Now I know why Selwyn didn't want to tell me anything. The tentative hope in Jamie's eyes is crushing. I can't bear it. It is like watching a puppy you know is about to be drowned, wag its tail.
"Time to go," Selwyn says gently.
He has been standing by my side since Jamie and Ollie burst in, quietly allowing us to talk. Unobtrusive, yet still using his presence as a comforting shield.
Jamie winces. Ollie scowls. I hold my head up high and stride towards the door. Moping does no good at all. Falling apart won't help Dyfri. But being a calm, confident presence just might.
The great hall is packed. I didn't know there were this many fey at court.
It is just like the fey to all come out of the woodwork to witness a spectacle.
The crowd has formed a circle in the very centre of the enormous room. An ominous ring of bare stone. No ornamentation. No finery or pomp.
Cruelty is beautiful enough to the fey.
My mother strides into the circle, confidence clear in every step. She is wearing immaculate fey robes. A vibrant green that matches her eyes. Her dark hair is tied back in a braid, and I wonder who gave it to her and why. I will have to ask Selwyn later what it means.
The crowd falls silent. Anticipation thickens the air.
Where is Dyfri?
The silence holds. It grows. Anticipation begins to morph into unease.
He is going to show, isn't he?
My heart is racing now. What happens to fey who run away from a duel? Nothing good, surely. But Dyfri is clever, if he ran away, he would not be found. I don't think.
Murmurs start by the north doors. The crowd moves and shifts. Parting to make way. Dyfri steps into the circle and faces my mother.
His robes are beautiful. Clever layers. Black and reds and delicate, intricate embroidery.
His hair is gleaming. Dark enough to reflect the light. Falling to his waist like something to be proud of.
I stare at the top of his head. Where are his horns? There is no trace of them. Please don't tell me he has cut them off like Selwyn threatened to do when he was distraught?
I look up at my husband in alarm. He winces and lowers his lips to my ear.
"Horns take... emotional strength to manifest."
Dyfri’s expression is calm, cold and stoic. His dark eyes are giving nothing away. But everyone here knows his inner turmoil. His emotions are naked for everyone to see.
My stomach heaves, and all my blood turns to ice. Poor, poor Dyfri. This is absolutely awful.
The silence in the hall resettles. The crowd's eyes are hungry and gleaming with bloodlust.
A gong sounds. As the challenged, Dyfri gets to attack first.
My breath sticks in my lungs. My hand finds Selwyn's and clenches it tightly. Dimly, I'm aware of Selwyn's shock at my action, and actually I don't think fey hold hands, or if they do, it means something different. But I'm far too fraught to fret about a social faux pas right now.
An immense wave of magic rolls from Dyfri. All glittery and dark. Powerful like the depths of an ocean.
Mother grimaces and throws up a magical shield. She struggles to hold it as the intense magic crashes against it.
Dyfri is unleashing a fierce attack, but he is not giving all that he has. I have sensed his magic. It is stronger than this. Far darker than this.
I look around the assembled fey court. And my suspicion solidifies.
He doesn't want them to know.
