Chapter Twenty-Six
As the first of November approached, I started making preparations for the winter at Lonan’s gentle insistence.
I made a big vat of the potion that would protect my plants from frost. I had to stuff the cauldron with muslin cloth to soak it up for six days—one for every month of colder weather during the Bitter Months. Then I hung it outside to let it dry before carefully folding it and putting it in the sideboard, ready for when the frost came and I would drape it over my plants.
I made the potion to warm the chicken coop. That one was exciting, because after pouring it into the jar and sealing the lid, a tiny ball of orange fire had flared, suspended in the liquid. It grew to about the size of a golf ball, and its light crept through the edges of the cupboard door when I stored it in the sideboard. At first, the sight of it had jarred me. I was so used to seeing cold unseelie fire now, which burned white-blue. But this fire was warm, a bright orange-yellow that soothed something in me.
Lonan brought some wood for me to make a little shelter round the back of the cottage, so I could still sit out with the wolf at night. He didn’t ask about the wolf. I wondered if he remembered me mentioning them during the game of favours. The cat always left before it got dark, so was long gone by the time Lonan showed up each night, and the wolf always waited for me round the back of the cottage, so he didn’t see him.
I went into the village a few days before the first of November—Samhain, when the Carlin would rise to her full power—to stock up on supplies. I had no idea how thick the snow would get, or how soon it would come, and I didn’t know if I’d be stuck at the cottage for a while, isolated from everyone else. At least Lonan would still be able to visit, turning into a big black crow to reach me quickly. I wasn’t worried. I actually quite liked the idea of us hidden away, tucked inside in the warmth of the cottage together.
Preparations were well underway for Samhain already. Folk had begun constructing a huge pyre on the field directly in front of the Carlin’s court days ago, and it was nearly ready. A huge effigy of a boar with enormous tusks had been created out of intricately woven twigs and dried leaves. It was incredibly lifelike, the detail meticulous, and it seemed kind of sad to me that it was going to be burnt.
Actually, it seemed spiteful. To put so much work into something, so much time and effort fuelled by hatred for the seelie fae, just because they wanted to watch it burn. It was entirely in keeping with my opinion of the Folk.
Like at my welcome party, stands and tents were being erected in the field beside the village, but these were luxuriously thick and well crafted, with fine details carved into the legs of the wooden stands and embossed patterns glimmering over the fabric of the tents.
At the top of the palace steps, guards had heaved the Carlin’s enormous throne outside, the four smaller versions for her sons sitting in pairs on either side. They would all have a front-row view of the tribute to the seelie going up in flames.
It wasn’t cold yet, but autumn was clearly coming to an end. The last of the leaves clung on desperately to the trees, going brown and faded even before they’d fallen.
Caom had delivered a thick sheepskin coat for me a couple of weeks ago, as well as leather gloves and sturdier winter boots. I’d insisted on paying him for them, because I didn’t want gifts from him. I didn’t want to owe him without knowing what his motivations were.
I trusted everyone even less now that I had Lonan, but I trusted him completely. He never tried to skirt around questions or give veiled answers. I could see the honesty in his face. We thanked each other all the time—for silly little things, like passing the other a mug of tea or bowl of stew—which I knew was a conspicuous sign of trust on his part. The Folk didn’t thank anyone for anything.
While the Folk prepared for Samhain, I prepared for Lonan’s birthday. I already knew what I was going to make for him. I planned on baking a loaf of fresh bread in the morning, and I’d made a new jar of marmalade, because he hungrily consumed slice after slice of bread smeared in the stuff.
He loved the rabbit stew I made, which secretly made me extra happy because it was the wolf who brought me rabbits for meat, so I was going to make that. I wanted to make him a cake, but I had no idea how to bake a sponge over an open fire. I made my bread in the cauldron, clamping a lid on top to trap the dry heat inside, but I didn’t think it would work the same.
Instead, I bought almonds and stem ginger coated in dark chocolate in the village. Lonan’s tastes ran closer to mine—he didn’t have such a sweet tooth like the rest of the Folk seemed to. He wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, but he loved the aniseed tea I preferred.
I also bought a beautiful dagger with a blade that gleamed gold and shifted to green in the light. Its handle was jet black and carved like twisting vines, and the moment I saw it I thought of Lonan. I hadn’t let myself be intimidated out of buying it, staring down the shopkeeper who’d sneered and told me that playing with fae weapons wouldn’t protect me from anything. At my insistence, he’d wrapped it in thick black cloth before dropping it unceremoniously on the counter and turning his back on me.
I made sure I had enough of the oil that I liked to drip into my bath. We still hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, and I wondered if he would want to on the night of his birthday. My stomach tightened with anticipation at the thought.
Wishing I had more to give him, I made a second jar of the warming potion, because he’d mentioned how cold the palace always was. I’d felt that for myself when I’d gone there for dinner. I liked the thought of him keeping something I’d made for him on his bedside, especially because there would be no doubt that it was from me. The warm orange fire would look out of the place in the cold white of the Carlin’s court. I wasn’t sure why the fire I made wasn’t unseelie—maybe because I was still mortal, and fire burned orange in the mortal world.
When I woke up on the morning of Samhain, my gut fizzed with excitement. Not for the start of the Bitter Months and the celebration that was coming later, but for the night I’d get to spend with Lonan.
I got up and dressed quickly, then went into the kitchen to make coffee before I started on my bread. While the dough proved, I carefully wrapped Lonan’s gifts in brown parchment paper tied with string, and left them neatly on the kitchen table.
I made the bed with clean sheets and got the living room fire ready to be lit that evening. Once my dough was risen and I’d carefully placed it in the cauldron to bake, I went outside to water my herb garden.
My back tensed when I heard a faint but raucous cheer go up in the village as I was leaning down to check on my plants. Straightening up, I warily walked to the front of the cottage and froze when the ground seemed to tremble under my feet.
Huge stallions were stampeding in this direction, their coats gleaming in the sun in shades of pearly white, icy blue and pale grey. But the one at the front was jet black, and I knew without a doubt who the rider was on its back.
Lonan’s black hair streamed behind him, his blade gripped easily in his hand as he urged his horse faster. He rode ahead of the Carlin on her shimmering white horse, because he was her killer. Her protector. The first to ride into any danger to ensure she stayed safe.
As he got closer, I could make out the sleek black armour covering his frame, the loose shirts he favoured nowhere in sight. It was adorned in silver embellishments, which glimmered in the sun alongside the blade in his hand and two on his back.
His brothers surrounded the Carlin, Balor and Bres either side of her on pale blue horses with Cethlen at her rear, riding confidently despite the fact that he couldn’t see. The Carlin sat upright on her horse, wearing a white dress glimmering with so many deep blue jewels that it almost blinded me. A delicate crown rested in her pale hair—white wood twisted round itself, with gnarled twigs protruding to clasp dark blue stones in their centres.
Her bronze teeth flashed with her fierce smile, staff gripped in her hand as she urged her horse to move faster. A small number of her court rode behind, mostly guards, with a few Folk deemed important enough to attend the exchange of power between the fae rulers.
The ground was vibrating under my feet as they got closer, but they weren’t heading towards me. They were heading directly for the forest.
The Folk back in the village were still cheering, and the shouts sharpened when Lonan’s steed leapt over the treeline and vanished, the rest of the group following soon after. The heavy pounding of the horses’ hooves cut off instantly, silence descending where I stood beside my cottage, staring at the place where Lonan had entered the forest.