Page 51 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

As promised, the ride to the base of the mountain peak wasn’t nearly as long as it looked. Rather, it seemed that at the same time that they were moving in its direction, it was also drawing closer towards them. The ascent to the temple was a different story.

Stairs—hundreds of them—were carved into the mountainside, guarded on either side by ropes woven from a pliant metal that gleamed silver. It was cool to the touch under Aisling’s desperate grip. Her legs protested as she climbed step after step and her breathing became labored as the altitude got the better of her lungs. Laure was entirely unaffected, and graciously continued a short distance ahead to allow Aisling some privacy to struggle her way up.

The view was as breathtaking as the climb.

Too high up to make out each individual flower, the valley of the Seelie territory was a watercolor wash of greensand pinks and purples and blues. Overlooking it all, the white marble columns of Solanthis rose strong and powerful. Above them, three triangular peaks towered up and up and up, each one larger than the last. The spire of the topmost steeple soared to such dizzying heights it disappeared into the bright sun.

“It was constructed here for a purpose,” Laure intoned from the cliffside. Her hair and dress billowed behind her in the warm breeze.

Aisling kept a firm hold on the ropes that banked the stairs. Heights had never bothered her before, but this was coming awfully close. “To watch over your land?” she guessed.

Laure turned back and took Aisling’s hand, pulling her toward the temple’s entrance. “Aethar came to us when our court was born. In a time of great darkness, she brought light. She taught us to hope; she guides us to keep that hope alive no matter what we must face.”

Her words echoed off the walls of the vestibule, which were carved into a smooth ribbed pattern. Vaguely, running the tips of her fingers over each wave, Aisling thought it resembled a gaping maw. And Laure was leading her into the belly of the beast.

“She is the air; the Breath of Life that sustains each and every living thing. We built our temple to her here on the mountainside, high up where the air is thinnest.” Laure released Aisling’s hand to step into the center of the nave, where a circle of light pooled on the pristine floor. Overhead, a colossal dome was left open in the center to allow the sunlight to stream in. “Where She can most easily hear our prayers.”

Curling vines cascaded across every surface, laden with sweet-smelling flowers. They poured from great alabaster urns anddripped down over the balustrades of a sweeping staircase further in. Laure touched them as she drifted past, and they seemed to bloom brighter for it.

“It feels peaceful here,” Aisling said. She trailed behind Laure, who had paused at a small alcove to light a stick of incense. Its smell was fragrant and heady.

“She’s just there, Her likeness. I commissioned it when I took the crown.” Laure nodded toward a mural that depicted a being of pure light, almost fluid though the painting remained static. The hues flowed seamlessly between golds, silvers, and an opalescent color Aisling hadn’t a name for. The form in the center was only vaguely human in its shape, with great feathered wings rising from her back and arms that reached and reached outward. Tranquil, but undeniably powerful. “The satyr who painted it swore She came to him in a dream.”

Aisling hummed, studying the nearly amorphous figure. “She’s certainly more pleasing to look at than the Low One.”

Laure hissed, reacting viscerally to the Unseelie god’s title. “The Unseelie Court’sreligionis little more than a corrupt bastardization. Their god is no god, but some dark entity their zealots encountered long ago and never let die.” She did not suppress her shudder, nor did she attempt to mask the revulsion in her tone.

Still, Aisling was curious. So she pressed: “Whatever it is, it seems connected to the king’s magic.” She was cautious not to say his name, even in her own head.

“Worshiping that twisted idol is little more than an excuse to revere the depraved. To place blame for all of their misdeeds andtheir failures on the chaotic nature of the unknown.” Laure turned away to gaze up at the mural of Aethar and took several breaths to soften the edge of anger that had taken hold of her.

Aisling moved away to allow Laure space, slightly taken aback by how harshly she’d reacted. A conflict between religions felt so utterly human; she hadn’t imagined the Fae would concern themselves over something so trivial.

When she felt Laure’s hands brush featherlight against the skin of her neck, she jumped.

“For you,” she said, all traces of rage gone now. Aisling looked down to where a small weight had settled against her breast. A circular golden pendant hung there from a thin chain. She lifted it to examine the gift more closely, laying it flat on her palm. The pendant was inscribed with letters she couldn’t read, and carved with a tiny, simplified likeness of the mural they stood beneath. On the back, it bore an etching of a sort of cross.

“I can’t accept this.” All the same, Aisling let it fall back down to rest just beneath the collar of her shirt. The metal felt warm against her skin. She looked up at Laure. “What does it say?”

She said the words first in that melodic, dulcet language, then, “Breath of Life. May Aethar bring you blessings; you deserve every one. I don’t doubt that you have a difficult road ahead, and I hope you know that I will stand by you the entire way.”

Aisling had to quell the urge to throw her arms around the Seelie Queen. This was the support she’d longed to find since the moment she’d left the Shadowwood Mother’s thicket. Instead, she offered only a quiet thanks.

The pair was interrupted by a wraithlike sidhe gliding down the staircase, a stack of tomes clutched in her shimmering arms. Aisling peered up towards the landing, but there was only a pale green door.

“I’d like to learn more about my prophecy, if there is anything more to know,” she began, and nodded towards the sidhe’s retreating figure. “Do you have archives here? Or in your palace?”

Laure nodded. “Of course; all of our texts are kept here in a reading room at the top of the tower. You’re welcome to visit whenever you’d like. I will arrange for a keeper to meet you and show you how the manuscripts are catalogued. It’s not an easy system to follow,” she laughed lightly.

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.” Aisling thought she might return with Rodney. He would complain about the trip up, but it would be useful to have a second set of eyes.

Outside the peace of Solanthis, as they made their precarious descent, Aisling’s head began to ache sharply. When she drew in a breath of air, the sweetness she’d thought so pleasant the day before now seemed thick and cloying. A film of it coated her tongue, her throat, the membranes of her lungs. She could drown in it, that floral perfume.

Closer to the palace, a thin, wavering voice sang a song Aisling didn’t recognize. It grew louder as they rode until they passed a woman, not much older than Aisling and undoubtedly human, standing amidst a circle of faeries. The small group sat on the ground, watching her performance. Another, a sylph, fluttered close by her side. They ran their elongated fingers through her hair in time with the song. She swayed with each stroke, both of themkeeping the steady, driving rhythm. Her eyes were dull. Dead. The look on the woman’s face made the hair on the back of Aisling’s neck stand on end.

“Just a light enchantment,” Laure assured in a conspiratorial whisper, herself tapping a toe in her stirrup, enjoying the song. “A bit of harmless fun.”

Aisling teetered on the edge between awed and discomforted. There was a heaviness to the magic here that left her feeling just shy of ill at ease, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t dark or cruel as the Unseelie Court had felt, with its dampness and constant chill, but there was something different that she wasn’t entirely sure she preferred.

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