The Evolution of Fae and Gods (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 3)

“You’re back,” Rebsha notes in his deep, slightly exotic voice.

“We’d like to see the queen,” Carrick says, but this is a given. No other reason for us to be here.

“She’s in the gardens,” Rebsha says, ushering us both in. “I’ll take you to her.”

Rebsha offers me a slight tip of his head, which is completely opposite of the normal glares I get from the Light Fae, who hate almost all humans. Rebsha told me once he didn’t harbor those prejudices, but he’d kill me in a heartbeat if his queen ordered it.

We follow Rebsha through long, wide hallways with crystal walls and white marble floors, the monochromatic scheme making my eyes hurt. We pass a few of the lower-class Light Fae in their drab servant’s outfits with their eyes downcast.

All the way through the cavernous castle, we follow the queen’s advisor to the back crystal veranda that has a multi-level sweeping staircase down to the gardens below.

I had somehow pictured in my mind that Nimeyah might be clipping roses to bring inside or something like that, but, in reality, she is lounging in a gazebo in a frothy gown in various shades of orange and purple. Laying sideways on a chaise, she holds a chalice with some sort of beverage in her hand. I’m relieved to see she’s alone.

Well, I’ll be fully honest… I’m relieved to see her daughter, Princess Deandra, isn’t with her because I’m not keen to watch her overt display of sexual flirtation with Carrick like on our last visit. He may not have been mine then, but he is now, even if I’m not quite clear if he thinks so, too.

Regardless, it’s enough that I think it.

Rebsha leads Carrick and I right up to the pavilion, but he doesn’t announce us. He merely tips a short bow to Nimeyah and sweeps his hand, gesturing for us to enter.

I follow Carrick up the three short steps and watch as he moves to the queen, bends, and gives her an air kiss near each cheek.

“Carrick… I didn’t expect you back so soon,” she exclaims, her eyes flitting to me. “Nor did I expect you to bring the rabble with you either.”

I’ve come to learn a lot about the fae in the last few months, the biggest being that they are arrogant, prideful, snide, and full of themselves. At least with the Dark Fae, they have more evil inside, and one could say it might be expected. But it’s just tacky and tasteless the way the Light Fae behave.

Carrick doesn’t move to defend me, nor do I expect him to. If the offense bothered me, I’d say something, but I came back to Faere fully resolved to let any insult roll right off my back. Engaging would do nothing but possibly get me killed, but more likely cause Carrick to get into a vicious fight to defend my honor.

“I have something very important to discuss with you,” Carrick says in a low voice, his tone sounding as grave as the situation clearly warrants.

“Shall I call the family?” Nimeyah asks as she sits up and swings her legs off the chaise. Her husband, Deandra, and Pyke make up the entirety of the royal family, and I believe they may be the only ones allowed to offer counsel.

“Actually,” Carrick replies, taking a moment to gaze around to see if anyone is nearby. “What we have to discuss is for your ears only, and I need your binding word that you will not relay it to another soul.”

“Binding? Really?” she exclaims with eyebrows raised.

I don’t exactly know what “binding” means between a demi-god and queen of the Light Fae, but I know that they had to clasp hands and some weird light rope wrapped around them in that Harry Potter movie. I believe death was the penalty for breaking your word.

I wait for something like that to happen, but Carrick merely stares at Nimeyah. Finally, she waves an impatient hand and says, “Fine. I admit I’m curious enough to hear what you have to say, so I agree to a binding.”

Apparently, that’s all that’s needed because Carrick moves to a chair to Nimeyah’s left and points to the one beside him for me to take. No cool ritual is performed, nor any poetic words of promise spoken—just her agreement to be bound to keep this conversation private. I make a note to ask Carrick later what the consequences are if she breaks the promise.

“Help yourself to anything on the table,” Nimeyah says to Carrick. The offer isn’t extended to me, but Carrick says, “No thank you.”

“Then speak,” she demands imperiously. “For I have other pressing matters.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes as I sit quietly.

“When we were here last, you never asked why I wanted to see The Scryer,” Carrick says by way of introduction to the topic. “Did Pyke tell you?”