Page 92 of The Crimson Throne
We weave through the crowd in the square. I follow the gentle nudges of the cold winter wind, heading to the far side of the market, past the last lingering booths, through a small grove of trees. When we’re far enough away that the music starts to fade, the wind whips around us, icy claws that lift our hair and rip at our clothes.
I grit my teeth, clutching at my cloak. “There’s no need to be so dramatic,” I mutter.
The wind almost seems to chuckle as it swirls away from me before settling like a mantle on the shoulders of an old,oldwoman. To his credit, Samson keeps his shock well hidden.
A long drape of white wool covers the old woman, a stark contrast to her blue-black skin that looks like the deepest, coldest winter night. Her eye—she has only one—is sunken into her face like a tiny black pearl. She would be taller than me if she weren’t so hunched over, but she’s supported by a cane made of solid ice. When she lowers her hood, she reveals mounds of brilliant white hair topped with glittering, unmelting snowflakes and spikes of icicles that form a delicate tiara on her head.
“Queen Beira,” I murmur, sinking into a curtsy lower than any I have ever given Mary. Samson immediately copies me, easily following my lead as he bends in a low bow. I look at him out of the corner of my eye to see him watching me. He notes the grim line of my mouth, the way my jaw clenches, and subtly nods.
He understands the danger here.
I don’t look up from the ground until she says in her cracked voice, “Rise, children.” When I dare to meet her gaze, I see approval in the tilt of her chin. She smiles, her teeth the color of rust and sharp as daggers.
My bones are cold with fear. Beira is the queen of winter and one of the ancient fae, the original goddesses. She is a giant and has deigned to shrink herself to a more reasonable size to confer with me.
“You did not answer my call for so long that I wondered…” Her wrinkled lips pull down in a frown. “But you are here now.”
“I apologize, my queen. I meant no disrespect.” I heard the summons but didn’t know it was her.
Beira carved the mountain to the north, she was the mother to many of the old gods, and the cane she holds in one hand is slowly turning the earth beneath it into solid ice. She is more powerful than anyone of the Seelie Court, but she tired of both realms centuries ago, only occasionally interacting with either the fae or humanity.
Samson and I may have come to the bog with our own intentions—to decipher that letter he found and perhaps discover more about his curse—but none of that matters in the face of the queen of winter. She has the power and knowledge to solve both issues, but it would never be worth the risk of paying the price she would levy on us for such answers.
I know of her by legend, the same way that I know of Lugh, the Green Man, or Brigid. The old gods don’t meddle with anyone, really. Not anymore. And especially someone as unimportant as me.
So the fact that she has summoned us…
“I have been watching you, half breed,” Beira says. Her eye slides over to Samson.
She summoned him as well and continues to tolerate his presence, but there’s something like…distaste on her lips as she stares him down. Samson meets her gaze, shoulders squared, watching. Waiting.
“An unlikely pair,” Beira eventually says, looking back to me.
She knows what he is,I think.
But she’s not telling us.
I can feel frustration radiating off Samson, who’s guessed much the same. Thankfully, he doesn’t interrupt the queen.
The old fae goddess looks down her nose at us both. “I will keep many eyes on you.”
I think about that first night with Samson, the stag that watched us silently in the moor.
Deer are part of Queen Beira’s domain.
Still, even though Samson is definitely not experienced in the magical world, he’s holding his own. And maybe together, we have a chance…
“Just know that my grace is limited,” Beira adds, layering on an additional warning. Her meaning is clear: one toe out of line, and the queen of winter will take care of us herself.
She swings her eye back to me, leveling me with an equally judgmental glare.
“I see the way you have attempted to protect the realms,” she continues.
I bite my tongue, unsure whether she’s giving a compliment or insulting me.
“And I have seen the threat continue to grow against all defenses, old and new.”
I meet her eye, stare into its dark depths. “The Red Caps are coming.”
