She wrote them, but they were signed by Pant.
I remembered what Arran had said, huddled in our tent all those months ago. His mother was not well regarded in the terrestrial kingdom, despite her son becoming the Brutal Prince. I’d suspected at the time that disdain had been what motivated him to the bloody title. Getting to know Elayne only confirmed my guess.
I reached the first spiral staircase and lifted my eyebrows at the guard.
Once he picked his jaw up off the floor, he moved out of the way.
Self-satisfaction warmed me as I angled my body to fit down the narrow stairwell. Which was damn good, because the castle was drafty and a lot of my skin was on display.
The general style in Eilean Gayl was either a high-cut gown that covered everything but the throat, from the long, pointed sleeves all the way down to the voluminous skirts, or a white underdress with sleeves covered by a front-lacing over-gown. There were laces and belts and embroidery for accents, and the bodices were close fitting to show off the females’ figures. The attire matched the cold weather outside. But it was just sad to look at.
After seeing the desire burning in Barkke’s eyes, I’d almost asked Cyara to dress me in one of those sad, boring gowns.
But she’d worked hard on the others, creations more suited to my own preferences, and in the end I’d allowed her to dress me without making a fuss.
I had to angle my body down the staircase, or my hips would brush against the stone walls. I would not risk undoing Cyara’s hard work.
I dragged one hand along the central column as I navigated each stair.
I would have missed it entirely if my hand had not passed over the indentation.
An engraving. One that had not been there the first time we were led up this staircase.
My fingers traced the outlines. Two upright triangles—fire. Two inverted triangles with a line through the lower point—earth. Humans. And one circle.
Cyara, Lyrena, Percival, Diana. And me.
Smeared with a dark substance. I did not need to lift my fingers to my nose to know they were tinged with blood.
A message left by someone in Eilean Gayl. Enemies, Elayne had said. Both within this castle and beyond.
The peace in Annwyn had always been precarious. It was why the Ancestors demanded the Offering and the Joining, to bind our two kingdoms together. Elementals and terrestrials may both be fae, but that was where the similarities ended. I’d never thought about it much, before Arran—how essential the balance was.
Arran was control, I was feeling. He spoke his truth without reticence; I dissembled to get what I wanted. A terrestrial heir and an elemental heir. King and Queen. Co-rulers.
Except that I was alone, now. And whether the terrestrial who’d carved the threat into the stone hated all elementals, me specifically, or the fact that our Ancestors had joined these two kingdoms together, did not really matter.
I lowered my hand to my side and let my own preternatural balance guide me down the remaining stairs.
Let them come. I’d enjoy cutting them down one by one.
I managed to make it down the narrow spiral staircase without tripping or ripping my gown. Next was an emptydining room, mostly unused based on Elayne and Pant’s quick description when they’d shown us up to our rooms that first day.
Bookcases bracketed two chairs set beneath an arched stained-glass window. This castle was more than seven thousand years old. It predated the Great War and the unification of the terrestrial and elemental kingdoms, though it had been largely destroyed in that conflict and rebuilt in the centuries that followed. Had those seats once been occupied by a King and Queen of the Terrestrial Kingdom, enthroned here at Eilean Gayl? Maybe the territory north of the Spine had been a separate kingdom entirely. A flora-gifted fae could easily have kept the ornately carved thrones in good condition, shoring up any damage over the centuries.
But it was not the thrones that snared my attention. It was the stained glass.
A slender female figure stood at the center. Having met the Lady of Eilean Gayl, there was no mistaking her even in this simplified form. The artist had rendered her with unmistakable care, from the angle of her eyes to the graceful sweep of her skirts.
In each hand, she held a smaller one. Two boys, one dark like her, the other the image of his father.
My brother is long dead.
He’d never offered an explanation. Fae children were not susceptible to the same range of illnesses that often took human children young. For his brother to die, the circumstances must have been extraordinary…
But Arran was three hundred years old. His brother could have died in adulthood, long as it was.
“The boys broke this window squabbling,” Elayne said, her sigh long-suffering. “Their father forced them to stand for a portrait, which was then used for the artist to create the stained glass, as penance.”
