Page 39 of The High Mountain Court

Chapter Ten

White flagstones baked below their feet, the air warm and humid. It felt as hot as the peak of the Western summer, even though Remy knew the Autumnal Equinox was mere days away. She was grateful for the billowy light dress that Bri had picked for her.

The rest of the fae wore similar light fabric trousers and short-sleeved tunics. But they remained covered in leather belts and backstraps, armed to the teeth with weapons. They looked less rough in Saxbridge; even as menacing warriors they looked like refined fae out on the town. The Twin Eagles and Carys all wore straight-legged, moon-gray trousers. The Eagles favored tunics the shade of goldenrod that made their eyes seem to glow, while Carys picked violet, the color of the Eastern Court.

Everywhere around them, fae walked informally through the shopping precinct, wearing every color of the rainbow. The brilliant colors matched the tropical flowers bursting from planters placed around large, white marble columns. In the Western Court everyone wore muted earth tones. It was a celebration for the eyes to see so many colors and fabrics. The shopping fae around them slowed or paused as Hale’s crew walked past. They were sure to be the talk of the town soon. Gossip would fly about the Bastard Prince being in Saxbridge.

Hale looked ever the swaggering prince in his lightweight pewter tunic. Covered in intricate embroidery of silver, gold, and light blue, it matched his fitted trousers, the same duck-egg blue as Remy’s dress. Bri had dressed Remy to match the prince she was pretending to serve.

Pointedly looking from her dress, Remy gave Bri a sideways glance and Bri shrugged, “It’s the fashionable color here—what can I do?”

“Likely story,” Remy jeered. Hale’s golden ring clinked against the stone tag of the witch’s collar with her every step. “I see you and Talhan and Carys all found different colors.”

“They didn’t have any in your size,” Bri shot back with a grin. The Eagle knew what she was doing.

They continued along the grand outdoor mall. Domed white and tiled roofs peeked up beyond its high walls. In the farthest distance was a giant, golden geodesic dome, sitting like a crown in the skyline. A forest-green pennant waved in the wind from its peak. Emblazoned on it in gold was the flowering tree of the Southern Court crest. That must be the castle of Saxbridge.

Remy felt another crowd of fae eyes upon her. The scrutiny in them was relentless as they looked her up and down. Snickering, they noted her rounded ears and her witch’s collar. Remy ground her teeth together. She bowed her head, shoulders deflating a bit into the stance she had assumed for most of her life.

Carys’s light touch on her elbow pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

“Chin up,” Carys said through smiling lips.

Remy straightened and looked to the female fae. Her white-blonde hair was not in its traditional braid but unbound, flowing down her back. She looked elegant and showy, like a princess. She would look perfect draped on Hale’s arm. Remy’s gut tightened. She needed to stop thinking that way. Carys said that they were not together. She needed to let go of this story she was telling herself about them. Carys had only ever been kind to her. But even now, when she saw Carys’s beauty and thought about her and Hale sharing a bed in the past . . . it made her want to punch her fist through one of these marble columns.

They neared a pavilion crowded with seating areas of white tables and chairs. Remy’s stomach rumbled as the warm aromas of coffee, ginger, turmeric, and cloves wafted to her. She had heard the food in the Southern Court surpassed anything else in the realm.

As they neared the seating area, an opening at the very edge came into view. A ring of empty tables surrounded a person sitting by the balcony. The figure’s shoulders hunched over a book. Beyond that lone person lay beautiful, manicured gardens. A long, rectangular reflection pool bisected the lush foliage. A thin white gravel promenade wrapped around its crystal-clear water. Small groups of fae sashayed around it, taking in the gardens.

“Neelo!” Hale called.

The person sitting in the untouched corner of the café lifted their head.

“Thank you for agreeing to lunch.” Hale reached out and shook their hand as they begrudgingly put a bookmark into their tome and laid it on the table in front of them.

As Remy neared, she took in the sight of the withdrawn bookworm. They were nothing like Remy had imagined they would be.

The Heir of Saxbridge had strong cheekbones, thick lashes, and a rounded jaw. As most natives to the Southern Court, they had dark red-brown skin. Their slender fae ears poked out through their thick, straight black hair, which was tied in a knot at the nape of their neck.

This was the face of Neelo Emberspear, Heir to the Southern Court. They sat small and stooped, despite their muscled frame and hefty weight. Their unusual aesthetic was an androgynous mixture of fae beauty and strength.

Hooded brown eyes watched Remy approach as the rest of the fae took their seats around the table.

“Neelo, this is my new red witch, Remy,” Hale said, waving a hand at her.

Neelo gave Remy a prompt, grim look and said, “Pleasure” before looking back out over the gardens.

They wore an oversized, long-sleeved, black jacket, the black a stark contrast to the light colors worn by everyone around them. A thick, golden rope, tied in an intricate knot, held the jacket together. The rope belt was purely decorative, a sign of the Southern Court’s wealth. Neelo’s charcoal gray pants were simple and narrow, showing off strong, muscular legs. It was far too much clothing for the Southern Court’s muggy climate, but not a single spot of sweat dripped down Neelo’s face. They must dress like this all of the time if they were so acclimated to the hot weather.

Remy sat in a chair between Hale and Carys, looking over the grounds. Green witches were the caretakers of the botanical gardens before them. Not a single weed grew. Okrith’s best gardeners perfectly positioned every flower and shrub like a living painting. Brilliant green parrots flew from tall palm trees, squawking in a strange sing-song Remy had never heard before. The Southern Court was enchanting. Remy felt Hale’s eyes watching as she drank in its beauty. She still refused to meet his gaze.

“Where did you find a red witch?” Neelo said, their attention fixed on the reflection pool.

“In the Western Court,” Hale boasted. He spoke as if Remy were a treasure that he had stumbled upon.

“Are there any more red witches in the West who would like a patron?” Neelo’s brown eyes slid to Remy.

“Not that I know of,” Remy hedged. Neelo pursed their lips at her. She wasn’t sure how to speak to the Heir of Saxbridge. They didn’t seem particularly welcoming.

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