Fated Crown by Eva Chase
Chapter Six
Sylas
With a heaved breath and a low intonation of the true name, I urge the wood I’m shaping to expand out, filling out the walls of the room. It’s slow, focused work, and after a few hours adding to the construction of the border castle without a break, a headache is starting to form at my temples. We’re so close to completing the plans Corwin and I laid out that I haven’t wanted to waste any moments I can spare on the project.
I step back, studying the outside of the building and rolling my shoulders. Whitt nods to me from across the field where he’s been adding details to a room on the other side of our end of the castle.
At least we’re no longer having to work immersed in the border haze. The farthest reaches of the structure now spill out into the grassy field on the summer side.
At the rustle of footsteps and the clearing of a throat, I turn to find one of our sentries striding across the grass toward me. He dips into a bow. “My lord, Lord Tristan has arrived and wishes to speak to you.”
Wonderful. I can look forward to even more of a headache.
I manage not to grimace in front of the sentry, but it’s a near thing. “You can escort him to the front drawing room of Hearth-by-the-Heart’s castle and tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”
Whitt is watching me, having followed the conversation with his sharp ears. When I catch his eyes, he gives me a questioning look.
I shake my head. I’d rather not have Tristan think I feel the need for backup when speaking to him. After all his conspiring with his cousin, the former arch-lord of this domain, I don’t want him seeing anything in me but total confidence in my ability to defend myself and my people.
I take a moment to shake off the exertion of my conjuring, breathing in the warm fresh air, and then I stride toward the castle of my own domain to see what this mangy miscreant wants with me today.
Tristan hasn’t bothered to take a seat despite the many chairs in the room. He’s standing by one of the side tables, his pale, mint-green hair falling forward to shade his eyes, examining a vase that was a gift from a lady from one of the neighboring domains. Possibly a lady whose hopes for me have been dashed now that I’ve declared my devotion to Talia, but I haven’t encouraged any interest beyond the professional, so she can’t fault my behavior.
At my entrance, the younger lord turns. It’d be easy to underestimate him—to assume he’s less of a threat than Ambrose was. His frame is trimmer, his features more delicate. But rancor emanates from his pose, and I’ve heard enough of his thoughts on various subjects in the past to be wary of him. Physical power is far from the worst threat a man can present.
His tone comes out tart. “I apologize if I interrupted you in the middle of important work, my lord. Thank you for attending to me.”
I hold back a glower. Without saying the words, he’s clearly indicated how unimportant he thinks the construction of our border castle is, and that he isn’t sorry about it at all. But it’s simpler to take the comment at face value.
“I’m here to serve all my people,” I reply. Even wretched pissants like the man before me. I fold my arms over my chest. “What can I do for you, Lord Tristan?”
He purses his lips before going on. “Arch-Lord Ambrose had a great deal of possessions. I realize that due to his questionable actions, those were confiscated by the current arch-lords. But I was hoping that, as his kin, I might be able to request a couple of items that have been in our family for some time and would have greater value to me than you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “We finished taking down Ambrose’s castle weeks ago. Why are you only mentioning this now?”
Tristan spreads his hands. “Given the circumstances of his death, I felt it was more respectful to give you and the other arch-lords time to make your own assessment of his belongings first.”
The circumstances which involved attempting to frame and then murder Arch-Lord Donovan—and nearly doing the same to me in the end. I smile tightly. Many of Ambrose’s possessions were part of an illicit collection of artifacts and tools forbidden by fae law, which he’d amassed in preparation for the war he wanted to wage against the Unseelie. I don’t know how much his cousin is aware of that, but I’m not about to inform him of the details he might not know.
“Many of the lesser items we dispersed among his pack-kin,” I say. “I do still have some things stored that I hadn’t decided what to do with yet. If you describe the items you hoped to collect, I’ll check whether they’re still here.”
“I’d prefer to look for myself,” Tristan says, pulling his spine straighter, though it still only brings him to half a head shorter than me.
I keep my tone even. “And given the nature of many of the items we discovered Ambrose had been gathering, I’d prefer to handle it myself.” I wouldn’t put it past this man to slip something we hadn’t realized the malicious significance of into his pocket to secret it away. Anything he asks for, I intend to make a thorough inspection of first.
Tristan’s lips twitch with a restrained frown, and a brief vision swims before my deadened eye—him lunging at me with fangs bared and claws free. He looks exactly as he does right now, down to every article of clothing, so even through the jolt of defensive adrenaline, I know it isn’t a glimpse of some future attack. I’m seeing what he wishes he could do to me right now.
I offer him another thin smile and let a hint of wryness creep into my tone. “Such violent thoughts don’t become a lord of your standing, especially when they’re directed at one of your arch-lords.”
Tristan stiffens, his eyes widening just slightly. I’ve told no one other than Talia about the unearthly glimpses my magic-struck eye offer, but Tristan doesn’t need to know how I discerned his thoughts. Better he assumes I’m simply that perceptive with my regular senses.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says.
“Ill intent has a way of showing through.” When he doesn’t remark on that, I lift my chin toward him. “Are you going to tell me what these heirlooms you’re looking for are or not? I can see to them right now.” And hopefully get him out of my domain for the rest of our long lives.
He hesitates for a few seconds longer but must realize I’m not budging on this matter. “There’s a necklace, gold with several emeralds set in it, that was fashioned by my great-grandfather for my great-grandmother. The framing around the emeralds looks like shearvine leaves. And a cherry-wood puzzle box inlaid with pearls, about the size of my hand—he made that too.”
The second description triggers a memory. “I believe Ambrose’s mate took the box with her. We gave her the chance to gather the belongings that mattered most to her from the palace.” Under careful supervision, of course. “You’ll have to take that up with her. I can check for the necklace now. Please wait here. I’ll have one of my staff bring you something to drink, as I’d imagine you’d appreciate after your journey.”
As I leave the room, I make a discreet motion to the woman who was poised outside, listening in case she was needed. She bobs her head and hurries to the kitchen. Two guards have moved within view of the room to keep an eye on Tristan while I’m gone, not that I’ve set him up in a place containing anything significant he could interfere with.
Stepping into the storeroom where I set aside all of Ambrose’s things that showed no offensive purpose and were too fine for me to feel comfortable simply discarding, my nose wrinkles. A hint of his scent, the acrid undertone that permeated his entire palace, still wafts off them.
It only takes a few minutes of pawing through the assortment to find the necklace in question. It is a lovely piece of craftsmanship. Everything in here has already been inspected, but I murmur words of magic over it anyway, testing it one more time for any enchantments or other hidden features.
There’s nothing. Either it really is that meaningful to Tristan to have this family memento, or he was hoping that I’d give him a chance to search for it himself and that he’d be able to pocket some other item he wouldn’t want me scrutinizing so carefully while he was at it.
I tuck the necklace into a silk bag and bring it back to where Tristan is now sipping the duskapple wine my pack-kin brought him. He opens the bag and checks the necklace as if he thinks I’d try to pass off some other trinket for the one he wanted.
“Well,” he says, fixing the bag to his belt, “I’m glad to at least have that. After all the stories I’ve been hearing, I was a little concerned you might have gifted it to that human you’re apparently so besotted with.”
My hackles rise automatically, but I keep my voice mild. He’s provoking me deliberately now, and I won’t let him gain any higher ground by giving in to my frustration. “I would hardly have presented her with a token tied to the man who wished to wrench her from her home and treat her no better than an animal.”
Tristan shrugs, a cruel glint coming into his eyes. “Fair enough. With her brother proving to be a dud, I give you my best wishes toward getting her with child in all haste, my lord. The more cures we have on hand, the better, as I’m sure all our people would agree. I’ll take my leave.”
He swivels without giving me a chance to respond, no doubt to add insult to injury. I grit my teeth, my fangs emerging despite my best attempt at reining my temper in. I’d love nothing more than to bite his head off quite literally for his insinuations, but he’s framed them as a polite wish for the general well-being of the Seelie rather than the assault on Talia’s honor we both know it is.
Back when Ambrose was still alive, Tristan pushed for us to use my soon-to-be mate as nothing more than a broodmare. That’s the only value he sees in her.
The trouble is, he may be right that a significant number of the summer fae would believe the chances of Talia’s children carrying the same power in their blood matter more than her choice about whether she has children or not and when. They wouldn’t see the insult because they barely see her as more of a person than Ambrose did.
My headache has returned. Not even the thought of returning to the border castle to speed the time until my love will have a real home settles my spirits.
Talia’s position among us has remained precarious for far too long. There must be something else I can do to free her from the weight of all our expectations. It’d be in the service of my people too, finding them a true cure that ends the curse for good rather than only for one moon.
I’ve already exhausted all the avenues I’ve been able to come up with on my own, but perhaps that means I need to push those with greater insight for more answers.
The idea that’s sparked in my mind catches fire quickly. I only debate for a few minutes, considering the implications, before deciding there’s no point in waiting.
In the hall, I catch the attention of one of the staff. “Tell Whitt and any other of my cadre who ask that I’ve taken up an expedition for the rest of the day. I should return by nightfall.” They all know how to reach me should an emergency arise.
The carriage I conjure from a juniper is slim and small for maximum swiftness. As it rushes toward my destination, I sit back and contemplate the exact appeal I’m going to make.
Normally when approaching the great sage Nuldar, one is expected to request his consideration with a message and wait for his approval. But as old and respected as he may be, I’m an arch-lord now, and this is a matter of grave urgency. What does he have to pass the time with other than making vague proclamations for those who ask for them anyway?
Well, I’ll leave out that last point when I’m actually speaking to him. But perhaps I’ll get a straighter answer when he has less time to dwell on it and get his thoughts muddled up.
The field that lies at the edge of Nuldar’s forest is vacant, much different from my last journey here with an entourage of arch-lords and their underlings. The drooping leaves of the starfall willows glitter beneath the sun, murmuring as the light breeze ripples through them. As soon as I’ve brought my carriage to a halt, I spring out of it and set off through the trees.
When I come up on the tree Nuldar has become one with, I slow down, still wanting to show my respect. The aged fae, his skin melded into the pale, silvery gray of the trunk’s bark, appears to be sleeping. The wizened face embedded in the tree doesn’t stir as I kneel a few paces from the roots.
Then the eyelids twitch and open. The ancient sage peers down at me, his expression inscrutable.
I bow my head. “Great Nuldar, I apologize for arriving unannounced. I wish to speak to you about the gravest matter affecting our people, and I couldn’t stand to delay my appeal. Would you be kind enough to hear me now?”
The aged fae is silent for a long stretch. Then he clears his throat with a rattling sound more wooden than fleshy. “You may speak, Arch-Lord Sylas,” he rasps. “What I may answer remains to be heard.”
I inhale deeply, steadying myself. “The human woman I brought before you last time, Talia, has proven to offer a temporary cure to both the Seelie curse and that of the Unseelie. But no action we’ve taken has revealed any way to make the cure permanent, nor have we uncovered any connection between Talia and any other party that has led us to other answers.”
When I pause to be sure of my words, Nuldar lets out a rough sound. “What is your question, arch-lord?”
I’ll only get one. I’m lucky he’s been willing to speak with me at all. I doubt it would do any good asking him what the solution is outright—others have tried that before me and have gotten only riddles.
Sometimes asking for a method of finding an answer accomplishes more than requesting the answer itself. And now, with Talia, I have to assume we have more pieces of that method to help us interpret the sage’s answer.
“What steps must we take, with what we currently have, to determine how to fully end the curse?” I ask.
Another long silence. Nuldar’s eyes close. Has he decided to ignore me after all?
Then he blinks and fixes his deep blue eyes on me again. “You need do nothing at all,” he says. “The answer is already on its way to you, soon to arrive if unimpeded. Giving it room to come will bring it faster than chasing after it—better a snare than a hunt. You must only be sure that your snare is a snare and not yet another caught in a trap. If it can capture a single heart, it will bring all you need to know back to you. Prepare well.”
With that, he goes completely still. I wait, still kneeling, until I’m sure that’s all he’ll say. Then I straighten up with another dip of my head. “Thank you for your words of wisdom, honored sage.”
I hurry back to my carriage, repeating his declaration in my head, my spirit unsettled. I’ll have to see what Whitt makes of this talk of snares, but the first part was clear enough—I simply don’t like it.
The fastest way to end the curse is to do nothing at all and wait for a solution to fall from the sky? Nuldar said we’d have the answer soon, but for a fae that old, the word is relative. He could mean decades more.
But if what Nuldar says is true, then anything we do to search for answers on our own could push them farther away from us rather than getting us closer to healing our people.
