‘We? Really?’ I challenge her. ‘You haven’t called or texted.’
There’s a pause. ‘Should I have to? Surely my future husband understands that I worry about him.’
I turn a laugh into a cough. ‘Is that so?’
‘Of course.’
‘I had business to attend to. I didn’t expect to be away so long.’
‘In the Underworld?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see, well, I must have missed you. I had business there, too.’
‘And did it go well?’ I don’t know why I ask. I barely even care, but there’s something about her words that makes me think that she’s saying one thing and telling me something else.
‘I certainly did. And it was utterly delightful,’ she says. ‘My father is calling a meeting of The Unseelie Court.’
I swallow, strange that suddenly Vincenzo is doing things that align so closely with my intentions. ‘When?’
‘As soon as everyone arrives. I’m sure you’ll find it very informative.’
Her voice drips with sarcasm as she ends the call, and I roll my eyes, looking in my rear-view mirror. But instead of seeing the road behind me, I find myself looking directly into Vittoria’s face. I swerve as I blink hard at the sight.
Scrying. My heart hammers loudly in my chest. It’s a power that hasn’t manifested in generations. So long, in fact, that it has practically passed into myth. But… I mentally go through all the places I’ve been recently that had smooth shiny surfaces that she could have…
‘Fuck.’ I slam my hand onto the dashboard. Realistically, I realise too late, she could have been watching me just about anywhere. And the reason the Rialis always seem to be a couple of steps ahead of the rest of us, is likely due to this. How have they kept this a secret for so long?
* * *
Glasgow’s Necropolis– the city of the dead– lies close to the place where the city was founded. It’s only been a human cemetery since Victorian times, but it’s been a site of great importance in both the human world and the Underworld for far longer.
I cross the Bridge of Sighs, reaching the thin place and whispering the words my father taught me long ago to part the veil. With no physical door to pass through, entry is different, and I feel the strange vibration of a shimmering doorway around me, the sensation as it parts, granting me entrance into the Underworld. As I travel, the rumbling of the brewery trucks passing under the bridge is replaced by the burbling of the Molendinar Burn. Once upon a time, a member of The Seelie Court was the embodied spirit of that water, just as I’m the embodied spirit of the Wild Hunt. Now, the burn flows mostly underground, covered with streets and bridges until it pours out of an ugly pipe into the river Clyde. Most barely know of its existence, and The Seelie Court is just as lost.
Growing up, the tales my father told me made it sound as if it was the innate goodness of The Seelie Court that somehow led to their demise, that somehow, they deserved it because they didn’t fight back hard enough against the Blight. But The Unseelie Court is fading now, too. Blight corrupting more and more of the chamber, and that’s certainly not being caused by our goodness. I glance up towards the hilltop, where the great Tree of Life once stood, but it’s empty.
Could pollution and the destruction of the environment be a cause? It’s a possibility, and might explain why the dark Unseelie Court has survived longer than The Seelie Court of light.
Once across the bridge, I enter the Necropolis itself. Facing me is the grand entrance to The Unseelie Court. More than a century ago, the humans planned to hollow out the hill and turn it into a catacomb. Eventually, they gave up, leaving the small space they had already dug out covered by an impressive doorway. Some say these attempts precipitated the Blight. But the two co-existed for almost a hundred years, so it seems unlikely.
As I approach, the heavy doors open for me, and I go through a torchlit corridor before emerging into the circular Court chamber. Its ceiling is so high that it can’t be seen, and is simply a deep, dark, unending blackness.
I take my place in one of the thirteen alcoves around its circumference, each formed by the graceful arch of the tree’s roots. Every remaining Kennard and any member of the eight ruling Kin are allowed to be present when the Court is in session, but I’m surprised to find that Rose has arrived before me. She’s sitting on one of the carved wooden seats in our alcove, high carved panels on each side mark our territory as separate from the Kin on either side. I nod to her as I approach, and she gives me a reluctant smile. Sean is already seated behind her, Aiden beside him.
My tattoos tingle, and I look up at the carvings of Cernunnos on the alcove ceiling. Each alcove has a different one, relevant to the god represented by whichever Kin holds that seat. The Hunters have always represented Cernunnos’s Kin, while the Rialis are a more recent addition to The Unseelie Court, now representing the sea god, Llyr. Vincenzo’s alcove also contains a carved wooden throne fit for The Unseelie King.
I expect to be one of the first to arrive, given how close I was to the Necropolis when Vittoria informed me of the Court session, but in addition to Rose, Vincenzo Riali is already seated on the throne. Vittoria, beside him. A momentary regret washes through me. If I were to marry Vittoria, that throne would most likely be mine, eventually. But while everything about her looks perfect, all I can see is the evil I saw as she held the deer’s heart.
I stand tall beside my sister, waiting for the other Kennards, knowing that no matter what happens here I am sure of two things: the first is that I’m not going to bow to the demands of The Unseelie Court and lose my position as Kennard without a fight, and the second is that I will not be marrying Vittoria.
When Chris was alive, it was expected he would simply take up the mantle of king when his father died. I had no particular wish to rule the Court– the responsibility for my own Kinfolk seemed like a solemn enough responsibility. But now that I’m convinced that Vincenzo’s inaction is allowing the Blight to continue to spread and destroy the Underworld I can’t simply sit back and let it continue.
I watch the remaining Kin arrive, one by one– the MacGowans, the Kelsos, the Websters, the Macphersons, and then Alec Carruth, alone as usual– while there are a handful of family members from the other Kin. We’re only missing one now, the McLoughlins, who may well all be working at this hour, but they will attend; they always do.
‘Are we classing this as a late night or an early morning, Hunter?’ Alec Carruth asks.
‘Whichever you prefer, Carruth. It’s an early morning for me.’
