Shifting on his feet, the scales of his armor rippled. He held his helmet beneath his arm and his sword on his back. Teutas was always ready for war, even if it had been decades since he had seen battle. A low hum settled in her chest as she gazed at him. It was Unseelie, she knew, telling her this male with his jet black hair and his eyes of steel was her future mate. His seed would become the king that would finally stomp down the Fomorians beyond the impassable sea, beneath her god’s weighty boot. But not now. Not yet. The battles would come first.
Tir Na Nog must be conquered before she turned her gaze west.
“I am to escort you, Tarrah. Without delay.”
“Oh,” Tarrah said, taken aback. She had been certain the warrior was bringing her good news. Why else should the king wish to see her? Her stomach twisted. Tarrah knew her visions rang true. They had been proven right, time and time again. Had the king tired of waiting? It had been weeks since Tarrah’s arrival at Olc Fortress, and she had been eager to press forward with battle.
The king, on the other hand, had not. He wanted proof.
“Do not worry,” he said with a slight smile. “He was not in a foul mood when he sent me to fetch you.”
With a steadying breath, she nodded and eased her feet into the soft ebony slippers that had been given to her by one of the castle’s many servants. The Shadow Court had provided for her in every way, even if they did doubt her true intentions. She had been given beautiful new gowns and a variety of slippers to keep her feet off of the baking ground. She still preferred to go barefoot most of the time. The warm stones kept her grounded.
Teutas led her into a corridor lined with flickering torches. Even if they were not of the Fire Court, the shadow fae seemed fond of flames. She had noticed the element almost everywhere she went inside the castle. She had wanted to ask on more than one occasion if so much fire was wise—the fire fae had been destroyed by their own magic, after all—but she had kept her thoughts to herself.
When they reached the empty, quiet throne room, King Bolg was waiting for her. He lounged on his black throne, one diminished leg crossed over the other. He tapped his ringed fingers against the basic chair, twirling a small dagger in his hands. As always, his shifting eyes darted around the room, never landing on anything or anyone for longer than a mere second.
Several of his closest advisors stood clustered around him. She had learned their names over the past weeks, gathering information as best she could. Heremon, the square-faced male in dark brown robes to the king’s right, looked after the crown’s airgead, ensuring the king had enough to finance his castle and keep the nearby lords in check.
On the king’s left stood Segonax, the commander of the shadow fae army. He had black hair, large grey eyes, and a flat nose, and he wore grey scale armor over a thick muscular chest. According to the whispered conversation of servants, Segonax was a powerful, steadying presence amidst a slightly chaotic court.
The third member of King Bolg’s council stood off to the side, in the shadows of the looming walls. Nollaig, a one-handed female, who no one knew much about. Beneath her hood, her hair was as dark as the night, as were her eyes, and her armor had been painted black to match. The only shadow fae Tarrah had ever met with an animal familiar, Nollaig kept a crow named Holas permanently attached to her left shoulder.
As the moments stretched on in silence, dread crept through Tarrah’s veins. She waited quietly until the king finally set down his dagger.
He turned his attention to her. “Tarrah. It seems the time has come for you to be judged.”
She shifted on her feet. “If you are concerned that we have not yet had word, then I would ask you for your patience. It is coming, my liege. I just do not know when.”
The king did not answer. Instead, he flicked his fingers at Nollaig. She strode from the shadows, her face obscured by a black hood, a letter in her hands. Her voice was grating when she spoke. “We have received word, my liege. It would seem that your new toy was correct. The Air Court has made an alliance with the ice fae. Prince Thane will marry one of the Darragh sisters.”
Relief swept through Tarrah. She had known it. Victory lifted her chin, but she held back the fierce smile that begged to bloom on her lips. “A dangerous development.”
“Aye,” King Bolg said, snatching the parchment. He read the words, and then crumpled the letter in his tiny hand. “They are far stronger together than apart. If magic still ruled these lands, they would be unstoppable. Their elemental powers combined are magnificent indeed.”
Tarrah had not even considered that part. When Tir Na Nog fae still wielded their elemental magic, Sea, Air, and Ice could create a storm of magnificent proportions. But that had been before the Fall, far before the shadow fae had been ripped apart.
And they would never again become whole unless the Air Court was destroyed.
“It is good they do not wield those powers then,” Tarrah replied. “They may be stronger together, but they are not unstoppable.”
“Indeed,” King Bolg mused. “Nor should we allow them to achieve even greater power. If this single vision of yours has become fulfilled, I shudder to imagine how many more will follow suit.”
“Surely, this is nothing more than a coincidence,” Segonax argued. “Why would our god choose to speak to this low fae from the deserts?”
Tarrah pressed her lips together. “I have not once had an untrue vision, my liege. If I have seen it, then it is coming.”
The king leaned forward. “I know what you wish of me. You believe we ought to make haste toward the border and tear the Air Court from their lands.”
“Ourlands.” Her hands clenched into fists as her voice echoed through the empty throne room. “The Air Court took Findius from us and blocked us off from the rest of Tir Na Nog. I mean for us to take it back. And then you can have the coronation you so richly deserve.”
The king before her would never become the true High King of the Shadow Court until he reached the Findius Stronghold. The very castle that had been stolen from them. Inside those gleaming black stone walls sat the true Seat of Power of the shadow fae, the seat that the Unseelie god himself had blessed. Any king who sat on that throne became stronger, wiser, and more powerful than any other fae alive.
If they wanted their court to return to full strength, they needed to get that throne back.
King Bolg rubbed a hand against his stubbled chin. “Very well. I will agree to move forward. But we will start small, with some of the border towns. The stronghold will prove difficult to take. We should secure every fort and camp between us and them first.”
His council murmured amongst themselves.
