The castle loomed up ahead, made of black stone, carved granite, and bone. The troll on the other side raised its head to peer at them over the railings of the bridge but otherwise didn’t challenge them. The double doors that led into the castle were like the ones in the tree—made of bones and blinking eyes, with a mouth that needed to be kissed to grant passage. The fae lord did so willingly, and the doors opened.
They stepped inside, the chill of winter following them into the castle. Strange fae watched them as they walked: hags with feet damp from river water, goblins with twisted limbs, and gnomes with mouths full of sharp teeth. Creatures Patrick couldn’t see scuttled in the shadows, while the distant wail of banshees echoed through the castle. Here and there were fae in the shape of the one who escorted them through the castle: tall and beautiful in a cold, empty way.
They were led to the throne room of the Unseelie Court, where weak sunlight shone down through a glass dome ceiling. The floor was made of onyx, rising up into a dais that cradled a throne. The throne itself was carved from a barren tree whose roots spread across the dais, clinging to the edges. Thorny vines twisted over the armrests and the high back of the throne, their thorns red with blood.
The heart of the Unseelie Court was its queen, and Medb was terrifyingly beautiful.
She wore a patchwork dress made out of the skin of dead enemies, each piece sewn together with silver thread. Her own skin was as pale as the snow falling outside, making her dark eyes look like black holes in her face. Her ash-colored hair fell across her shoulders in thick waves, held in place by a crown made out of fingerbones. Around her slender throat was a string of eyes—different shapes, sizes, and colors—that moved out of sync with each other, looking at everything and nothing all at once.
Everyone back on the mortal plane believed the fae—especially thedaoine sídheof either Court—were the epitome of beauty. In reality, the fae were made of half-truths masquerading as lies, though they would never admit it.
The fae lord came to a stop and banged the metal-capped end of his halberd against the floor, the sound echoing loudly in the throne room.
“I bring you the mortal you requested, my queen,” the fae lord said.
The Queen of Air and Darkness smiled in a way that made Patrick want to hide, preferably in a place where the nightmares couldn’t find him.
“Such a gift you have given me, Cairbre,” Medb said, her voice smooth like honey on a poisonous tongue. “Ethan’s firstborn son.”
“Man, your dad sucks,” Wade said.
Patrick choked on a weak laugh, refusing to flinch beneath Medb’s gaze. “Yeah.”
Even across the veil, Patrick couldn’t escape his father’s messes.
12
“I’m tired of waiting,”Jono said.
He stared at the cherry-red double door carved with animal reliefs and what he would call Celtic knotwork, but didn’t know what the fae referred to it as. The entrance to what he assumed was a throne room of some type had been closed to them ever since their arrival at the palace built out of stone and living trees in a strangely colored forest.
Two armored fae carrying spears that smelled of magic to his nose guarded the entrance. Jono figured he could take them.
“I would advise not rushing the door,” Sage said.
“And I would advise they open it before I tear it down.”
They’d been waiting in the antechamber for what seemed like hours, their weapons having been confiscated, though the fae had left everyone their mobiles. That was time wasted when he could’ve been searching for Patrick. The soulbond was muted in his soul, giving up no hint of Patrick’s whereabouts. Jono wasn’t sure if it was due to them being past the veil, or something worse. Having to sit here and wait wasn’t doing his temper any good.
“Right. We’re going to have that chat,” Jono decided.
He strode toward the doors, unsurprised when the guards crossed their spears to block his way. Jono bared his teeth at them, fangs pricking his lips.
“You have not been summoned,” one of the guards said.
“We’ve been sitting on our arses out here long enough. Your queen will see me.”
The fae guard to his right stared at him through a gilded mask that connected to a helmet. His shoulder-length hair was poppy-colored, while his eyes were the color of amber.
“You will stand down.”
“Sure thing, mate.”
Jono grabbed both spears and wrenched them out of the guards’ hands. He tossed the weapons behind him, out of reach, and ducked under the blade of a short sword that sought to take off his head. The blade bit into the wooden door, and Jono lashed out with one foot, catching the guard on his left in the stomach.
The fae was knocked backward into the wall, the stone there cracking from the impact. Jono jumped clear of the back slice from the short sword, using preternatural speed to get beneath the other fae’s arm to grab him by the throat. His fingers dented the metal collar protecting the fae’s throat.
“Uh, I don’t think killing the guy will help us get an audience,” Keith said.
