The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

“See you soon, brother,” Sláine replies.

Roark and Smith return to their chambers, but we stay to watch long after the Seelie leave Eyjar. Long after the gate shuts and rattles the wood under our feet. Long after the watchmen abandon this section of wall completely, realizing we’re not going anywhere for a while. We stay until all the tension bleeds from Lugh’s body as he stares off into the distance, toward the point where his brother disappeared into the mountains. He hums when I undo my cloak and drape it over his back, but doesn’t move.

Maybe he wants to be alone. Except, the first step I take toward the stairs makes Lugh lift his head and pin me in place with a confused look.

“Going somewhere?” he asks.

“I didn’t know if you wanted company,” I explain.

“If it’s you, always.”

“Then what’s on your mind, seidhr,” I tease gently, returning to his side and resting my arm around his shoulders.

He smiles a little when he hears the familiar title. After our return to Eyjar, the Sluagh demanded Lugh return to the position. Apparently, witnessing his interactions with the shades on the battlefield impressed all the people of the Wylds, even those who had fought against us. The sight of his horned helm rising once more was one of my greatest joys as I settled into the thegnship, and his legend has only spread as he travels the Wylds to assist those Sluagh—the living and the dead—recovering from the war. The best man I know stands at my side and will until the end.

“Roark said we’re going back to visit for Samhain,” he says.

Of course Roark would phrase it that way. “We can, but only if you want to.”

“I do. I don’t think the shades will be as bad now. Most have found their path,” he explains, only to fall silent the next moment. After a beat, he says, “I keep looking for her, you know. Usually when I’m riding and hear a raven, or when I see something from the corner of my eye.”

I press a kiss to his temple and draw him closer. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t tell if it’s good or bad when she’s not there,” he admits. “That’s the only thing that bothers me. I told Sláine, and he understood. He says every time he hears someone say Your Majesty to Aislinn in a royal audience, he remembers Mother’s gone. Roark doesn’t talk about it. Finny said he put the chess sets in Mother’s chamber before sealing it. I guess he’s too busy to think about it much.”

Lugh’s hair is soft against my face when I nuzzle closer. “That’s not it,” I assure him. “Just give him time.”

“It’ll never go away, will it?”

I think of Halfur’s laugh and the rattle of my mother’s beads swaying as she moved about the house and the heft of my father’s axe in my hand. “No,” I answer, “but it gets easier.”

He fiddles with the edge of my cloak. “Do you mind me talking about her? She was awful to you, and I—”

“She was your mother. You talk whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

He turns at that, lips curved in a wistful smile, and presses his mouth to mine in agreement. Gods, yes, this. The only moments in this life that matter. He laughs when the kiss deepens and I groan, needier from the sound of his unbridled joy. He runs his fingers through my hair, urges me closer and closer, and I give up on propriety and hoist him up on the wall, settling between his thighs. His mouth is sweeter than mead and I drown in him. He eventually draws away, distracted by a flock of birds overhead. His head tilts back as he follows their path across the sky, and he smiles at whatever thoughts they bring to his mind.

Happy thoughts, I pray to the gods. Let him be happy here with me forever. You’ve proven miracles are possible, so bless us with this too.

We stay huddled together on the battlements, holding each other close, finally free to marvel at the wonder of our future. The world moves around us. Summer’s end means preparing the fields outside Eyjar for harvest and golden sunsets and soft blankets and murmured promises beneath the purple night sky. We’ll have crisp dawns as autumn crawls closer, with snow on the far-off mountains and cider-sweet kisses shared around campfires. There’ll be shining holly leaves with their bright crimson berries against Lugh’s hair when I crown him and laughter as we lead the Hunt through the lands on a wild Yule ride. Summer’s end has been, and always will be, the beginning of everything.

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