T he fort was abuzz with tailors and seamstresses fitting courtiers and nobles for gowns, fine jackets, and doublets for tomorrow’s masque.
Servants and warriors trekked the steps up to the four corner towers to ensure the rulers of every realm were well tended.
While the Night Folk clan tower was quiet and docile, the second tower, belonging to the Eastern realms, always had a great deal more noise heard throughout the fort.
“Is Sander tormenting your people?” I asked Jonas when we crossed through the open great hall. Beautiful as his brother, sly much the same, but Jonas’s twin brother brought out the solemn side of the pair. Where Jonas reveled, Sander observed. When Jonas fell into bed with a new lover every gathering, Sander remained with us—his friends, his family, his familiars.
Jonas peered toward his family’s tower, laughing. “No, I think someone called my daj Highness or some other royal term of endearment; now the hells are breaking loose.”
I laughed, but in truth, it could be true. Like my parents, all the kings and queens of our realms fought wars for their titles. Not all were born into the life of a royal, and the twins’ father much preferred being remembered for his life as a schemer and thief than a king.
“There they are. Looks like Alek is being swarmed. Gods, look at that sod.” Jonas pinched his mouth in disapproval. “He’s returned to us all proper and stiff.”
Outside the open gates, our families were gathered near a caravan of black coaches surrounded by our Rave warriors. Aleksi, dressed in his dark,
silver-trimmed Rave uniform, was enveloped in embraces, croons, and praise from the royals of the Night Folk clans.
I chuckled when my cousin offered polite grins but shook out his hands in unease. His soft brown skin was clean shaven, and his thick, chestnut hair was braided down the center of his head. Kohl lined his gold eyes and down his lips.
“He’s stiff because you know how he feels being the center of attention.”
Jonas snorted. “You can’t tell me Alek isn’t secretly dreaming of becoming a grand hero. He’s just quiet about it.”
We quickened our pace, carving through the preparations, my gaze on my cousin and family. Alek’s fae ears were sharper than mine, but only because I was half-fae. I grinned when my mother’s icy, pale braids came into sight when she wrapped her slender arms around Alek’s shoulders, holding him close.
Elise Ferus was a fae queen, but mortal by birth. Her life was extended like the fae folk after she underwent a fury spell once she took vows with my father.
Jonas strained his neck. “Dammit. Look at the sky. We’ll hit storms if we don’t get to the cove soon.”
The doors to the wooden gates were tied back, letting in the shimmer of sunlight on the dark water. I followed his gaze to the jagged edges of the shore. Angry clouds still rolled over the horizon. Almost like they were waiting for some catalyst to bring the storm’s rage to our doors. Fear wanted to take hold, wanted to convince me the dread I felt earlier was some dark premonition of something to come.
Not far from the shore, a dark streak carved over the surface of the sea. A current where the water was different, where the sea frothed like stagnate waves that never crashed into shore. The Chasm, a barrier between my people and the fae of the sea.
Most folk hardly paid it any mind during the festival, but I could never look away. Almost as though the tension in my chest simply awaited the warded barriers of the Chasm to peel back and a rush of sea fae to burst through.
Another poisonous thought left to fester from promises made by a boy in a prison cell.
The Chasm was sealed. Undisturbed as always.
Breathe. Focus. Nothing was different. The fortress was well guarded with Rave guards trudging the watchtowers and outer gates. Laughter still filled the corridors, be it from a servant or noble. The Chasm was there, a mark of a different world, but one locked away between the tides.
Nothing had changed. It wouldn’t change.
“We have plenty of time to watch you get drunk on the shore. Come on, there are the others.” I led us to a canvas canopy where the heirs of every realm hid from the morning heat.
Sander Eriksson lifted his dark green eyes from the yellowed pages of a leather-bound book. The same eyes as his brother, but with even more cunning. “Livie. What story did Jonas say to get you down here?”
“You don’t want to know.” I released Jonas’s arm and went to stand beside Mira, the princess of the Southern regions.
She adjusted the circlet in the shape of spread raven wings braided into her dark hair and gave me an exasperated look. “Take this beast from me.”
Rorik, my younger brother, kept flinging a wooden sword and catching Mira’s hips or thighs as though a fierce enemy stood in his sights. Only nine, but small for his age, Rorik made graphic battle sounds as invisible invaders died gruesome deaths.
Sander slapped his book closed, tucked it into the back of his trousers, then scooped Rorik onto his shoulders. “You want to be a Rave, Ror?”
Rorik grinned. “Hells yes.”
I reached up and flicked the tapered point of his ear. “What did Maj say about language?”
“Don’t be snitchin’, Livie, and she won’t know.”
Jonas barked a laugh and clapped hands with the small prince. “Ror, when did you become a smartass?”
I gave Jonas a strained look when my brother went on to repeat the word ‘ass’ at least three times. Small, but Rorik had a ferocious spirit and idolized the Rave, Aleksi most of all. My brother had the same dark eyes as our father, but lighter hair as if the paleness of our mother were trying to break through.
“Alek looks like he’s going to toss his insides.” Jonas jabbed his elbow into his brother’s ribs. “Ten gold penge he vomits from whatever trauma the higher ranks put him through in the peaks.”
Sander held Rorik’s legs and mutely assessed my cousin as he approached his commanding warriors. “I’ll take that bet.”
Mira rolled her eyes and muttered, “Always the same with you two.”
I bit my cheek. There could be no stopping the twin princes from scheming and making sly deals. Ploys and tricks were in their blood.
“He’s going to go.” Jonas gripped Sander’s forearm, studying Aleksi without blinking. “There he . . . dammit.”
Aleksi strode with unmatched confidence as he bid farewell to the commanders in each Rave unit. Jonas had reason to make the gamble. Regal as he appeared, Alek despised the attention his rank proffered in the courts. A prince, now a Rave officer, doubtless he could feel the prickle of every eye as he clasped forearms with his fellow warriors.
Jonas pressed a fist to his mouth when Aleksi turned, without a misstep, to greet his fathers—my uncles, Sol and Tor.
Sander held out a hand once Aleksi successfully embraced both his fathers without a stumble. Jonas cursed and slammed ten coins into his brother’s palm.
A horn blew from one of the watchtowers. “Finally,” Jonas muttered.
“Your mother would be heartbroken if she knew how desperately you wanted her gone,” I whispered.
“How dare you,” he said, affronted. “My mother is the light of my heart. But I have plans for this festival, and there are some things a mother should not be privy to when it comes to her son.”
“He’s never been the same since Maj walked in on him with one of his sparring partners a few months ago,” Sander said, voice low.
Jonas blanched. “It was awful. Couldn’t look her in the eye for weeks.”
Rave gathered around the coaches. Sander removed Rorik from his shoulders and joined Jonas as they left us to bid farewell to their family; Mira went to hers. I took my brother’s hand, despite his protests and dragged him toward our clan.
Our people—the Night Folk fae—had the gods-gift of controlling the earth, while the Eastern realms with Jonas and Sander, used tricky magic of the mind and body. Mira’s people took the Southern and Western edges where fae could twist fate, shapeshift, or compel the mind with cantrips and illusions.
My gaze drifted to my mother and father.
The waves of my father’s ink black hair were tamed, and the sides were braided off his face, revealing the points of his ears. He whispered
something to my mother, a contrast to him with her ice pale hair and crystalline eyes. She covered her mouth to hide a laugh at whatever he had said.
Both were brutal warriors, but tender and loving to each other to the point of nauseum. If ever I found a love, I’d always secretly prayed it would be like theirs.
“Alek!” Rorik called out even before shouting for our parents. Aleksi grinned and shoved through the crowd, aimed straight for us.
A little shriek of excitement scraped from my throat when I practically choked my arms around his neck. He caught me around the waist and squeezed tightly.
“You’re not allowed to leave me with Jonas’s short attention span for six months ever again.”
Alek laughed and gestured to his new uniform, complete with a new seax blade. “Well, what do you think?”
I trapped his strong face in my hands. “You look snobbish, pretentious, and dull.”
Aleksi’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest before he smashed me against his side, suffocating my face into the pit of his arm. “What was it you said? Formidable? Incomprehensibly powerful? Cousin, I can’t hear you; what did you say?”
Winter brought my twentieth turn, and with it, Aleksi’s twenty-first. We still managed to bring out the childishness in each other.
“Bleeding hells, Alek!” Rorik’s lips parted. “You’ve got a bleeding captain’s blade!”
Aleksi kneeled in front of the boy to show him the new seax. I was half worried my younger brother was going to swoon and the other half was concerned he might burst into tears the way he stroked the steel of the blade.
“Livie.” My mother’s soft touch fell to my arm. She studied me for a breath, as though she knew my night had been turbulent. She always did. “All right, little love?”
“Fine.” I hugged her waist and let my head fall to her shoulder even though she stood shorter than me. “All gone with the dawn.”
My mother stroked my arm, gentle and safe. She’d done all that could be done to ease the nightmares that had plagued her daughter for turns.
Droughts, letting me sleep between her and my father, lullabies, assurances. Now, she simply held me like this, letting me know she was always there.
With a sigh, she tilted her face to the sky. “I hope tomorrow’s games aren’t wet for you.”
“Better not be ‘cause I’m gonna kick Alva in her stupid legs,” Rorik said, abandoning Aleksi and slashing his wooden sword again. Alva was the daughter of my father’s First Knight and had somehow become the prince’s ultimate rival. “They’re so long, like twigs. I bet I’ll snap ʼem in two.”
I snorted. Rorik slashed his sword again in sloppy strikes to his invisible villain. He had a long way to go before he donned the black gambeson like Aleksi.
“Gods save me from this boy,” my mother muttered under her breath, then closed her eyes. My mother was no weak thing, but I had a feeling a son like Rorik would be the undoing of any mother.
All at once, Rorik stopped his imaginary battle and beamed when another Rave approached. “Stieg!”
Stieg was my father’s captain and had been beside my parents before they even took vows, turns before the war of the sea. Steady as the sun and firm as granite, I was certain Rorik dreamed not of the crown he’d been born into, but the day he served beside Stieg.
The captain stepped next to Rorik, a smirk on his battle-gnarled lips. “Practicing, young prince?”
“Always.”
Stieg chuckled, ruffling Rorik’s hair. Scars, inked runes on the captain’s cheeks, and the bone hoop pierced through his nose, added a touch of ferociousness, but one look at the playful gleam in the steel of his eyes gave away his true temperament.
“The coaches are ready, My Queen,” Stieg said, tipping his chin in respect.
My mother sighed, and when she looked at me, her brow furrowed in concern.
I linked my arm through hers. “Maj, I’m fine. Go. Be free of us for a few sunrises.”
She covered my hand on her arm with her palm. “Ten turns. Hard to think you were not much older than Rorik when all the fighting ended. This turn’s festival is a landmark in how far we’ve come, so it feels different.”
My skin prickled. Did she feel the unease as I did? I swallowed, refusing to spiral into thoughts of what it could all mean if everyone had a bit of disquiet this turn. Odds were I felt strange for the same reasons as my mother. A great deal had changed, and these significant turns caused us to think back on all that had happened.
That was all.
Rose thorns wrapped around a dagger, and a battle axe painted the door of the Night Folk coach that would take my uncles and parents to the annual royal council.
Councils were always held at the palace of the last king and queen to be crowned. Both were rather keen to avoid large gatherings like the Crimson Festival and welcomed the different clans to their palace in the center knolls, a two-day’s distance.
There they oversaw any troubles in the realms, likely reminisced about the wars they all fought together, and kept our world locked in continued peace.
My mother drew both Rorik and me into another embrace, kissing my cheek, and the top of his head. “Liv, swear to me you’ll be wise, safe, and will keep Jonas from making ten new Eastern heirs while we’re gone.”
“How would he do that?” Rorik asked.
Maj and I shared a look and laughed, pulling him close a little longer.
While she fussed over Rorik and the ways he would be expected to abide by Stieg’s orders in their absence, I slowed my steps as I approached his back. No one ever surprised the man, but he was distracted by conversation with my uncles enough I just might—
“Hello, little love.” My father turned around when I had two paces left. “Gods, Daj. I think your fury accentuates your ears.” I rolled my eyes
and waited for him to open his arms, before dipping around him and embracing my Uncle Sol first.
To stir the brotherly rivalry between the two was wholly worth it when my father frowned and glared at his brother.
“Uncle,” I said. “I feel as though I’ve not been able to speak to you since we arrived.”
Sol was handsome like my father, but instead of dark Night Folk eyes, his were deep blue like mine. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Because my king is an ass and demands all my time.”
A choking noise from my mother drew our eyes. My mother glared at Sol and jabbed a finger toward Rorik who, again, muttered ass under his breath.
Sol mouthed a quick apology, then winked at me. “Girl, you look more like your lovely mother every day. Fortunate for you.”
The praise was welcome, but a stretch of the truth, and utterly meant as a jab to my father.
True, my mother was beautiful, but eyes were the only thing we shared. Even then, the sea blue of my eyes matched Sol’s more than hers. My skin was a soft, roasted brown like my father’s, and my hair was a shade of night with hints of red and a touch of blackened blue.
I batted my lashes, then stepped to embrace my Uncle Tor. Serious and thoughtful, Tor was a beautiful balance to his royal consort. I had fond memories of learning the patience of battle from Torsten. He was firm, decisive, powerful, and cunning with every strike.
By the time I met my father’s gaze, he’d clasped forearms with Aleksi, shooting me a glance over my cousin’s shoulder. “Oh, is it my turn now?”
I wrapped my arms around my father’s waist. We had a bond, and since I was young, he’d been the safest place I could think to ever fall.
He pulled back, a smile on his face as he cupped my cheeks in his rough palms. “I’ve decided to take you with us to the council.”
I smirked. He said the same thing every turn.
“Valen, you will not,” my mother called from the coach. “You will let her out of your sight and let her be free.”
“Free to be scooped up by fools who only think with their cocks,” he called back.
“All gods.” My mother closed her eyes, then kissed Rorik’s cheeks with a look of pity. “It is no wonder he says the things he does with such a family.”
“Liv.” My father let an arm drape around my shoulders as he pulled me to one side. “I wanted to warn you, I’ve had more than one request from—” He swallowed like he’d tasted something sour. “Our noblemen for your time.”
My heart stopped. “Time as in . . .”
He frowned. “They’re interested in a match, little love.”
All gods. Foolish to be taken off guard for such a thing; I was the heir of the Night Folk clans, the whole of the regions in the north. I would be
expected to claim a consort or husband, eventually. The truth throttled me from behind. Of age, yet I’d hardly experienced . . . anything. A few stolen kisses from gentry boys across the kingdoms, usually on dares to show Jonas I wasn’t a prude.
I wasn’t bold with men, but Mira was the only one who knew how inexperienced I was in the facets of love.
A match. It sounded so . . . dull.
I didn’t just want a match because that was expected. I wanted passion, the burn that if my love didn’t touch me soon, I’d burst. I wanted heat, and mess, and obsession.
What if I selected a match only to discover we bored each other after five turns, and I had never experienced another’s hands?
“Livie.” My father tilted his head, voice low while the others chatted around us. “You know I’d never agree to anything against your will.”
“I know.” I forced a smile and gripped one of his hands.
He kissed my knuckles. “It does leave me unsettled to know a slew of unworthy bastards will be here with you while I am not.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Daj. I’m surrounded by overprotective men. One wrong move and there will be missing fingers.”
He scoffed and tugged me against his side. “Forgive me, but putting your safety under the watch of Jonas Eriksson does not put my mind at ease.”
“I heard that! Now, I feel I must prove you wrong by stirring something on purpose.” Jonas’s voice rose over the bustle from his family’s coach.
“See? No worries,” I said through an embrace. “Stieg and much of the Rave are with us.”
My father pressed a kiss to my forehead. I bid farewell to my mother and uncles once more, then watched as every ruler over the fae realms loaded their coaches and left the fort, Rave guards following on foot or on horseback.
While leaders of the realms toiled over duties, on the morrow their heirs, nobles of the gentry, warriors, and courtiers celebrated with games, archery, axe throwing, sailing trips around the coves of the isles, then the masquerade with more feasting and debauchery when the sun faded.
Guards were always nearby. Even Jonas and Sander had appointed guards, but they were rarely seen, forced to be as sly as their royal charges
who sought to lose them every turn. It was safe here; we could roll our eyes, taunt our parents, but they would never leave us completely unprotected.
When Rorik was taken in by Stieg and three more Rave guards assigned to the youngest prince, Jonas approached with arms open.
“Let the festival begin.” He clasped Alek’s forearm. “Welcome back. Now that you’re trained to cause violence, may I place a request to have you as my personal guard at the masque tomorrow? I have a feeling I will need doors protected from any snooping. Don’t be alarmed by any noises you may hear.”
“No,” Alek said. “And maybe, just once, you might actually dance on your feet.”
“Gods, how boring. I’ll keep my way of dancing, thank you.” Jonas twisted his grin into one of his devious smirks, the kind that added an attractive dimple to his cheek. Tonight, Jonas’s schemes must’ve fallen to me, for he turned his dark gaze to mine. “May we finally begin celebrating our way.”
“Is it wise to go so near the Chasm with a storm on the horizon?” Mira was the one who asked, and I was glad for it. My heart was restless, a constant thrum of trepidation, and for the first time in turns, I didn’t want to think of that day the sea fae were locked behind the wards of the Chasm.
“Yes,” Jonas insisted. “More so, since Livie is nightmaring again, and from this moment on there is no more fretting during Crimson Festival. Now, come on. Let’s see if we find any of those sea singers.”
