I came to the throne, almost expecting to find the seat occupied, and paused in front of the dais. An empty chair, meant for me. So many times I had seen Rhiannon here. She had sat in it like it had been designed with her in mind.
I stepped onto the dais, up to the throne, and turned toward the Sylvanwild Court. Before me, a sea of faces watched on. And among them, not far, stood Faun. Haskel.
…and Dorian, close enough that I could make out the blue-black glint of his hair.
I forced my gaze ahead. Now, it was to wait.
The waiting didn’t last long. The bells began faint but high, increasing in pitch until, with strange slowness, the double doors opposite me opened.
The spiritstag stood there, blinding in the sunlight. The only creature with the power to crown a queen of this court. The only entity with power greater than me. The god who’d brought me here.
It stepped forward, one hoof resounding on the wood floor. The bells rang on, though none hung from its antlers. The sound seemed attendant to the creature itself. It came forward, passing directly down the center of the throne room, toward me. All parted before it like the fish in the pond at the grove. It walked with a song’s precision, hooves tapping one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.
And I wondered, as I stared with that same expansiveness in my chest and inability to focus on anything else but the stag—I wondered at the corners of my mind, where Eurydice still existed despite her awe—if I would ever know freedom again. If the rest of my life, long or as short as it may be, would be in service to this god of nature.
I wondered if there was anything true, anything real in this court of brambles and fangs.
When the stag arrived at the dais, it paused before me.
Kneel, Eurydice Waters.
That voice, impossible to ignore.
I dropped carefully onto my good knee, then onto the knee of my injured leg, my dress pooling around me.
I say this to you, the spiritstag said,and only you. Even now, as you dip your head and the Sylvanwild hear that I call you queen?—
I lowered my head.
The spiritstag inclined its neck forward, antlers lowering toward me.
Even now, you must know this: the path is perilous. It is unsure. You have made a promise, yes, but you would not be the first to break it.
I will not, I thought. It was automatic, like breathing. In the stag’s presence, I seemed to lose myself entirely.
Perhaps the stag sensed this. It said,They see you as weak. You need protection.A pause, then,And they need protection from you.
I didn’t know what that last part meant; it struck through me like a dark thread attached to a fat needle.I have power, I thought.
A scoff resounded through my head.You have the whiff of it. The scent of it. But you step into thousands of years of history.
I will rise to it.
You may, or you may not.The spiritstag’s antler touched my head; the edge of it was as sharp as a blade.But there is a chance, with him beside you.
Him?
The spiritstag didn’t answer. My eyes opened, my head rose, and I found the whole of the court kneeling.
A servant appeared with the diadem—Rhiannon’s diadem—atop an emerald-green pillow. A second servant removed the crown from the pillow with both hands and lowered it carefully over my head.
The thorns slid through my hair to press against my scalp. Pain, pricking at my head. Pain, my ever-present friend. Pain, the only thing I could trust.
I sucked in air. The spiritstag’s hoof rose; it stomped loudly atop the dais, just as Faun had told me would happen.
The servants backed away. It was done.
I rose. Pain, as my leg unbent. Pain, as the diadem settled into place.
