Page 47 of Heir of Autumn
The leaf led me to a wooden door carved with intricate designs, swirls of wind and cloud surrounded by a lovingly detailed array of autumn leaves. It spun in a pirouette, then slipped under the crack in the doorframe. No clearer instructions than that.
What was the protocol for this sort of thing? There were no guards to announce me, or to stop me from attempting to assassinate their queen. But this wasn’t about lax security standards. This was a message. The queen wanted everyone to know that she could fend for herself.
The many Queen Amanitas of the Spring Court were experts in poison, whether administered through food, or vapors, or envenomed weapons. I dreaded to imagine the kind of havoc Queen Aurelia could wreak. I rapped my knuckles against the door. The queen’s voice answered.
“Enter.”
The door creaked as I nudged it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber. Patterns scattered across the walls, the fading sunlight and candle flames diffused by myriad wooden screens and lattices. Every screen seemed so delicate and thin, each one emanating the soft, powdered sweetness of sandalwood.
It all reminded me of a confessional booth in a church. This was a place of whispers and secrets meant to be spoken only through the little holes and gaps. It seemed strange, the contrast between this hidden place of slats and shutters, and the welcoming openness of the queen’s audience chamber.
Here was a way to actually speak to the queen in private, and yet it kept her so distant. Perhaps this was some courtly, roundabout way of heightening Aurelia’s mystique, to cloak her in intrigue. In the end, it only made her seem more menacing.
On second thought, maybe that was the point.
Cloth rustled from somewhere within, gemstones clinked, the queen’s garments and jewelry making soft music as she shifted her position. I finally spotted her from the slight movement, the vagueness of her silhouette as she rearranged her skirts on a wooden bench.
But even with so many walls between us, amid the quiet and calm, Queen Aurelia’s voice came as crisp and clear as autumn air.
“Lochlann Wilde? Yes. Come in. You’ll forgive me for opting to meet you here instead of my private chambers. A matter of security, you understand.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” I bowed my head, even knowing that she couldn’t really see. “You would know best.”
I thought I detected a hint of a smile through the screen. “My son was right. You are quite charming, aren’t you? I suppose it comes with your craft, this art of summoning. Speaking silken, buttered words into the ears of your — how do you call them again? Eidolons?”
“That’s correct, Your Majesty. We summoners thrive by forging contracts and alliances with all sorts of powerful creatures. Some of the greatest summoners could call on dragons in battle, raise great stone giants from deep within the earth itself.”
“How whimsical and curious, building your own magical menagerie. I do wonder how the art of summoning would fare against fae magic.” She paused, then laughed softly. “Oh, but that isn’t meant to be a threat, of course. Merely a statement of fact. Any who think of opposing the Court of Autumn shall be crushed. Yes. Like brittle leaves. Turned into dust.”
And somehow it succeeded at sounding exactly like a threat. But the way Aurelia worded things really did raise concerns. Sylvain was right to lie to me about his origins when we first met, when he claimed to be Prince of the Summer Court.
Dried, dead leaves, crushed into powder? Someone who didn’t know any better would conclude that the Autumn Court’s alchemists really were behind the Withering, confirming the conspiracy theory that it was an engineered plague.
Still — who was to say that I knew any better?
Queen Aurelia cleared her throat before she continued. “It is crucial, of course, for the Court of Autumn to maintain not only the appearance of power, but true power itself. Surely you’ve wondered why there is no Autumn King. I make no secret of it. Sylvain and Yvette’s father died a long time ago. I loved him dearly, but have found no cause to remarry. You understand, don’t you, Lochlann? That a queen can rule on her own, bear the weight of crown and kingdom.”
“I do, Your Majesty. And you’ve raised fine children at the same time, too. Some might say that both things are just as difficult.”
Man, I was nailing this.
“Charming,” Queen Aurelia said. “Then you can imagine why I am most protective of my offspring. My only son, who has now become your eidolon.”
“Your Majesty,” I said, choosing my words. “The Pact of the Unknown, that is, the spell that bound us to each other — ”
“I am aware of the details. Frankly, I think his contract with you is the absurdest thing I’ve ever heard. Who would have thought that a fae prince could become chained to a human by accident? But I meant what I said before. It amuses me deeply, and it would please me to see my stubborn ox of a son learn the value of humility and service.”
My finger ran down the screen closest to me, the wood so soft and smooth, every slat in the latticework another place for me to whisper my confessions. “It was difficult at first, but I meant all that I’ve told you as well, Your Majesty. Sylvain is a strong fighter, and a good man.”
“Yes,” she answered, wistful and sweet. “Some day I expect that he and his sister shall perform great deeds for the glory of the Autumn Court. Though I do wonder if being bonded to a human would impede his development.”
There it was. This wasn’t about summoning and eidolons and pacts at all. I bit my lip, letting the queen speak.
“You strike me as a very lovely person, Lochlann. Very lovely indeed. But you do know that this dalliance between you won’t last. Don’t you?”
I’d only just opened my mouth to answer when the crashing and clattering began. Wooden screens broke and splintered, falling on top of each other in a wave toward me, like dominoes, or a house of cards.
My feet tangled as I backed up against the far wall, ready to sprint for the door, or to summon aid if need be. Sylvain had sworn to keep me safe, but would he fight his own mother to keep that promise?
