Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,33
perhaps a little too heavy for his slender shoulders, which are more used to playing war among friends than risking his skin.
For all that, Wilden is one of the better lords.
Silt is a realm of barbarians. As a kingkiller may take the crown, they change monarchs too fast for any of us to bother to remember the names of them all. We’ve taken to calling their kings and queens the Sandman, as they live far enough south that half of their land is made up of white beaches.
The current queen should be the Sandwoman, I suppose. She looks young, which means nothing for our kind, but somehow, I sense that she is actually young—perhaps even as young as she looks.
It matters little. She’s clearly a force to be reckoned with. She had the crown when we arrived at Whitecroft, and she’s kept it all this time.
Ichor is perhaps the one court wilder than Silt. Traditionally, they drink the blood of their enemies to absorb their strength. Their ruler has let himself age—unusual among the folk. I wonder if he’s half human. The curve of his ears, poking out of a crown of silver hair, seems rounder than the rest of ours. It matters not. The blood of the gentry is stronger than that of mortals, and this wrinkled man in a low conversation with Ciera is all fae.
The Court of Stone is ruled by a bonded pair—Queen Ina and King Liken. I’m told one negotiates with Liken, and that when no agreement can be reached, the king sends Ina, who takes care of the problem at the edge of her twin swords. Surveying them quickly, I don’t doubt a word of it. Like her bondmate, she seems younger than most, but Ina’s blending in far too well with the shadows. She lets her pointed teeth poke out of her lips, instead of retracting them in civilized settings like the rest of us. Most of the folk have fangs. It’s simply not considered polite to show them.
Ina doesn’t seem to care about being polite.
Liken is her opposite, gallant, all smiles, and well dressed in embroidered velvet, while she wears leather under her cloak.
Last, the Court of Ash, realm of fire, is ruled by salamanders. The madman settled south and only accepted gentry and lower fae with an affinity for fire in his land. When children were born with magic from another element, they were banished or killed for centuries. Eventually, there only was fire.
Ash is the only court that never condemned the merging of different classes—they never minded if a common fae married a gentry, so long as they both had fire magic. Another form of discrimination, I suppose.
Centuries later, we have a unique race, a strange court that doesn’t quite belong with the rest of us. Their king is stocky, pale-green-skinned, and somewhat on the short side. I know that if provoked, he could burn half of Whitecroft before any of us could blink.
I’ve always been fascinated with Ash—and they don’t dislike me, given that I maintain some control over fire, so long as it’s in the shadows.
While not quite gentry anymore, and therefore shorter-lived, the salamanders are vicious and ferocious enough to have claimed a throne south of our land in the old days. They knelt to Nyx, as did we all, but my history lessons have taught me that Nyx saved them for last, only attacking them when she had the might of the six other courts behind her.
Of all elemental fae, the fire users are by far the most lethal.
But they're few—too few to make a difference in our forces. When Vlari sent news to all the courts, asking them to retreat to Whitecroft to protect them for the invaders, they all had mere hours to act. Being the farthest from Whitecroft, the Court of Ash had less time, and more miles to travel.
Freeing the rest of their brethren from the usurper’s leash is an alluring idea. They'd make a difference in the battle to come.
My natural place should be close to Queen Luce of the Court of Star. I was born and raised in her domain, and the Frosts also should have my allegiance; Duke Genrion is the one who elevated me after finding me as a child. But I’ve been made part of the high court, whatever that means. Ignoring propriety, I remain next to Vlari.
“Nevlaria. We’re all—” Alven looks around the table, his gaze cautioning. “Very glad to see you.”
She snorts, walking to one