Surrounded by such unbridled chaos, there is much to feast the eyes upon, but there is only one person I search for among the crowds, and it is not my opponent, the Unseelie prince.
Assailed by piercing cackles, and horns and tusks and claws that scratch my skin, I stride through the crowd, creatures clutching and grasping before they bow and then make way for the cursed Prince of Air.
Pukahs, sluaghs, hags, and lesser demons twitch wings and scrape lips along their teeth, smiling as my gaze swings left then right, left then right again, seeking the purple dress I remember from the Merits’ recent visit.
My night vision is impeccable, yet I cannot locate the little gardener, the servant who should be wrapped in this dress, trembling at the edges of the crowd along with the other castle staff.
Silence falls as I walk with slow purpose past the fire to the high table, my tattoo flaring hot when I recognize each guest seated along its length. The queen in the center, Lord Stavros to her right, my brother, then Lord Gavrin. On her other side sits King El Fannon, his son Prince Temnen, and Lara next to him.
Lara is seated at the high table.
Lara dressed in my colors of silver and gold, the órga falcons gathered around her with their yellow eyes fixed on me, not blinking even once. The biggest and fiercest, Taibsear, perches on the edge of Lara’s gilded empty plate, kak kak kaking to scold me for arriving late.
Next to her lounges the dreadful prince with his green hair and long bristles quivering from his forehead like an insect’s antennae. Chop them off and, rumor has it, he would lose his hearing entirely.
Crystals drip from tree branches, their flame-lit jewels forming an ethereal crown above Lara’s head. Tonight, she looks beautiful. Almost fae.
Sitting beside her is my nemesis—Aer—the Sorceress of the Seven Winds. Aer’s long locks writhe like golden snakes, tendrils sliding across Lara’s skin, sly caresses of ill intent that the human pretends she cannot feel.
My mortal is smart. Surrounded by vipers, she regulates her movements accordingly, her breathing slow and rhythmic, her eyes fixed on mine.
The wind mage rises as I move to the center of the flat grassy space circled by nine ancient hazel trees. A water witch stands in front of each, solemn sentinels in their white robes and black capes. Bloodthirsty beings, the witches never miss a Samhain contest or tournament. And behind them are rows of seats ascending into the sky like a coliseum, filled with courtiers from both courts—the Merits and the Elementals.
“Ever, at last you join us,” purrs Aer, gliding to the edge of the long dais rendered in black obsidian and the bones of our fallen enemies. As usual, she’s dressed in bridal finery, white veil and crepe billowing everywhere—her classic beauty so perfect, so pure, so vile.
“The feasting ended long ago,” she continues. “And so, I began to doubt your attendance, your commitment to winning your human, whose subtle charms have entertained me over dinner.”
I bow low as though I am obedient and submissive to Aer’s every whim. I am not.
“Your sisters aren’t here,” I say, stating the obvious.
Her eyes, the color of old gold coins, rove over me from my midnight-colored boots and pants to my bare chest. They linger on the strange leather bracers that cover me from wrist to shoulder, whorled like twists of petrified seaweed snap-frozen into bizarre shapes when the armorers flung them high, imbuing them with air magic.
My air. Not hers.
My mother and the Merit king and his son are silent, their rapt attention fixed on the mage. So, Aer is in charge tonight. I should have guessed.
“This is the one night of the year a human taken by the fae can be won back by their own kind.” Aer’s voice rings loud and clear as she addresses the Samhain gathering as though she is high queen of all the courts. “If there is a human present tonight who wishes to speak for Lara, they must do so now.” Her eyes move through the spectators, impatient beams of gold.
Silence.
She turns to Lara. “No one has come through the veil to seek you on this night. So, you remain ours to do with as we will for another year. Before the princes’ contest begins, let us have some entertainment.”
The audience applauds, and my pulse thuds as I picture wringing Aer’s spindly neck.
“First, our Samhain tradition of scrying. Come forward, princeling, and we shall see what delights are in your future.” She plucks a red egg from the air, an órga falcon’s egg. Those eggs are precious. It is my responsibility to ensure they hatch and grow to adulthood. How dare she touch one.
“No—” I lurch forward, but with the flick of a wrist, she cracks the shell against a crystal glass filled with clear water, then her talons drag me forward to peer inside it.
Never have I felt more keenly the tight leash of her control. Magic thrums along my skin, and Aer laughs. How I wish her sister Ether, the High Mage, were here. She does not wish to torment me. Or trap me. Or bend me to her will forever.
“What do you see?” Aer demands.
“Black,” I croak. “Black shadows. No, a shape. It’s a… a heart ripped in two.”
She squeals like a prancing pixie, and the courtiers gasp as one.
The flames from the nearby fire are too hot, the waves too loud against the Emerald Sea’s cliffs. The mirrored surfaces flashing from the Merits’ pendants flare and dazzle.
Aer speaks, her voice filled with glee. “And now it is the girl’s turn.” A glossy apple appears from nowhere, and Aer tosses it to Lara. “Next to your plate is a paring knife. I challenge you to peel this apple in one single piece. If you can do it, I will grant you one opportunity to assist Everend in the forthcoming battle.”
Lara’s lips tighten. “Are there any conditions on how a fragile, weak human like me can lend aid?”
A mournful noise, like raven’s wings in flight, hisses through the air—the sound of the wind mage’s laughter. “Of course. You may not interfere physically in the match, but you may make an appeal to the court on his behalf. As may King El Fannon for the Merit prince. Will you attempt the task?”
A warm breeze lifts Lara’s hair, wrapping her shoulders, caressing her star-sprinkled cheeks, weaving through her fine dark lashes. Comforting. Reassuring her.
Aer’s gaze whips to mine. “Now, Everend, do not interfere with the mortal. Continue petting her and I will bind your magic for longer than the length of the tournament.”
She wouldn’t. She can’t, not without compromising her own magic. Our powers are linked, entwined. For better or for worse. Who am I kidding? It’s always for the worse.
With slow determination, Lara peels the apple into one long strip as requested, and then dangles it from her finger.
“Well done,” Aer croons. “Now turn and throw it over your shoulder.”
“Okay,” Lara says as she twists around and flings it into the sky. It lands at my feet, forming a very obvious letter torn in half, just like the black heart inside the crystal glass.
Flames of anger lick my gut, burning and burning as Aer reports the result of her stupid apple test. “Oh, look! We have a letter E!”
“What does that mean?” asks Lara, her voice flat.
“This particular divination shows the initial of the man you are destined to marry. His name begins with an E, just as our dear prince’s does. But look closely and you’ll see that, unfortunately, the letter is broken.” The courtiers titter at Aer’s fake sympathy.