Roark tells him. “Lugh’s doing his best to fit in all the bonding time he can with Sláine.”
I snort at Roark’s poorly disguised jealousy. Blessed Frigga, I love Lugh for his passion and daring. He’s courageous with his heart and every day I wake up beside him, I pray to the gods to help me emulate him. Since Mab’s death, Lugh has been the one to reach out to his brothers. He shamelessly uses his status as the youngest to force their compliance with his wild ideas and late-night talks. He’s devoted himself to helping them all find their footing together in this new world and they are more united now, after Mab’s death, than they ever were during her life.
He admitted last night he’s afraid they’ll lose this new bond though when everyone returns home. It’s why he took Sebastian and Sláine out for a final ride with the Hunt before they leave today. Sláine doesn’t intend to visit again until spring or summer, and Lugh wanted one last chance to clear the air with him. I’ve no idea how long their conversation will take, but I hope it gives Lugh the answers he needs before his family separates again.
“Have you asked them yet?” Smith asks Roark. It seems a private conversation, but I’m sure Smith chose to ask at this moment in an effort to force Roark’s hand.
“Do either of you have plans for Samhain?” Roark asks me and Aislinn.
She purses her lips. “Other than the Rite Hibernum, no. Aileen intends to stay in Delos longer, so our Court won’t be entertaining any guests.”
“Lugh and I have no plans,” I say.
“You’ll join us then,” Roark says. He acts as if we’ve just accepted an invitation despite his never offering us one. “I’d like to establish celebrations for all of Faerie. The stronger our ties, the better the relationships we may be able to grow between our people. And since Goodfellow’s dead, we don’t have to worry about anyone else bleeding the magick out between Courts through the emissary.” Smith clears his throat loudly and Roark huffs before adding, “Of course, it would be nice to see you all again. Court won’t...” He frowns and trails off.
“It won’t be the same without you,” Smith finishes quietly. “The last year has been lonely. Coming together like this is good.”