Page 68 of The High Mountain Court

How could Remy have missed spotting them amongst the courtiers?

“King Vostemur would like to remind you—” the one holding the burlap sack had a heavy, grating voice, “—that this is what happens when you try to claim back disputed territory. These heads are from Valtene.”

Gasps echoed around the room. The throng of fae pressed in closer together like a flock of scared sheep. Remy tasted the fear, thicker in the air than muggy days in Saxbridge.

Valtene? Remy knew that name, but how?

In a split second she remembered it was a Western Court town that bordered the Northern Court. Was the North moving its borders into the Western Court?

“The same will happen with Falhampton if you do not heed his warning,” the tallest one said.

“Falhampton is an Eastern town. It has been for centuries!” King Norwood stood at last. He was tall, nearly the height of Fenrin, his lean build hidden by his heavy black coat and furs. The king glared at the armored soldiers.

“It is a Northern town now,” the tall soldier said. “You have one week to withdraw your troops, or you will be gifted more presents from King Vostemur.”

The Northern soldier spoke the words so lightly for the weight of his threat. It was tantamount to a declaration of war. Remy’s eyes kept darting back to the graying, twisted faces on the floor. She thought of how close she nearly came to the same fate when she was in the Western Court. Her heartbeat punched into her ribcage.

With his beady black eyes, King Norwood stared down at the soldiers for a long time. Remy waited for the orders for the Northern soldiers to be seized, but that order never came.

“Get out of my palace. Now,” Norwood finally said in a low, biting tone.

The soldiers sketched mocking bows. “Enjoy your presents, Your Majesty.”

The crowd parted, giving them a wide berth, and the soldiers stalked out of the hall. Their eyes were shadowed by the helmets that covered half of their faces, but she saw their smirking lips. No one touched them as the fae granted them free passage out of the castle.

The crowd began to murmur as the soldiers left, but King Norwood’s voice could still be heard, cutting above the rising din.

“You!” he shouted, pointing into the crowd. Remy followed the point of his finger and saw Hale. His face was hard, his brows furrowed as he stared up at his father. Talhan stood close to the prince’s side. “Get your soldiers, I need to speak with you. Now.”

The noise of the room rose into frantic chatter. Remy continued her push out to the balcony, skirting past the five rotting heads without looking at them again. The cool autumn air hit her, pulling her back to her senses.

Breathe, she instructed herself.

She should not have come here. The second she saw that invitation, she should have gotten back on that boat and left for the Southern Court. She had lost all sense of self-preservation not only to find the talismans but to be near Hale. That magnetism would be the death of her.

Shadows shrouded the sweeping palace gardens as Remy gazed out over them. Wandering further along, she moved away from the bright windows and into the quieter dimness of the balcony. With each step, she felt her pulse slow.

She needed to get out of the Eastern Court at once. They were wasting their time here. They needed to get the amulet of Aelusien and find Baba Morganna. If Vostemur had grown so bold that he did not question sending severed heads to a neighboring kingdom, then war was at their doorstep. Norwood, fearing repercussions, only proved Vostemur’s power by not killing the Northern soldiers. Vostemur must be close to cracking the blood bond on the Immortal Blade then, if he was becoming so bold. Remy had to get to it before he did.

The thought stabbed into her side like a blade. There was no time to question her path anymore. The world would not wait for her to be ready.

Remy made her way to the very edge of the balcony, where a small stained glass lantern perched. She stared into a flickering candle, watching the colors dance across the stone railing.

She stared for a long, silent stretch into the candlelight, trying to imagine any successful outcome to the Northern threat, but she could not. Every twist and turn favored Vostemur. Every time she thought she had a plan, another snag would unravel it. She needed the High Priestess of the red witches to tell her what to do.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” She knew that rough voice without even turning.

“It’s not a witch’s candle,” Remy replied, staring into the flame.

Whatever Hale’s father had told him, it had been quick. She did not know if that was a good or bad thing.

“I know.” Hale moved to her side, his eyes dropping to the dagger belted at her hip.

“I see Carys isn’t the only one who has been spending my money,” he laughed, guessing correctly who had obtained the dagger for Remy. “It’s an extravagant blade—I should take it out of Bri’s wages.”

“No, I . . .”

“I won’t. It suits you too well, anyway,” Hale cut in before Remy could protest anymore. She would offer to pay for it herself, but she had no money. Hale took another slow sidestep toward her. “You look beautiful.”

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