Chapter Twenty-Seven
The bread was baked, Lonan’s presents wrapped, and the stew was over the fire, simmering and ready for us when we got back tonight after the celebration. I’d had my bath and placed the vial of oil on my bedside, just in case.
I wore my black trousers and green shirt—though I didn’t tuck it in—because I was pretty sure Lonan would still be wearing that intriguing sleek armour when he showed up later, and I wanted to look nice for him.
By the time Caom knocked on the door to collect me for the celebration, I was jittery with nerves. I hadn’t heard the stampede of horses return yet, so I assumed all the Folk would already be at the village to witness the glory of the Carlin and her sons bringing the power back to the unseelie.
I didn’t want him to come in, so I quickly shrugged on my coat and gloves at the door and stepped outside.
“You’re eager,” Caom laughed, eyes flicking over me quickly before we started walking. “But are you eager for the party, or eager for the frost?”
I made a face. “Definitely not the frost. I don’t like the cold.”
Caom laughed again, slapping me on the back. “Then you are in for a miserable six months, my friend.”
He breathed deep, tilting his head up to the sky. “How can you not like the cold? Can you already smell it in the air? That means the Carlin is on her way back. The Bitter Months have begun. Unseelie lands will gleam with ice.”
I quirked a brow and stayed silent, traipsing beside him. I was already too hot in my coat, but the airwasgetting cooler rapidly.
Folk were already everywhere when we made it to the edge of the village. The party stretched all the way to the foot of the Carlin’s court, that huge pyre waiting to be lit at the base of the steps.
The long tables had been brought back out and were once again groaning under the sheer weight of the food crowding their surfaces. A suckling pig was being turned over a spit by the red-haired fae I’d seen before, and as I watched, two female Folk with long brown hair that reached their ankles heaved an enormous platter holding a gigantic joint of roast beef over and set it in the centre of the table.
Apples with pure white and unnatural pale blue skins were piled in high towers next to woven twig bowls of big white and black crickets that had been coated in a thick crust of sugar, so they glimmered like they were covered in ice.
In fact, most of the food on the table had been given a glaze or sugar crust to look frosty. I grimaced—even the plump, pink prawns had been coated in a shiny sugar shell. Why were the Folk so obsessed with sweet things? I just had to hope that the meat would be savoury, at least, but it had likely been doused in a honey glaze or sauce.
There was a tall wooden vase with lots of long, stiff things poking out. I assumed they were breadsticks, but as I peered closer I saw shimmering scales and tiny eyes.
“What are those?” I asked Caom, horrified.
He followed my gaze and let out a mean little snicker.
“A tribute to the Seelie Queen. Her precious snakes, frozen alive and coated in sugar.”
As was customary, Caom made a beeline straight for the stall where Idony and her sister were filling cups with wine and setting them out. We passed another stall with a wooden-framed chalkboard advertising crushed ice with a long list of flavours to pour on top. Some were normal—lemon, cherry liqueur, honey and elderflower. Others were weirder, and slightly worrying—fresh dirt, mushroom water, warm pig’s blood.
When we reached Idony’s stall, I realised they had a big copper drum over a low fire for warm spiced wine. I accepted a cup and sipped it gratefully as Caom downed his in one go before picking up another.
It was getting cold shockingly fast. Caom had said the Carlin was on her way back—that meant the Bitter Months had begun.
I jumped out of my skin when a shrieking wind drowned out all the sounds of the Folk laughing and the pipe music playing from somewhere nearby. Every single fae froze, before all heads turned in one direction. Towards the forest.
“They’re back!” Caom hissed to me excitedly, gripping my arm and dragging me towards the unlit pyre at the base of the court steps.
A few seconds later I heard the unrelenting pounding of hooves, and my stomach lurched at the thought of seeing Lonan again in his sleek armour, on his huge black horse.
When they appeared, a loud cheer went up from the gathered Folk. The Carlin was at the front this time, riding ahead of her four sons. Her one cobalt eye gleamed, her bronze teeth flashing as she grinned rabidly. When she lifted her staff high into the air, her subjects all cheered again.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the histrionic display. They rode right up to the unlit pyre before the Carlin gracefully dropped from her horse, the long train of her dress fluttering down.
As the Folk cheered again, my eyes automatically slid to Lonan still sitting on the back of his horse. He looked fierce and intimidating up there—more fae than he ever had before, even when he’d still been cool and aloof and had gazed at me with cold black eyes.
The top third of his hair was twisted back into a long braid, and his black eyes were piercing yet indifferent as they slid over the crowd—until they reached me.
We stared at each other for a long moment, until the movement of Lonan’s brothers swinging down from their horses made him look away and do the same. They strode after the Carlin in silence, ascending the steps to the palace.
I jumped when a towering form lumbered past me carrying a huge lit torch. It was the deer-faced fae who’d grabbed me when I’d run after being captured. He slowly made his way to the side of the pyre and stopped, waiting as the crowd fell silent.