“Within the week.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ve completed my trials. I need to see if I can access my ancestors' powers.”
“How will you do that?”
“The Procession of Spirits,” I said. “Tonight.”
The day passed in unremarkable, quiet normalcy, which was quite remarkable in and of itself. I spent most of the hours tucked in the garden, poring over my Fae manuscripts. Thoughthe words remained mostly inscrutable, I was able to decipher more and more spells the longer I stared at the worn pages.
I concentrated on finding mentions of the Triskelion Sigil, the ancient sign of the Triune Queen. It had long been forgotten because the last Triune Queen had vanished millennia ago. The symbol had later been adopted for the Harbinger of the Underworld, the symbols of life and death and the cycle of life. But in no books could I find a conclusive meaning as to what the Triskelion Sigil represented nor could I find a mention of the illegal spell Silas had mentioned.
That hardly surprised me. If the ritual demanded the blood of three innocents, the Fae Queens would not have included that sort of magical instructions in their books. Their craft was rooted in nature, healing, nurturing.
Every spell I discovered was to block or defend or restore. I found a spell to create portals that I thought might work for tonight; it wasn’t specifically for the Procession of Spirits, but from what I could gather from the rough sketches, it was a portal that could allow spirits to travel to another realm.
There were notably no spells to attack or destroy. Perhaps that pacifism had been the Fae Queens' downfall—they had trusted too long, loved too much, empathized too thoroughly.Will I make the same mistakes?
I glanced at Silas when he came to peer over my shoulder. He was currently inspecting an arsenal of weapons, knives, and swords large enough to arm a small battalion.
“You understand the Procession of Spirits involves spirits, not humans,” I reminded him with a smile. “I don’t know if you need to be armed to the teeth.”
“Fenlon will be there.” Silas caressed the edge of a blade a bit too eagerly. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
I rolled my eyes. “Weapons won’t save us from the Darkest Lord.”
“That much is true.”
I had two main hopes for the night. The first was to finally prove that I had ancient Fae magic running through my veins. Not because I wanted to be correct, but because then we could squash the stupid arguments around them once and for all. I was sick of being accused and almost arrested based on nothing but fear and vitriol. Maybe if I could prove that I had Fae Queen magic on a large scale, we could move on and figure out what actually came next.
Our best hope for that lay in the Procession of Spirits. It was well known that this was a ritual that could only be performed by a Fae Queen. That was a pretty simple equation, a yes or no answer, technically.
Though I hadn’t found a specific spell for tonight, I had found mentions of the Procession of Spirits and studied those images carefully. I’d memorized as many spells as I could, finally resigning myself to be content with the fact that I would have to go into the ceremony tonight without a concrete path forward. The path forward was something I’d determine as the night went on, or so I hoped.
I also found myself hoping fervently that after the ceremony tonight, the channel between myself and my ancestors would be opened more freely. I had completed all three trials, yet I still could not summon their power on command—as evidenced by the fact that most of the Fae textbooks still read like gibberish—and I did not wish to wait for another attack to access those powers again.
As evening rolled around, my stomach was churning too much for any real dinner. I settled for toast and an apple again—my staple before training. I had not visited Seer Goddard today. I figured he knew I had passed the third trial. I figured he knew about the Procession of Spirits. He had a way of knowing these things.
When I stepped out of Wisteria Cottage, Seer Goddard was the last person I expected to find waiting for me. He stood at the rock wall of the cottage, staring intently toward the setting sun, waiting patiently.
“Seer Goddard,” I said in greeting. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to training today. It’s been… busy around here.”
“I know.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that I passed the third trial last night,” I told him, as Silas and Millie backed away to give us some space. “I want to thank you. I know I was skeptical and difficult at first, but I could not have done any of this without you. Thank you for taking a risk on me and using your patience to help me get through this part.”
“It would have been a risknotto help you.” Seer Goddard folded his hands in front of his body. “You have everything you need now. Channels that have been blocked for centuries are open again. The magic of the Fae Queens has returned because of you.”
“What happens next?”
Seer Goddard shook his head. “The Darkest Lord is preparing his attack. He sees you as the only threat to his kingdom, which is correct, I might add. He’ll strike while you’re weakest, before you fully embrace your powers. That’s why he’s starting his ritual already. He knows if he waits much longer, and you truly gain access to the magic of your ancestors, you will be virtually unstoppable.”
I reached out and took Seer Goddard’s hands in mine, gave them a grateful squeeze. His eyes widened as he looked to where our hands touched, and I wondered if this was the first time he’d had physical contact with someone in weeks, if not longer. Ever since we’d started training, he had lived atop the mountain. Our conversation had been mostly sparse and functional.
Sympathy and gratitude welled in my chest for the sacrifices he’d made for me. “You will always be welcome in my court, Seer Goddard.”
The Seer’s first true smile stretched ear to ear, pride shining in his gaze. He just gave a nod, like there were not fitting words to reply to that.
“Good luck tonight,” he said. “Though it’s not luck you need.”
