Page 30 of Lord of the Hollow Court
Dire Greetings
As the last of the guests prepared to depart, an emptiness set into Hollow Hall along with the mists. There was a stubbornness to the damage done by the fae, no matter how well Braam’s people rebuilt the torn-through walls. Bits of glamour continued to sneak in, refusing to fade. As a result, Hollow Hall had the look of a field after a battle—a rather haunted one at that.
Braam blamed the full moon that had come on Samhain; anything to avoid what he’d known for years now, that the magic of the Hollow Court was diminishing with each moon cycle. The spells they’d cast to thrill and impress the guests refused to wane, the efforts to pull apart the magic foiled by strange breaks and snarls. No matter how many times Misman or Braam himself tried to unravel the glamour upon it, the foyer continued to drip blood. Goblets filled with the stuff. Spiders poured from cracks in the walls, disappearing into coils of black fog when they reached the ruined spell’s edges. The worst, though, was the alcove beside the ballroom, glamoured to be coated with green slime when guests sat for too long. The enchantment had frayed and left sticky patches throughout the grand space that took far too long to fade from the bottoms of Braam’s shoes.
The revel was a disaster. Further proof had arrived this morning, sealed in lapis lazuli-dyed wax. A talon—the mark of the Court of Claws—was impressed upon it.
Braam tried to tell himself there was naught he could do. The High Fae were quicker than he’d expected—quick to forget their debasement, no doubt—but the letter arrived so speedily it took the breath from him. Misman had delivered it to him on a tray, brow raised, and left him to open it in peace.
The Court of Claws is pleased to welcome the Hollow Court into its purview,it read.The arrangement shall be made official on the first day of spring, when her Ladyship Fenna de Groot will receive your oath and your tithe on behalf of the Hollow Court.
Braam quailed. Fenna de Groot was ancient, stern and a mix of High and Low Fae, a lineage that made her certain she knew the best for everyone and made allowances for no one. She added a new meaning to the Court of Claws’ name. And Braam would bow to her on the traditional date of spring on April first.
His people had worked so hard on this revel, all to make the right impression. Braam had driven them on with an urgency and harshness he’d never before employed, telling himself it was all for the greater good. He’d become irascible at best, and at worst, almost a tyrant. How was he to tell them their efforts were not good enough, that the sovereignty of their court was nearly at an end and Fenna de Groot was now responsible for their needs? As if she would ever listen to the low fae peasantry. Braam would be lucky if she listened tohim.
When he had read the missive in its entirety, Braam folded the heavy paper precisely, replaced it in its envelope and shoved it into a drawer. There was still too much to do to protect Hollow Hall from the coming weather. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them, wishing he could unread that letter. The ruby ring of his court stared back at him from atop his desk, flung there sometime during the night and now staring back at him accusingly.
He’d lost the Hollow Court. And with it, his ancestral lands. Someone else would rule them now—someone with neither a drop of pity nor Golden Fae blood.
Braam’s one consolation was that the human girl survived the Wild Hunt—no thanks to him. He’d counted on the period after the Hunt known as sensory burnout to protect the girl the next day. In retrospect, he should not have—Braam hadn’t eventhoughtto employ the herbal mixture used by witches, which Misman informed him the girl now wore at all times. Braam had been so very careless with her fragile human life.
His court was not the only thing in need of repair. Braam took a hard look at himself, and did not like what he found.
True, this was the first Wild Hunt he’d seen in decades. The last had been in one of the under courts of Lindendam, where they held the midsummer revel that year. The Hunt took place beyond the Birch Hall grounds, its effects kept to the middle of the forest. Braam marveled at the destruction afterwards, at the trees ripped up by the roots or snapped in half—but that morning, all he knew was that the participants limped back to the palace, dirtied and bloodied, while the rest of them slept off their grape and faerie wine. When the revelers broke their fast well past midday, Braam learned of the sensory burnout that left them with what a low fae would deem a severe head cold.
The High Fae from the Wild Hunt could not smell, could barely taste. The colors were so dull to them that one could not tell strawberry jam from marmalade, insisting she’d been served the wrong one until Braam intervened. The High Fae woman regarded him haughtily, then proceeded to eat what she’d labeled as the wrong jam on her toast.
“Tastes the same anyway,” she groused.
When he learned of the Wild Hunt’s true aim, Braam had not asked what became of the humans that sparked it. He didn’t want to. Then, his fondest wish was to be more like the High Fae and to be accepted by them. He could not reconcile the truth of them with that desire, and so he’d set it aside.
That was before he’d inherited the court from his father. Before his hip deteriorated, before his cane. When all he wanted in the world was for the High Fae to say he was worthy.
He’d fallen back into that pattern these last several months. He’d acted to please the High Fae, to instill in them a good opinion of him and the court he ran, when he should’ve behaved as the man he was: a lord in his own right, capable of executing his duties to his people in ways the High Fae would never be.
Now Braam’s life was in its final half century, and he’d barely grown wiser. His body had been sufficiently battered by life to suspect he’d offended some old god or other, and he found himself heirless besides. Maybe this letter was for the best. Old as she was, Fenna de Groot had inherited High Fae longevity and would probably outlive him. If not, she had dozens of heirs.
Better to make the transition now,Braam thought,while I’m still here to ease it.Sooner or later, his court would fall into de Groot hands. Or claws, as it were. After so many years, it seemed unlikely he’d finally father a child. His youth had produced none, as was too often the case with fae, though he’d entertained a number of female companions. He suddenly, bitterly, wished he had not wasted his prime on Madeleif, spurning all others out of his devotion to her. He’d thought her too beautiful, too perfect, to permit as much as a single thought of another.
Now he was left with nothing but a Hall full of winding mists and stubborn enchantments.
At least he’d saved the girl. The human girl he’d found by moonlight, wreathed in mists like a lady of Avalon...
With all the debris and damage in urgent need of repair, Braam assumed the human would be fine as his guests crawled back from the Hunt. He’d barely spared her a thought. Now, his mind returned to her frequently.
“What’s she like?” he asked Misman while his butler assisted him with the books—and the hefty notes he had to write to the tradesfae from Ziyl, since the valley around Boogard was still sealed. “The human girl, I mean.”
“A hard enough worker.” Misman shifted, as if speaking about her made him uneasy. “I hear she was a flour miller’s daughter in the human town.”
“Indeed?” Braam scratched his chin, then changed the angle his cane rested at when it began to slide. A human worker’s daughter. There were worse things. She did not have anything like fae beauty, but there was an earthy pleasantness in her human face. “Does she have a name?”
“Katrina van der Vos. Most call her Katty.” Misman sniffed. “If I may ask—”
“It’s probably best you don’t.”
Misman stiffened. “I’d like to anyway, if m’lord would permit it.”
Sighing, Braam leaned back in his chair until it squeaked in protest. “The Council of High Fae has voted against us—and swiftly, too. I cannot avoid presenting my oath and tithe to the Court of Claws.”
