The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford
Chapter Thirty
They stood on the cliff, overlooking the rugged stone beaches and, beyond that, the ocean. Nothing prepared Remy for the vastness of cerulean waves stretching out before her; the enormity of the giant rolling swells that crashed along the stones, the loud sound of rocks being tumbled as the ocean pulled them back into its watery depths. The scent was so familiar, even though she had never visited the ocean. It was Hale’s scent, like the ocean waves had branded themselves on his soul.
Looking out into the mighty, frothy blue that stretched into the horizon, all the world’s problems felt incredibly small.
The courts were all a mess; the world had descended into chaos after the slaying of King Vostemur: blue witch uprisings in the North, Augustus Norwood fleeing into the Eastern Mountains with a battalion ready to take back his throne, caravans of displaced Yexshiri and red witch refugees making their way back to the High Mountain Court . . . yet here, everything felt calm.
The wind whipped Remy’s pointed ears, muffling the sound of Hale’s rapidly beating heart. She looked to her left, to the winding path that led to a cottage carved into the cliff and to the fishing village of Haastmouth Beach.
Ramshackle cottages dotted the narrow paths to a high boardwalk on stilts and a long jetty of tied-up fishing boats, nestled into the harbor to protect from the high winds.
But it was this first cottage that held Hale’s gaze. He clutched a bouquet of violet flowers in his hand.
Remy stepped to him and laced her fingers through his free hand.
“I’m here,” she said, gripping his hand tighter.
She wouldn’t promise that it was going to be okay or make meaningless statements of comfort. But she was there, beside him. Always.
They would walk through these hard moments together.
Hale squeezed her hand back and released it. He faltered down the rickety staircase to the front door.
Remy followed in silence.
The driftwood door looked worn by strong winds. Seagrass covered the weathered walls. From the outside it looked intimate rather than run down. Remy had lived in enough taverns to know the difference. Strings of shells hung above the fogged glass window beside the door, clinking in the breeze.
Hale stood before that door, adjusting the bouquet in his one hand. His other hand hung by his side, his thumb nervously rubbing his pointer finger. He lifted his hand twice and put it back down. Remy stood behind him, trying to emanate love and support.
She would stand here all night if he needed, just as he had stood by her so many times before.
The sun was hanging low on the horizon, lighting the clouds in a pink and gold glow. Remy had never seen the sun setting over the ocean before. The sight was breathtaking. The sound of a final, decisive knock on the door drew her back from her awe.
A slender older woman opened it instantly. She froze for a moment, looking at Hale. She had the same chestnut brown hair, but silver streaked through it. Her locks were wavy and tousled, making her look like she was a mermaid emerging from the ocean waves. She had pale eyes like Hale, but hers had the faintest tinge of sage.
She blinked at Hale one more time and then she was moving, throwing her arms around him. Hale wrapped his arms around her and bowed his head, shoulders caving as he hugged his mother into him.
Remy watched, tears filling her eyes, thinking of Heather and the foggy memories of her mother, the Queen.
The sound of a mewling cat pulled her watery gaze to her feet. She reached down, scratching the black cat arching into her outstretched hand.
Purrs rumbled out from the cat as Remy crouched and whispered, “Hello there.” The feline head-butted into her palm in response. “Do you think I’m a witch?”
Remy scratched the cat, watching as the sun began to kiss the horizon and the sky filled with watercolor clouds over the ocean. The mother and son embraced for a long time. The knot in her chest released. Remy whispered goodbye to her doubt and fear—may they set with the sun. When the glowing star rose over the vastness of the ocean tomorrow, she would be ready to be a queen.
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The story continues in The Five Crowns of Okrith Book 2: The Witches’ Blade.
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