A Court of Wings and Ruin
Page 11
Pink began to stain the clouds behind them.
Jurian was also called forward to recite one final prayer I’d requested Ianthe add, in honor of the warriors who fought for our safety each day.
And then Lucien and I were standing alone in the circle of grass, the altar and horizon before us, the crowd at our backs and sides.
From the rigidity of his posture, the dart of his gaze over the site, I knew he was now running through the prayers and how I had worked with Ianthe on the ceremony. How he and I remained on this side of the line right as the sun was about to break over the world, and the others had been maneuvered away.
Ianthe stepped toward the hill’s edge, her golden hair tumbling freely down her back as she lifted her arms to the sky. The location was intentional, as was the positioning of her arms.
She’d made the same gesture on Winter Solstice, standing in the precise spot where the sun would rise between her upraised arms, filling them with light. Her acolytes had discreetly marked the place in the grass with a carved stone.
Slowly, the golden disc of the sun broke over the hazy greens and blues of the horizon.
Light filled the world, clear and strong, spearing right for us.
Ianthe’s back arched, her body a mere vessel for the solstice’s light to fill, and what I could see of her face was already limned in pious ecstasy.
The sun rose, a held, gilded note echoing through the land.
The crowd began to murmur.
Then cry out.
Not at Ianthe.
But at me.
At me, resplendent and pure in white, beginning to glow with the light of day as the sun’s path flowed directly over me instead.
No one had bothered to confirm or even notice that Ianthe’s marker stone had moved five feet to the right, too busy with my parading arrival to spy a phantom wind slide it through the grass.
It took Ianthe longer than anyone else to look.
To turn to see that the sun’s power was not filling her, blessing her.
I released the damper on the power that I had unleashed in Hybern, my body turning incandescent as light shone through. Pure as day, pure as starlight.
“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.
I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.
But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.
Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.
Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.
Like stalks of wheat in a wind, the others fell to their knees as well.
For in all of her preening ceremonies and rituals, never had Ianthe revealed any sign of power or blessing. But Feyre Cursebreaker, who had led Prythian from tyranny and darkness …
Blessed. Holy. Undimming before evil.
I let my glow spread, until it, too, rippled from Lucien’s bowed form.
A knight before his queen.
When I looked to Ianthe and smiled again, I let a little bit of the wolf show.
The festivities, at least, remained the same.
Once the uproar and awe had ebbed, once my own glow had vanished when the sun crested higher than my head, we made our way to the nearby hills and fields, where those who had not attended the ceremony had already heard about my small miracle.
I kept close to Lucien, who was inclined to indulge me, as everyone seemed to be torn between joy and awe, question and concern.
Ianthe spent the next six hours trying to explain what had happened. The Cauldron had blessed her chosen friend, she told whoever would listen. The sun had altered its very path to show how glad it was for my return.
Only her acolytes really paid attention, and half of them appeared only mildly interested.
Tamlin, however, seemed the wariest—as if the blessing had somehow upset me, as if he remembered that same light in Hybern and could not figure out why it disturbed him so.
But duty had him fielding thanks and good wishes from his subjects, warriors, and the lesser lords, leaving me free to wander. I was stopped every now and then by fervent, adoring faeries who wished to touch my hand, to weep a bit over me.
Once, I would have cringed and winced. Now I received their thanks and prayers beatifically, thanking them, smiling at them.
Some of it was genuine. I had no quarrel with the people of these lands, who had suffered alongside the rest. None. But the courtiers and sentries who sought me out … I put on a better show for them. Cauldron-blessed, they called me. An honor, I merely replied.
On and on I repeated those words, through breakfast and lunch, until I returned to the house to freshen up and take a moment for myself.
In the privacy of my room, I set my crown of flowers on the dressing table and smiled slightly at the eye tattooed into my right palm.
The longest day of the year, I said into the bond, sending along flickers of all that had occurred atop that hill. I wish I could spend it with you.
He would have enjoyed my performance—would have laughed himself hoarse afterward at the expression on Ianthe’s face.
I finished washing up and was about to head out into the hills again when Rhysand’s voice filled my mind.
It’d be an honor, he said, laughter in every word, to spend even a moment in the company of Feyre Cauldron-blessed.
I chuckled. The words were distant, strained. Keep it quick—I had to keep it quick, or risk exposure. And more than anything, I needed to ask, to know—
Is everyone all right?
I waited, counting the minutes. Yes. As well as we can be. When do you come home to me?
Each word was quieter than the last.
Soon, I promised him. Hybern is here. I’ll be done soon.
He didn’t reply—and I waited another few minutes before I again donned my flower crown and strode down the stairs.
As I emerged into the bedecked garden, though, Rhysand’s faint voice filled my head once more. I wish I could spend today with you, too.
The words wrapped a fist around my heart, and I forced them from my mind as I returned to the party in the hills, my steps heavier than they’d been when I floated into the house.
But lunch had been cleared away, and dancing had begun.
I saw him waiting on the outskirts of one of the circles, observing every move I took.
Jurian was also called forward to recite one final prayer I’d requested Ianthe add, in honor of the warriors who fought for our safety each day.
And then Lucien and I were standing alone in the circle of grass, the altar and horizon before us, the crowd at our backs and sides.
From the rigidity of his posture, the dart of his gaze over the site, I knew he was now running through the prayers and how I had worked with Ianthe on the ceremony. How he and I remained on this side of the line right as the sun was about to break over the world, and the others had been maneuvered away.
Ianthe stepped toward the hill’s edge, her golden hair tumbling freely down her back as she lifted her arms to the sky. The location was intentional, as was the positioning of her arms.
She’d made the same gesture on Winter Solstice, standing in the precise spot where the sun would rise between her upraised arms, filling them with light. Her acolytes had discreetly marked the place in the grass with a carved stone.
Slowly, the golden disc of the sun broke over the hazy greens and blues of the horizon.
Light filled the world, clear and strong, spearing right for us.
Ianthe’s back arched, her body a mere vessel for the solstice’s light to fill, and what I could see of her face was already limned in pious ecstasy.
The sun rose, a held, gilded note echoing through the land.
The crowd began to murmur.
Then cry out.
Not at Ianthe.
But at me.
At me, resplendent and pure in white, beginning to glow with the light of day as the sun’s path flowed directly over me instead.
No one had bothered to confirm or even notice that Ianthe’s marker stone had moved five feet to the right, too busy with my parading arrival to spy a phantom wind slide it through the grass.
It took Ianthe longer than anyone else to look.
To turn to see that the sun’s power was not filling her, blessing her.
I released the damper on the power that I had unleashed in Hybern, my body turning incandescent as light shone through. Pure as day, pure as starlight.
“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.
I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.
But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.
Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.
Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.
Like stalks of wheat in a wind, the others fell to their knees as well.
For in all of her preening ceremonies and rituals, never had Ianthe revealed any sign of power or blessing. But Feyre Cursebreaker, who had led Prythian from tyranny and darkness …
Blessed. Holy. Undimming before evil.
I let my glow spread, until it, too, rippled from Lucien’s bowed form.
A knight before his queen.
When I looked to Ianthe and smiled again, I let a little bit of the wolf show.
The festivities, at least, remained the same.
Once the uproar and awe had ebbed, once my own glow had vanished when the sun crested higher than my head, we made our way to the nearby hills and fields, where those who had not attended the ceremony had already heard about my small miracle.
I kept close to Lucien, who was inclined to indulge me, as everyone seemed to be torn between joy and awe, question and concern.
Ianthe spent the next six hours trying to explain what had happened. The Cauldron had blessed her chosen friend, she told whoever would listen. The sun had altered its very path to show how glad it was for my return.
Only her acolytes really paid attention, and half of them appeared only mildly interested.
Tamlin, however, seemed the wariest—as if the blessing had somehow upset me, as if he remembered that same light in Hybern and could not figure out why it disturbed him so.
But duty had him fielding thanks and good wishes from his subjects, warriors, and the lesser lords, leaving me free to wander. I was stopped every now and then by fervent, adoring faeries who wished to touch my hand, to weep a bit over me.
Once, I would have cringed and winced. Now I received their thanks and prayers beatifically, thanking them, smiling at them.
Some of it was genuine. I had no quarrel with the people of these lands, who had suffered alongside the rest. None. But the courtiers and sentries who sought me out … I put on a better show for them. Cauldron-blessed, they called me. An honor, I merely replied.
On and on I repeated those words, through breakfast and lunch, until I returned to the house to freshen up and take a moment for myself.
In the privacy of my room, I set my crown of flowers on the dressing table and smiled slightly at the eye tattooed into my right palm.
The longest day of the year, I said into the bond, sending along flickers of all that had occurred atop that hill. I wish I could spend it with you.
He would have enjoyed my performance—would have laughed himself hoarse afterward at the expression on Ianthe’s face.
I finished washing up and was about to head out into the hills again when Rhysand’s voice filled my mind.
It’d be an honor, he said, laughter in every word, to spend even a moment in the company of Feyre Cauldron-blessed.
I chuckled. The words were distant, strained. Keep it quick—I had to keep it quick, or risk exposure. And more than anything, I needed to ask, to know—
Is everyone all right?
I waited, counting the minutes. Yes. As well as we can be. When do you come home to me?
Each word was quieter than the last.
Soon, I promised him. Hybern is here. I’ll be done soon.
He didn’t reply—and I waited another few minutes before I again donned my flower crown and strode down the stairs.
As I emerged into the bedecked garden, though, Rhysand’s faint voice filled my head once more. I wish I could spend today with you, too.
The words wrapped a fist around my heart, and I forced them from my mind as I returned to the party in the hills, my steps heavier than they’d been when I floated into the house.
But lunch had been cleared away, and dancing had begun.
I saw him waiting on the outskirts of one of the circles, observing every move I took.
