I come to a pause before one man holding the crown rather than wearing it. “Why isn’t it on his brow?”
“He must be one of those who abdicated.” Davien strokes his chin thoughtfully. “The glass crown can only be worn by a true heir. It’s part of the ritual placed on it long ago by the Aviness family. When the original fae courts banded together to fight against the early elves and named Aviness their king, they swore fealty in a ritual that still binds all fae to this day to the crown. I hear Boltov began to wear the crown on his brow through some illusion or dark ritual in his attempt to claim I was not legitimate. Though any fae would know the truth by sense alone.”
“Sounds powerful,” I murmur, staring up at the man in the glass and trying to imagine myself pictured in a window someday, abdicating to Davien.
“It is, immensely. And the Boltovs can only tap into a fraction of it. I’ve no doubt Boltov thinks if he can get the magic of the ancient kings…he could do far more regardless of whether I’m alive or dead.”
“Which is why we can never let him get it.” I look up at Davien and he gives a small nod that feels conspiratorial. Even though I know I am only playing a small and accidental part of this great story of Aviness, for the first time, I feel as though I am truly a part of it rather than a spectator.
“Indeed.” He starts back for the fireplace behind us. “We should set up our camp here tonight. We’ll do a quick search of the keep, and then barricade this room. Whenever Shaye and Giles arrive, they won’t be able to miss us.”
My chest tightens as I stare at his back. I don’t know if Shaye and Giles are coming. The thought nearly makes me sick. They were with us mere hours ago. To think that right now they could be… I shudder and force the thought from my mind. They’re strong. And if Davien has faith that they will come walking through that door, then so will I. At the very least, I choose to believe they’ve turned back to Dreamsong to help protect it.
“I’ll make the fire,” I offer.
“You?” He seems startled. It elicits a laugh from me.
“I assure you I’m perfectly capable of making a fire. I did for my family most mornings. I did in the safe house yesterday.” I cross over to the hearth and begin to check the flue. From what I can see, it doesn’t look like there are any obstructions. Even if there were, the ceiling is high enough in here and there are enough holes in the roof that I doubt we’re going to get smoked out.
“I can use magic,” he offers.
“Or you can begin your search. Unless you’d rather I search the rooms and corridors?”
Davien frowns. “I’d rather you stay at my side. But I can see the benefit of dividing and conquering.”
“I’ll shout if there’s any trouble.”
“Be sure you do. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and heads up the stairs. Leaving me to remind myself to breathe for a moment after a remark like that.
I rummage through the saddlebags, assessing our supplies. There’s not a great deal, but there’s enough to be comfortable at least for tonight. Luckily, among all the other supplies are some flint and steel. I retreat back through the entry hallway to an antechamber and collect dead brush and twigs for kindling. Shockingly, I find some split logs stacked and dry on the side of the fireplace. I wonder if there’s some kind of old ritual on the closet they’re stored in, given that there’s no sign of rot.
Practical fae rituals to make my life easier when I return to the human world. Those will be a must. I chuckle as I collect the wood, imagining the Fae King in my home, charming a closet so my firewood is always dry and ready. It’s certainly a nice image.
Ferrying the supplies back, I stack my wood atop the kindling and proceed with striking the flint until I get spark to catch. Davien hasn’t returned by the time I’m done stoking the flames, so I turn to focusing on food. There are some rations at the bottom of the saddlebags that I lay out on the table. I spend way too much time making sure they’re as aesthetically pleasing as possible, given that it’s only a small loaf of bread, a jar of blackberry jam, and salted meat.
“You eat with your eyes first,” I mutter, thinking of all the times Joyce chided me for the table not being set just right.
“What was that?” Davien startles me. He comes in through one of the other side doors of the main hall.
“I don’t suppose you found a larder miraculously stocked with food, did you?” I ask instead of repeating myself.
“Unless you consider moss food, no.” He approaches. “I think this will be enough.”
“I do too, I just wish it was more substantial.”
“It’s a dinner fit for a king.” He helps himself to a hunk of bread, popping open the jar and slathering his piece with jam.
I laugh out loud. “It is not.”
“I am a king, and I am eating it, therefore it is.” His eyes shimmer with amusement. He could kill me with a smile.
“Very well, Your Majesty.” I dip low into a bow.
“If you’re that concerned, why don’t we make it fit for a king?” The sun is setting outside and he’s cast in a warm glow from the fading light of the stained glass and the fire.
“How would I do that?”
“A small ritual should suffice.” He begins rummaging through the saddlebags, glancing back at the food. “What would you have in mind? Perhaps some kind of pasta? Or meat pie?”
