When I become queen, will the kingdom mirrormyenergy? How would it manifest? A little silly, a little frivolous, a lot anxious, sweets for every meal.
I look around the village—a few shabby cottages, a dilapidated inn, a crumbling produce stand selling nothing but small, wrinkled potatoes—and I wonder whether an injection of Miss Charlotte Emilie Fitzroy into these depressed lands might not be such a bad thing.
House Macánin Tír na Strelle is a shimmering storybook castle overflowing with starlit gardens. House Áine in Tír na Lune is a sharp-spired fortress of smoked glass bathed in frosty moonlight.
Both grand. Both imposing, in their way.
House Cernunnos is imposing, there’s no doubt of that.
But it has none of the grandeur of the other two.
The three-story black brick manor is a collection of lopsided chimneys and shoddy gables scattered across mist-shrouded moors. As we approach, a woolly layer of clouds banishes the sunlight and a howling wind kicks up. There is nothing around for miles save cold and damp and gloom. Were it not for the manor’s size, one would never imagine it to be the home of a territory’s ruling House.
The cobblestone courtyard features a large, moss-covered statue of a formidable faerie man with ram’s horns curling back from his forehead.
“His great-grandfather.” Aowen answers my unasked question. “Daget Cernunnos.”
“Do all the Cernunnos family have horns like that?”
“Only the male heirs destined to become head of House.”
The howling intensifies and I realize it’s not the wind when a shadow takes form at the edge of the property. As it jaunts closer to our small party, Tula begins dancing beneath me, swishing her tail and clacking a hoof against the ground.
I try to soothe her, mimicking Lachlan’s low tones, but, as it turns out, I am also a poor substitute for everyone’s favorite honey-voiced knight.
As the shadow moves closer, I’m not sure even Lachlan could have soothed us.
A colossal, undead wolf prowls around the side of the house.
Half her skull is exposed, giving her a permanent grin full of sharp fangs from which a long, mottled gray tongue lolls. Her black fur is wet and matted in some places, worn completely away in others to reveal sinew and bone. Her eyes are bright yellow rings around glowing green pupils.
Her head jerks up when she notices us, and she releases another shrieking howl before breaking into a sprint.
Straight for us.
Tula and Cuán rear up, wild-eyed with terror, and it’s all Aowen and I can do to keep them from bolting across the moors. Sir Dunne shouts commands and there’s a steel-sharp symphony of swords unsheathing.
The undead wolf pounds closer and closer, her skull’s grin making her look absurdly friendly despite her petrifying appearance.
She’s rounding the statue when a deep, familiar voice booms across the courtyard.
“Skadi! Heel!”
The wolf skids to a halt, her skeletal paws scrabbling on the stones before she turns and lopes toward a small door beneath the staircase of the manor’s entrance.
A single figure emerges, ducking down beneath the jamb, then stretching to his full height. He may be the tallest biped I have ever seen in person, even without the horns. As soon as I catch sight of him, the ring warms a little.
He approaches slowly but with purpose, and aside from his zombified wolf, not a single valet, courtier, nor knight have joined to welcome us.
“Stand down, sirs,” he warns the celestial knights. “There’s nothing Skadi loves more than cracking open suits of armour to pluck out the juicy bits.” There is no humour in his tone. “Trained her myself.”
Sir Dunne pales, especially when Skadi lowers her head and burbles out a growl. Every sword is immediately resheathed.
Sabre turns to Aowen and me. “Lady Macán, Miss Fitzroy, welcome to Tír na Dubh. Come, dinner is ready in the salon.”
And with that perfunctory greeting, he turns back toward the manor, pulls something from his pocket that looks suspiciously like a femur, and hurls it across the moors. Skadi bounds after it.
Aowen and I share a disquieted glance before dismounting. She hands the kelpies to Sir Dunne, who asks, “Would you like us to accompany you inside, my lady?”
