Page 8 of Lord of the Hollow Court
The lord of the hosting court had dressed simply for the occasion, slipping on a full suit of draping black velvet, with the druzy spider affixed to his pocket. He preferred to let the decor for Hollow Hall’s famous Samhain revel speak for him—though if anyone noticed the deep scarlet edges of his sleeves, he would’ve been gratified. He prided himself on the small touches of the feast, his court’s one night to shine for the entire world of Fae.
Tonight is going to be perfect,he told himself once more. But no matter how many times the Lord of the Hollow Court repeated this to himself, it did not relieve the sense of dread curling in his stomach. “Something is wrong,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Everything is in order, m’lord, I assure you,” Misman said, catching the words regardless of their volume.
Braam ignored him. He took in a deep breath, then flared his nostrils. “Do you smell that?”
“Autumn leaves and honeydew,” Misman reassured him. “A touch of pumpkin pie spice from the kitchen.”
“No, not that.” Braam rubbed his forehead as he took his place between the fluted columns at the front colonnade of Hollow Hall, the pendant lamp above him shedding soft, atmospheric light from a purple flame. Everything was in order—or so it seemed. “Ignore me, Misman. It’s nothing.”
Regardless, Braam ground the base of his cane into the paving stones of his drive, unease leaving the edge of his lip raised in a touch of a sneer.
Everything wouldnotbe perfect. Even without any clear precognition of what disaster might befall them, or any anxious suppositions over what the High Fae lords and ladies might deem lacking—or what flaws the low fae lords and ladies would observe, then whisper to the High Fae—he knew something was about to go wrong. Or perhaps it was wrong already. The Court of Claws would be particularly eager to see him fail. The trick, then, was to be vigilant, to minimize every fault the moment a single crack in the Hollow Court’s facade showed.
Wheels crunched on fallen leaves, enchanted to appear as pure gold, as the first of the guests arrived in their carriages. The High Fae traveled in packs, as if only each other’s company would do. That meant that once the first black and gold carriage of the Corte Sotille rounded the curve in the drive, another two-score carriages followed in a graceful line, the coaches painted in court colors and the curricles and phaetons edged with silver and gold. Braam twisted the ruby on his finger. It was time.
As the wheels passed, each golden leaf turned black, releasing a curl of mist as it changed. Soon, the enchantment shrouded the whole of Hollow Hall’s grounds, an illusion that would dispel only when the guests stood before the colonnade. Then the mist would part like clouds before the full moon.
Lady Imbruglio was the first to set foot on the stones of Hollow Hall, glancing up at the humble palace from beneath a gilded mask. A black feather danced in the braid and ribbon swirl of her hair, which stood well above her head without the help of the massive feather.
“Benvenuto, Signora Imbruglio,” Braam greeted her beside the door before switching to the High Fae dialect preferred by the upper courts. “May I have the honor of escorting you within?”
Lady Imbruglio’s face was itself a mask. He could not read any impression in it. Nor did he expect her to marvel and gasp.
At long last, a twinkle brightened her dark eyes and she extended her long fingers, golden brown and devoid of powder. Braam’s relief at her acceptance withered at once. Powder must’ve gone out of style. He had no way of knowing it, out here in the woods.
If the Court of Lindendam still wore powder, he’d be saved. Otherwise, he and the other low fae were doomed to look like bumpkins before the High Fae. He cleared his throat to hide the sound of his stomach churning, a most un-High Fae-like sound.
With his cane clinking beside him, he led Lady Imbruglio into a foyer that dripped blood from its crown molding to its mist-swirled travertine. There was a sharp intake of breath beside him.
The Lady of Corte Sotille had actually gasped.
“How perfectly ghastly,” she proclaimed, nodding her piled hair vigorously. “I had heard good things, Braam, but I hardly dared believe them.”
A slight hooded by a compliment—Braam had come to expect them when dealing with the High Fae. Still, he felt a pang within, even as he smiled and thanked her for her gracious words.
“I hope you’ll find sights enough within to satisfy even the grimmest of tastes, Your Ladyship.”
She arched a painted-on brow in his direction. “Keep this up, Lord Braam, and it will almost be worth the trip from Palermo.”
With the slightest of wicked smiles on her face, the Lady of Corte Sotille glided on, inspecting everything as her ladies hurried after her.
The Lord of the Dahlia Court came next, wearing a boxy suit that appeared to be made of dripping honey frozen in place, or perhaps of flowing amber. He glanced once at Braam’s cane, twice at the crystallized blood that served as a chandelier, and moved on, his latest companion tittering at his side.
On and on the procession of High Fae lords and ladies went, until, much to Braam’s relief, King Bakker of Lindendam appeared with the eternally beautiful Lady Madeleif beside him.
Braam’s breath caught in his throat. Madeleif was a vision in sable, dotted with stars that looked as far and blue as their equally twinkling counterparts. There was not a fae of the Lindendam colonies who hadn’t grown up idolizing her, marveling at her delicate cerulean complexion, the swan-like length of her neck and the perfection of her hooded blue eyes. She looked divine tonight, like the heavens themselves.
Warmth stirred in Braam’s gut, followed by shame as her royal companion clapped him on the shoulder jovially. This was not a complication he needed tonight. If the Council of Lindendam put it up to a vote, he was counting on both King Bakker and Lady Linden’s votes in his favor.
At least there was one victory to be had. Braam noticed for the first time that both still wore their powder. A shame in Madeleif’s case, though he well knew it saved him and his people much embarrassment. Braam knew Madeleif’s skin was a breathtaking ivory-blue without flaw. He could not stop thinking of it now that she was before him.
“Braam, you old goat,” King Bakker said, a touch of sharpness to his tone that jolted Braam from his fond memories. “I do believe you’ve done it again.”
King Bakker sauntered into the hall, softly exclaiming as he went.
In the next moment, Braam was keenly aware that Madeleif had sidled up to him, her side barely pressed against his, as if they had just bumped into one another. She trailed her hand up his black velvet jacket, pausing to run her fingers around the crystals of the druzy spider.
