Page 14 of Sons of Sorrow
A break from what, though? Not that I was adamant on getting my money’s worth out of Satchel or anything, but life since the events of the Oriel of Water had been relatively easy and breezy for him. For all of us, in fact.
It was a nice change. Satchel could focus on stitching up prototypes for his literal small business, and Sylvain could read all the books and devour all the television he wanted. As for me? It felt like the most productive thing I’d done in recent time was trying to drown myself in a tub.
Maybe Sylvain was right and my ability to breathe in the Oriel of Water was just a fluke. Threads of the water-breathing spell from my medallion could have lingered on my body, even though the necklace itself was not performing its very fundamental function of staying laced to my neck.
But that only raised more questions. If this medallion really only served a decorative purpose, why was Aphrodite so excited to see me put all the pieces together? And for that matter, why was she so invested in me and Sylvain?
“Is something the matter, Lochlann?”
“Hmm?” I blinked at Sylvain. “Is it really that obvious when I’ve got something on my mind?”
Sylvain smiled and pointed down the corridor. “Our destination is Mother’s audience chamber, down that way. But your eyes are focused far, far away, beyond the palace grounds, perhaps even beyond the Verdance. What troubles you?”
“It’s really nothing. Rather, I think it should be nothing.” I glanced to either side as we walked, just to check that there was no one within earshot, no servants dusting the alcoves or whatever. “Aphrodite came to see me again. I told you that I spoke to the guardians, to sort of test the waters and see if anyone would volunteer to read the you-know-what.”
His eyebrow curved upward. We still hadn’t mentioned the parchment’s existence to anyone at the Amber Pavilion, knowing that the fae would cast blame on humanity for what happened to Queen Aurelia.
“I imagine the guardians were hesitant,” Sylvain said. “And as for — well, as for your visitor. What did she have to say?”
“Nothing she hasn’t taunted us with already. She wants us questioning our elders, which is hilarious in my case because Mom is dead, and Father is — well, who the fuck knows, really? She wants me to question why I can control the guardians the way I do.”
“Surely there must be precedent somewhere,” Sylvain said. “Far back in your human history, there must be at least one summoner with an affinity for commanding elemental guardians, and not just eidolons.”
“Doctor Fang says there’s nothing in the books, but maybe it’s something I should discuss with Mister Brittle.” I gestured at Sylvain’s body, his cloak of leaves, his trousers. “And it’s not like you have anything to worry about with your family. She was going on and on again about why your magic manifests as green leaves when your mother’s power uses the brown and gold of autumn. She’s being cryptic and ridiculous like always, as if the colors could mean anything so serious.”
“Yes. You’re right.” Sylvain’s forehead creased, the lines on his brow etched with doubt. “That certainly sounds preposterous.”
“That’s what I thought. Big deal. It’s just colors, right? The color of a child’s hair or eyes can still differ from their parents. Maybe it’s the same with your leaves. Here in the Autumn Court, everything is brown and gold, and that’s what you have to work with. Out on Earth, for whatever reason, it’s the green leaves that answer your call, depending on the season. Just colors. That’s all it is.”
Sylvain stared at me for a moment with his golden eyes, but said nothing. In just a few minutes, I’d have to look into his mother’s eyes, a deeper, richer color than his, closer to amber, a melding of the shades of her season. Again: only colors.
And in my case, only a matter of research. Maybe Alister Brittle could help me trace the traditions of summoners back to someone who could command guardians, the deep elementals. There had to be a simple explanation for all this. Screw Aphrodite and the seeds of doubt she so loved to plant in our heads.
We paused briefly outside the great doors into Queen Aurelia’s audience chamber, the guards to either side bowing their heads respectfully in Sylvain’s presence.
“At ease, gentlemen.” He spoke to them kindly, softly, even seeming a little embarrassed by the formality.
Sylvain spun his finger in the air, drawing endless circles, leaving a trail of golden light. The halo shone, then solidified into his royal circlet, the symbol of his princely station. He offered it to me without words. I took it automatically, making no secret of how much I enjoyed coronating him on these small, special occasions.
He offered me his elbow, smiling. “If you’re quite ready, little human?”
I looped my arm through his, took a deep breath, and nodded. The doors opened.
Total chaos. A beautiful burst of sound and light and color emanated from the threshold, but above them all rang a single prominent word.
“Surprise!”
Golden confetti sparkled from the high ceiling of the audience chamber, ribbons of orange and red sailing across the room from a series of party poppers. I looked around with my mouth agape, shocked, first of all, by the incredible mess this was going to make of the queen’s throne room.
And then I saw Queen Aurelia herself, sitting on her throne in her regal garments — and wearing a conical party hat in place of her crown. I almost collapsed.
“Locke!” Satchel shouted, zipping into my face, grabbing tiny handfuls of my cheeks. “It’s a party for us! For you!”
Princess Yvette clasped me by the shoulders, the severe, if elegant lines of her body armor softened by the presence of the same ribbons and bits of confetti that had showered me and Sylvain on the way in.
“A feast for our friends,” Yvette said, “and for you most of all, Lochlann Wilde, hero of the Autumn Court.”
I touched the back of my hand to my forehead, positive this was a fever dream. Sylvain laughed and shook his head at me, wrapping his arm around my waist.
