In the morning, Senach and I return to Blackthorn’s home with Mór and the others behind us. He lets us in with a smile, leading us straight to a parlor where breakfast waits for all of us. Mór gives him a distinctly unhappy look, but accepts the tea he offers her. It’s hours of bickering about him joining us after that. Senach and I sit on a couch in a corner and let them all have at it, and I throw my legs across his lap and the plate he filled for us rest on my lap as he drapes one arm along the back of the couch. We talk quietly as Mór continuously refuses to allow Blackthorn to join us. Val studies his notes of Firestone’s manor. Estrid piles her plate up twice. Constantín tinkers with a music box again.
In the end, it’s agreed that Blackthorn will be joining us throughout the entire night of our theft. I’m dozing with my head on Senach’s shoulder by the time that’s finalized and Blackthorn begins informing us all on what we’re to wear. Senach’s head rests against mine, his hand against my thigh. All day is spent in that parlor, Blackthorn calling for servants to bring clothing he can fuss with as he holds it against everyone. I lift my head once to glare at him when he comes near Senach and I, and he turns swiftly to hold the cloak in his hands against Val. Lunch and dinner are brought to us between fittings.
The next two days are ours before we return to Blackthorn’s home. I’m dressed as the prince I shouldn’t be anymore and Senach stands next to me in his ceremonial armor, adjusting his vambraces as we wait for Blackthorn’s coach to be readied. Mór stands next to us, frowning with her arms crossed. Blackthorn comes to us just as the coach is made ready, offering each of us a mask. Senach is given a snarling dragon. It looks black until he tilts it, revealing the evergreen and twilight coloring that matches Aedín, as well as the feathers and scales from her hanging from both our ears tonight. I’m given a mask of a wolf, and Mór takes a raven. Blackthorn smirks as he holds his boar mask up to his face, offering Mór his arm. She smiles a little as she takes his arm. He helps her into the coach, Senach and I following them into it and sitting across from them. Once the coach is rolling along, he opens a bottle of wine and pours glasses for each of us so we may drink a toast of luck for the night’s endeavors.
Alasdrann Firestone’s home is more accurately called a small palace.
The coach rolls into a large courtyard and we don our masks before exiting it, Blackthorn stepping down first to help Mór next. Senach precedes me, offering me his hand. “No wild drinking tonight,” he says softly as we follow Blackthorn and Mór to the door.
“I’m aware,” I reply as we’re waved inside. “I will find other ways to entertain myself.”
Senach eyes the servant at the door as we pass the man. “Will you?”
“Yes, and you’ll be at my side for each little entertainment.”
“Will I?”
“Of course.”
He snorts and shakes his head as we walk into a grand ballroom, the walls covered in pastoral scenes with gilded frames. We accept small glasses of wine as Blackthorn and Mór slip into the crowd. Val walks by us wearing the dress and simple mask of a servant, carrying a tray of empty glasses. I run my finger along the edge of Senach’s mask. He turns his head to look at me, and I remember a flash of a dream as I stare at his summer sky eyes under the mask of a dragon.
And though I’ve not uttered the words for nearly a decade, I say them softly anyway: “Will you tell me what you hear, dear knight?”
“All that and more, my prince,” he replies as softly.
We were younger and he was there at my back when I was forced into more courtly duties. I said it once to him with a hysterical giggle, quoting something Prince Galan is to have said to his closest friend and fellow dragon knight. Senach hadn’t hesitated with the correct response or to do just that. He doesn’t hesitate now, stepping closer so he can whisper. I seek out those he describes as we walk together, then frown at him when he starts to trail off. He breathes shallowly, and I can just barely make out his own frown under the mask.
“Fair Folk,” he explains. “We’re surrounded by them. I should have known by the way they speak to each other. There are others, too. This is not a safe place for anyone human.”
I almost ask him if that’s all. I finish off the wine in my glass quickly, draping my arm over his shoulder and tapping the glass against his back. “We’ll continue on, though. No other choice.”
“We could leave,” he points out. “This is nothing we’ve ever done before.”
“Aren’t you curious, though?” I ask.
“About what?” he asks, exasperated.
“Why Alasdrann Firestone is holding a winter masquerade. The Summer Jewel. Why Firestone would take such a thing from Blackthorn, and how Blackthorn came to have it to begin with.”
“I don’t think you can turn this into some heroic quest,” he says dryly.
I shrug. Val appears next to us, offering his tray. I set my empty glass down and pick up a full one. “This is a lot of Fair Folk in one place. A heroic quest might still happen,” I say. Val’s lashes lower and he nods briefly in acknowledgement as I sip the wine. He disappears into the crowd again. “If Mór explodes, we leave,” I murmur.
Senach nods. He stays at my side as we wait for the hours to pass. Constantín is the next we see, walking amongst the servants as Val does. Estrid comes last, masked and dressed as a white bear. Val approaches both of them swiftly at nods from Mór. I pull Senach to hide behind a painted screen and remove my mask for a time. He stands close as ever, whispering in my ear about those who pass on the other side of the screen. Our little corner stands in shadows, affording us a semblance of privacy in such a crowded ballroom. I run my fingers along the edges of his mask again and start to push it up.
A woman laughs as she stumbles into the screen. I step away from Senach. He adjusts his mask and takes mine. I stare at the screen as he ties it for me. His hands rest on my shoulders after and I lean back into him. He starts to step back, deeper into the shadows. Galan never had to deal with a room full of Fair Folk, I reflect sourly as I straighten from him. He follows me from behind the screen and into the midst of predators. They take notice of us slowly, stepping close to fawn over his armor or touch my arm as they compliment me. Senach steps closer when he whispers in my ear that Blackthorn and Mór have left. I squeeze his arm and walk away with him, letting whispers follow us as we slip from the room.
Our door leads us to a dark hallway, the only light coming from the ballroom. Senach takes my arm and leads me to the left, leaving that small bit of light behind. A corner plunges us into darkness, candles left unlit along the walls. We walk until we find a set of stairs, Senach pausing to consider before he nods. I follow him up the stairs, pulling my mask off again. I’d leave it behind on the stairs if I could, but it’s possible we’ll need to leave the way we came in and I’ll need a mask for that. Senach glances back. I wave him on. Up and up we go, then down a thin corridor covered in cobwebs. It’s hard to tell if this is an unused servant’s corridor or that special trick of the Fair Folk, where they bring vitality to only what they need. And eventually what they need will return to dust and cobwebs as this corridor has.
We come to a room lit by candles and every bit as dusty as the corridor. Mór’s furious gaze is the first thing I notice, then that she’s aimed it at Blackthorn. Once Senach and I are noticed, she turns it on us.
“We should have asked more questions,” Val complains next to the door. He gives me a baleful glance before nodding at the closed doors across the room. Blackthorn paces in front of them as Estrid stands before them with her arms outstretched. Val turns vicious when he speaks again. “Tell him, Blackthorn. Tell him what the Summer Jewel is. Tell him who it is. Tell Bridei why we’re really here.”
Blackthorn glares at him. “My wife,” he says flatly. “Alasdrann Firestone’s daughter.”
The feeling that flows through me is not unlike the one I get standing on the parapets of a castle and looking to the ground. Or sitting in the window of a high tower and staring down at the castle grounds below. Danger, a precipice. The Fair Folk are not to be trifled with. They return slight offenses with three times the weight, for such eternal lives can make everything as big as it can be or as little as possible. What would one such as Firestone do for stealing his daughter?
“Well,” I drawl out. Senach stiffens, then sighs in resignation. “You should start thinking of what you’re going to give us now, Blackthorn.” Everyone but Senach turns to stare at me. I grin, feeling reckless and giddy with it. “You owe us more than promised.”
Blackthorn gapes at me for a moment more, then bows lower than he has before to me. He adds a bard’s flourish to it, as well. “Of course,” he says.
Estrid steps away from the doors. “Try now,” she calls out. I have only a breath to wonder who she talks to before the doors are opening.
The woman who stands there has fire in the curls of her hair. She wears only a robe, her face an expression of anxiety as she pushes on the doors. Slowly, she smiles. Blackthorn stares at her, and when she looks to him, he surges forward to pull her into his arms. He clings to her as he kisses her, nearly lifting her off her feet. She laughs as she holds him.
“He never thought you would do it,” she says.
“Well, I have,” Blackthorn says tartly. “Followed his ridiculous rules and everything.”
Senach inhales slowly. “You dragged us into your own fey bargain.”
“I cannot tell you I’m sorry for doing so,” Blackthorn replies. “For I am not.”
“May we have some of the story we risk ourselves for?” I ask.
Blackthorn smiles, head tilting to the side. “I do not believe it is my story you risk yourself for, Last Prince of the Uí Ímair,” he says. His wife’s gaze bores into me. “But I will tell you.” And so he does, a bard’s long and winding tale of a romance that her father disapproved of. Their elopement under a twilight sky on some sea cliffs. I grow bored quickly, sending Val to scout our exit. Blackthorn’s wife slips back into her room, reappearing quickly in a velvet red dress that matches Blackthorn. He ties a fox mask for her.
She interrupts him smoothly. “We eloped. My father was furious and kidnapped me. He set a challenge for Taran to complete for my freedom. With your aid, I can go back to my husband and my father is forced to leave us alone. Thank you,” she says gravely. Then she gives her husband a sideways glance. “But Taran is like many a bard. He will tell the tale for hours.”
“You like my tales,” Blackthorn says with an unrepentant grin. He’s shedding glamour after glamour now—his ears are the Fair Folk’s pointed ones, his hair oak brown and threaded with honey. I could have thought him older before. Now it’s hard to believe he’s older than me as the glamours fall and we see more of his true face.
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“I do,” his wife says, patting his cheek. “I am Lady Onóra Blackthorn,” she says to the rest of us. “We must go now, before my father discovers all of you here.”
“You need to return with Mór,” I tell Blackthorn. He nods, kissing Onóra’s hands before stepping away from her. Mór takes his proffered arm and they leave the room together. Estrid goes next, leaving Onóra alone with me and Senach. I exchange a glance with Senach. He shrugs. I beckon for her. “Come along then, my lady. Let us see if we cannot find your freedom.”
Senach leads the way again and I fall into step behind him. Onóra walks behind me, quiet as the spirits that used to haunt me. I glance back once, reassuring myself that she’s there, and she smiles at me. I look away without smiling back, brushing my fingers over Senach’s hand. He doesn’t glance back, but he twists his hand to clasp mine for a time. He ties my mask for me again before we step from a servant’s entrance to the grand ballroom. No one even glances at the three of us as we emerge from the wall. Stranger things to see at a party full of Fair Folk, I suppose.
Onóra immediately walks away from us, disappearing into the crowd with ease to pull a man in a peacock mask into a dance. “Her father, by the way she greets him,” Senach says, stepping close. I pull him to an empty bit of wall, gesturing for him to share what else he hears. He shrugs. “She tells him the bargain is complete. Blackthorn succeeded. Her father is bound to his word.”
I nod, tugging on the breastplate of his ceremonial armor. He steps even closer. I lean against the wall, then slouch a little as I look up at him. “Do you think we’ll be able to leave with our heads?”
He cocks his head to the side, listening. I look at where his mask meets skin and consider running my fingers along there again. “She still has to leave, it seems. Once she sets foot outside these walls, she’s safe,” he says.
“That didn’t answer my question,” I point out.
He shrugs again as he leans against the wall next to me. He faces me, wrapping some of my hair around his fingers. “Who knows, surrounded as we are.”
I sigh, and move closer to rest my head against his shoulder as I stare at the ballroom. “What do you hear, dear knight?”
“So much, my prince,” he replies. “Everyone knows who you are now. They want bargains with you.”
“I only want a bargain with you,” I whisper.
He’s silent for long enough that I can believe my words go unheard. Then he moves, dislodging my head from his shoulder. I lift my head with a sigh, going still when he stands in front of me and lifts his mask to rest on top of his head. I stare at him as he leans down to put his mouth against my ear. “And what would we bargain for?” he asks, whispering as I had. “I’m already sworn to your service.”
I touch his arms slowly, fingers dancing over his armor and the gaps between. My mouth feels dry. “What would you ask of me?”
He considers, then takes my face in his hands. My eyes flutter shut as he pushes my mask up. He’s so gentle, thumb stroking over my cheek. I open my eyes again when his thumb brushes over my lip. “You said you want to be braver than you’ve been,” he says softly. “I want to see that.”
I giggle nervously before I can stop myself. Oh, if only he knew. “What do I get in return?”
“Whatever you’d like from me,” he answers.
“That’s a terrible bargain. I could ask for anything.”
“I know,” he says. “But I would give you anything you asked for.”
I tilt my head back as he moves closer. Anything, he says. Would he give me what I’ve craved since I knew what it meant to desire someone? If I asked, would he kiss me here, in front of all these Fair Folk? Would he listen to me describe his beauty? He would argue with me, and point out his scars, but he is beautiful. He has always been. I thought him so when I first laid eyes on him. I think so now, as I pull him closer and lift my head to meet him. His lashes lower as he holds my face.
The explosion shatters the ballroom’s high windows.
Senach covers my body with his, and I peek over his shoulder at the confusion that falls upon the ballroom. Some shriek as they flee the falling glass, others freeze in place as they stare in shock. Someone, Firestone maybe, shouts orders to discover what happened. I grin, and feel Senach’s answering grin against my cheek. The fire in one hearth starts popping wildly, causing some to shriek and flee from it. It’s hard to keep track of who runs with their mask still on, who flings it off in their haste. Discord runs rampant. I laugh and kiss Senach’s cheek wildly before pulling my mask back on. He steps back, fixing his own mask. We slip into Firestone’s confused guests together, asking whatever happened to scare them all so. Nobody has an answer for us, but we expect that to be so.
This is the moment Mór and the others will get Onóra outside. The idea had been for Mór and Val to smuggle a jewel out. We had planned for a necklace. But the shouts that come are still the confused ones of people desperate to know what’s happened. A second hearth fire starts popping, starting a new cascade of shrieks. Senach and I are caught up in the rush of bodies as they flee to the third hearth. I eye it warily, for Constantín would have done whatever he did to the other hearths to this one as well. Senach steps between me and the flames, hand at my back to give me a small push. Blackthorn and Mór stand not far from the first hearth to start popping, a man waving a peacock mask as he yells at them. We approach slowly. The man all but spits as he accuses Blackthorn of treachery.
Blackthorn’s eyes are wide under his mask. His glamours to hide who and what he is are still gone. “My lord, I have done nothing of the sort! I am your guest!”
Alasdrann Firestone seethes, fires dancing in his eyes. “Is there a problem, Lord Blackthorn?” I ask as I step up to them and remove my mask, smiling.
“It is good to see you unharmed in all the excitement, Prince Bridei,” Blackthorn replies, never looking away from Firestone—who spins to look at me so fast I wonder if he might topple over.
“Bridei mac Muirenn? The Last Prince of the Uí Ímair?” Firestone asks.
I hope my smile doesn’t look like a grimace. “My question was not answered.”
For a moment, Firestone only looks between me and Blackthorn. Then he sets his shoulders and bows gracefully. “There is no problem here,” he says to both of us. “I was—”
“A sore loser?” I suggest. Blackthorn barely covers his laugh with a cough. The anger flickers in Firestone’s eyes again before dissipating. I smile again, tilting my head to the side. “The party was enjoyable, Lord Firestone. Shame the fires terrified everyone so badly. What exploded?”
“Something in the stables,” he says flatly. “I must assess the damage now.”
Senach steps up to my side, placing his arm on my shoulder as we watch Firestone walk away. “The stables?” he asks Mór.
“The animals are unharmed,” she says. ”Constantín removed them.”
“That will be an interesting chase,” I murmur. I look to Blackthorn. “Now what?”
“We leave,” he says, getting a dreamy smile, “and I spend the night with my wife again.”
A little thorn of jealousy lodges itself into me. “How wonderful,” I say sweetly. Senach pinches my side where no one can see. I sidle away from him, looking around the room. “Whatever shall we do now, Senach?”
“Return to our inn,” he says.
“How boring.”
How unfortunate that I don’t think he’s wrong. People are leaving, some clutching each other worriedly as they wait by the doors for carriages. One man pokes at the fire in a hearth, jumping back when it starts popping again. He shakes his head as he walks away. The poker clatters loudly as he drops it, startling a group not far from him.
“Come,” Blackthorn says. “Let us see if my carriage is safe. I would like to return home.”
“I’m sure you would,” I murmur. He grins at me.
I take glass of wine from a confused servant as we walk away, drinking deeply. Senach touches my arm gently, head tilted in question as his removes his mask. I smile softly and shake my head at him. He nods. We follow Blackthorn and Mór to the door, where another lord of the Fair Folk steps into our way. Blackthorn frowns, stepping back to accommodate the lord and gesturing for the man to continue on first. The lord has his own frown when he looks at Blackthorn. I step forward, placing my hand against Blackthorn’s back and pushing him forward.
“What will you do with yourself now?” I ask him. The other lord tries to stay his ground, forcing me to walk into him. I stop before we touch, looking at the lord. “Yes?”
“Prince Bridei, allow me to introduce Lord Gideon Brighthollow,” Blackthorn says.
Brighthollow looks me over slowly. “Yes, the exiled prince. I heard you had attached yourself to Blackthorn’s side. Truly, you could do better amongst the Fair Folk.”
I sip my wine. “Are you suggesting yourself?”
His bow is shorter and shallower than ones I would give my mother and uncle when I was feeling particularly nasty, and there’s an amused glint to his eyes. “Perhaps,” he replies. “I could at least introduce you to someone not so low.”
“Low,” I repeat, tilting my head to the side. I glance at Blackthorn. “Whatever did you do to the man?”
“Onóra was his betrothed,” Blackthorn says.
“My, my.” I drink the last of my wine and step past Brighthollow. “I can see why Onóra would choose Blackthorn,” I say softly. “He’s already been so fun.”
“He’s desperate to have his name remembered,” Brighthollow replies.
“Aren’t we all?”
“I suppose a disgraced prince would want to find a new way to have his name remembered.”
I grin, spinning around to face him and tapping my glass against his chest. “Oh, but I’ll be remembered just for being exiled. My uncle and others will have spies on me to learn what I do, and I’ll always walk around with the question of if I’ll go back or not hanging over my head. One day,” I say, stepping close to Brighthollow. He looks discomfited by the fact that I’m taller than him. It makes my grin grow. “One day, someone’s going to tell me the future of Dál Macha hinges on whether I return or not. Last Prince of the Uí Ímair, remember? And I took the best dragon knight with me when I left. I can die tonight, and my name is already written in Dál Macha’s histories.”
Beyond Brighthollow, Senach looks at me in mild surprise.
“No wonder your uncle chose Nyvhael for you,” Blackthorn murmurs in wonder. “You would have been intoxicated every day and rendered useless. But Senach coming with you . . .” He looks Senach over quickly, then meets my gaze. “What will your story be, Bridei mac Muirenn?”
“I could get intoxicated every day here,” I remind him. “Especially with all the Fair Folk in Cernna.” I smile at Brighthollow. “And what of you, Lord Brighthollow? Do you know how your name will be remembered? Do you even think it will be? Why should it be? Why should you, of all the lords of the Fair Folk, be remembered?” I walk around him slowly, setting my empty glass down and picking up a full one. He stares ahead. I grin at Senach as I sip the wine. He watches me, lazily curious. “I don’t think he’ll be remembered at all, dear knight. I’ve never heard of a Lord Brighthollow in a Fair Folk tale. Have you?”
“No, my prince,” he answers, eyeing me. “But perhaps he’s young yet.”
“Do you think he might prove himself?” I ask. I stand next to Senach, and try to look Lord Brighthollow over again. Lace spills from his sleeves and frames his pale face, but his coat is a basic brown. He holds a bear mask, caught in a snarl, but his own brown eyes are soft. Young, as Senach says. Idealistic still. I place my hand against Senach’s shoulder as I drink my wine and tilt my head to the side. “I don’t. Lord Gideon Brighthollow. A name to be lost to the pages of history. A minor footnote in someone’s tale.”
Brighthollow reddens in anger. “I beg your pardon,” he says in a low voice.
“Lackluster,” I tell Senach. He turns to his head to look at me, but he’ll still have sight of Brighthollow. I run my finger over his cheek, delighting in the rough stubble. “It’s no wonder his betrothed chose the bard.”
Brighthollow steps forward. “You—”
Mór and Blackthorn move together, stepping between us. Mór pulls a dagger free, holding it up against Brighthollow’s chest. Blackthorn gives me a warning look before he turns his attention to Brighthollow. “The prince has been drinking our wine, Gideon—”
“Do you stand for him, Blackthorn?” the fey lord snaps. “Shall I demand satisfaction of you?”
The Fair Folk around us stop, turning to look at us. Mór hides her dagger quickly, looking at Blackthorn. “I see your carriage, Taran,” she says softly. “Let us leave.”
Blackthorn gives me a pointed look. “If you enjoy Lord Firestone’s wine, Bridei, I have a bottle of the same at my home. Would you care to enjoy it with me?”
“That is a wonderful idea,” I say. Senach places his hand against my back to steer me away as I finish the wine in my glass. We make it to the door before I turn back around, spinning in Senach’s grasp to look at Brighthollow again. He glowers after us. “Where?” I ask.
Senach stiffens. Blackthorn and Mór frown at me.
Another of the Fair Folk pauses, watching us from under a snow leopard mask.
Brighthollow inhales slowly, straightening his shoulders as he looks me over. “There is a ring on a hill near the old walls,” he says. “I will see you there in three days. We meet at midday.”
Blackthorn ushers us all outside before I can reply. I laugh, handing my glass to the footman who helps us into Blackthorn’s carriage. Senach and I sit on one side, Mór and Blackthorn on the other. Mór crosses her arms and stares out the carriage’s window, while Blackthorn loses all of that Fair Folk poise as he slouches. I cross my legs and bounce one foot as I smile at him. For a time, we only stare at each other, then he sits up crosses his legs.
“Are you two still staying at that inn?” he asks, examining his gloves.
“We are,” I answer.
“Would you like to be my guests?” He looks at Mór. “You and yours, as well. I know you’ve not been in Cernna for long. Onóra and I would certainly appreciate the company. Our home is too big for the two of us.”
I look to Senach. He stares at Blackthorn through narrowed eyes. “I found someone to host us,” I say. “All without my uncle’s letter.”
He rolls his eyes as Blackthorn laughs and asks, “Do you need time to think it over?”
“I’m sure the others will agree,” Mór says, shaking her head. “Val and Constantín aren’t fond of where we’ve been staying. They both want rooms to themselves.”
“Onóra and I have rooms to spare.”
“We’d be honored to stay with you, Blackthorn,” I say.
“Taran,” he says, smiling at me and Senach. “Call me Taran, then.”