Page 24 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Chapter twenty-three

The Fireswamp

Auberon

“A

re

you

sure

you

know which way you’re going?” Titaine asks me for the third time, nearly turning her ankle on the arc of a root.

Giselda tosses her head at the flies harassing her, her legs and underbelly coated in mud.

Our borrowed horses, Tiro and Chiara, are just as miserable as I lead them behind me, the three of us ducking under low branches and dangling moss that casts sizzling sparks onto the marshy ground.

My answer remains the same. “I’ve been here before.”

“Long ago,” she rebuts, as if it is an accusation.

“Yes,” I say, flexing my wounded shoulder, “long ago indeed.” I have not been to Embersdeep, buried in the heart of the fireswamp, since just after I became king of the dark elves—when the dark elves of this shaded, magical hollow refused to acknowledge me as their

king. I am grateful for whatever this magic is, because it has stopped my bloodflow and begun healing my wounds at a rate that confounded the human healer who offered to help me. I am almost fit for another battle—if I absolutely had

to fight one.

Still, these fireswamp elves are kin of a sort, and given the choice between elven lands, a fae circle or humans, I’d pick these stubborn elves any day. Besides, the road that passes through Embersdeep cuts directly to the Bridge of Miracles.

I readily admit that these trees and paths all look the same, however. Embersdeep is aptly named, both for the glowing embermoss that drapes from the trees and for its location deep in the fire swamp. It would be difficult for travelers to reach the dark elves here by accident, to say the least.

The deeper we go, the more the bony limbs of the trees stitch together and block out the remaining daylight. Soon enough, it will be as dark as midnight in here, with only the red glowing moss to light our way. Even Titaine’s light is dimmed after using her magic.

I pause to check on her, looking behind me.

When she is unguarded like this, not expecting me to turn around, I can see how her face is drawn, her golden tan complexion dulled.

Even her wings seem to have a slight droop to them—though that could be from the swamp’s choking humidity just as much as fatigue.

Then she notices me, her chin raising without any hint of defiance.

We just look at each other a moment. Her gaze returns to her feet, where even her enchanted slippers cannot protect her from the damp, loamy soil that sometimes sucks in a footfall up to the ankle.

She’s picking her way across the raised tree roots with painstaking slowness.

Giselda follows behind her, as surefooted as ever.

“We should take a break. Have something to eat,” I suggest, eyeing Tiro and Chiara, who do not have Giselda’s stamina.

Titaine just keeps moving.

“Titaine,” I say, a note of chiding in my voice.

“If I stop now, I doubt I’ll be able to get moving again.”

I am at her side in an instant. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m just tired.” She doesn’t look up at me again, just continues her slog through the sometimes water-logged path. “The air is too heavy in here. The boughs are too low to ride. If this city is much farther—“

“More of a town,” I correct.

She rolls her eyes. “Let’s not start that argument again.”

I cannot help but smile, even though our stop in Adellor feels so very long ago. “If you’re too tired, I can carry you.”

At last, I have her attention. Her brows rise. “Aren’t you tired?”

I shrug. “Dark elf lands.” And dark elf magic coursing through my veins. Magic I don’t even know what to do with.

“No, I’m not tired. But I am weary, if that makes sense.”

Without further discussion, Titaine begins to walk again, her feet dragging just a little less than before.

She’s trying to compete with me, and for what?

We’re not the enemies we were. I don’t even know if our Houses—my former House—is still in a rivalry with hers, now that they must be settled in the City of Nox.

“You’re being stubborn,” I say.

Titaine ignores me. “Are those fireflies up ahead?”

Instinctively, my hand goes to the hilt of the Blade of Hedril, expecting more wisps trying to lead us astray. But she’s right. Fireflies dance ahead, floating around the bend in the path. When at last we reach that curve in the road, Titaine gasps.

I don’t blame her. The last time I was here, this clearing was nothing but stalks.

Now, a field of nightflowers, just like their sunflower counterparts, is in full bloom, their purple centers arched to face the dimming sky above them like adoring children.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen these flowers.

When the moon climbs overhead, they glow silver, lighting up the entire field.

And it isn’t just the flowers. Fireflies bob low beneath the leaves, while swallows swoop toward the blooms, searching for bugs and to steal the seeds that are a staple of Embersdeep.

Frogs chirp loudly along with them, their songs coming from both the trees and the banks of the broad river beyond this field, the waters glowing red from the scales of the fireswamp’s snakes as they wind through the waters.

We’ve nearly reached the city. Up ahead, surrounded by the river, comforting lantern lights mix with the red-orange of the embermoss. The circular huts built high around the trunks of trees are lit from within, adding a softer, more inviting glow to the boughs.

Titaine just gapes at it all, Giselda’s reins slack in her hand.

“What?” I ask, though I cannot keep the smile from my voice, somehow pleased by her wonderment over dark elf land that isn’t even mine.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, closing her mouth at last now that she is done staring. Still, her eyes scan over the field, taking it all in.

“Mm, but your thoughts are loud,” I reply.

Titaine eyes me sidelong. “If you could hear my thoughts, I’m not sure you’d still be smiling.”

“That depends. Are they you’re innermost thoughts? Those might not make me smile, but they just might make me blush.”

She surprises me by snorting. “Not everything is about you, Auberon.”

I gesture to the swamp around us. “Clearly.” I can’t help but add, “But I think more than a few of your dreams are. Just what were you dreaming of in that last inn? You must’ve really regretted making me sleep on the floor.”

She tuts. “A gentleman would’ve gladly taken the floor.”

“A gentleman whose back hurts less, I’m sure.”

“I thought you were fine?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your pace said it for you.”

“It’s not my fault I have longer le—Can we please stop bickering and go find someplace to rest?” I swat away a mosquito from Titaine’s curling hair.

She regards me almost as appraisingly.

“What?” I’m forced to ask a second time.

“Nothing. I’m just not used to you being sensible.”

“Don’t get too used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

The path through the nightflowers bids us onward, toward the chance of rest. Somehow, I feel a little less tired after our conversation. Titaine speaking to me for any length of time is a victory I cannot take for granted.

By the time we are halfway across the field, a pair of elven wardens stride out to meet us, their curved daggers at the ready and short-range bows at their backs.

I expect a gruff demand of who we are and what our business is in Embersdeep.

Instead, one after the other, their eyes flick toward the hilt resting at my side.

Dragons blast it, the Blade of Hedril’s hilt and scabbard are wreathed in shadow again. I don’t know how to make it stop, and am about to result to fanning the smoke-like plumes with my hands to scatter it, when one of the wardens says breathily, “King Auberon.”

King?

In practiced unison, they both bow low, literally bending the knee to me. It’s all I can do not to heave out a sigh of frustration. Now that I am leaving all of the northern wolding, they choose to acknowledge me? Because of a little dark magic?

Except it isn’t a little. Grimly, I incline my head and bid them to stand.

“We wish to intrude upon the hospitality of the lady and lord of this forest,” I say, stretching the last word as I search my memory for their names—there was a different lady in charge of this forest, and no lord at all, when last I visited.

“Please send word to Lady Indigo and Lord Veld that I wish to pay my respects.”

The wardens lift their hands, one curved over the other, and offer me another bow before turning and leaving, their posture stiff instead of fluid as they make their way out of the dip in the path and toward the higher ground of Embersdeep.

Titaine’s words come as a whisper, so close to my ear it gives me chills despite the heat. I can feel her breath on the shell of it, a pleasant sensation I’d nearly forgotten. “Are they afraid of you?”

I shake my head, trying to put a little space between us. “Surprised, I think. Not something I can fault them for, since I’ve only had this magic for a couple of hours.”

“It’s been longer than that,” Titaine answers without really answering anything, and in her usual fae way, she begins to walk ahead, putting a large white mare between us.

“You might’ve said something,” I call after her, “given that the entire reason I’m on this journey is because magic is fading.”

No reply. Of course not.

“I guess you just couldn’t do without me,” I say, not bothering to raise my voice.

The hitch in her step says she heard me.

But she does not refute it.

Arriving in Emberdeep is a strange, almost out of body experience. Everywhere I look, elves are hurrying to flank us, dropping into bows or simply standing to watch us pass, as if we are a parade attraction.

The lady and lord of Embersdeep are not much better, gaping at me the way Titaine stared at the nightflowers. At last, they collect themselves, drawing nearer as their people part for them.

I am studying this lord and lady, too, for both of them are strangers to me.

They are lesser in height and age than I am, without warriors’ builds and rather young to lead.

Lady Indigo resembles the previous lady of this fireswamp, her skin the deeper blue of a full-blooded dark elf; Lord Veld’s is blue-gray, with sandy hair that shines silver rather than gold—the fairest coloring for a dark elf.

The cheeks of both darken in a flush as they glance at the blade at my side.

Though her husband is dressed plainly but for a heavily embroidered vest, Indigo wears a gown far too elaborate to have just thrown it on to greet us.

Likewise, her black hair is partially bound atop her head in an elaborate working of braids, suggesting we’ve interrupted preparations for a formal event.

As the one who carries the title through her line, it is Lady Indigo’s duty to greet me first. I wonder how she will do it.

“King Auberon of the Dark Elves is welcome here. His land is our land.”

I’m not completely sure whether she’s just misspoken. The usual greeting is our land is his land.

Glancing at her, Lord Veld echoes his lady wife’s words exactly as she’s said them.

They both just acknowledged me not as a guest but as their king

. Firmly in the throes of shock, I cannot recall how I’m meant to respond.

Titaine clears her throat. Oh, right.

“This is Titaine, Houselord of the Fetes and the fae lady of the sun,” I introduce her to this young lady and lord, hesitating only a moment before adding, “my queen.”

This sends Indigo and Veld scrambling, bowing again. Veld hastily calls for an attendant to “take the king and queen’s horses and see to their care.”

When this is done, it leaves us all staring at one another, not quite sure how to proceed.

“You both are dressed so splendidly,” Titaine interrupts the silence, ever the gracious diplomat. “I fear we’ve interrupted a private celebration.”

Indigo and Veld exchange looks. “Your majesty, it’s not a private event at all,” Indigo says, sounding reluctant to have to explain. “It’s midsummer night.”

“Is it really?” Now it is Titaine and I who exchange looks. “We’ve been journeying for over six weeks, then.” I return my attention to the lady and lord of this forest. “We won’t intrude upon your revelry. We only seek a dry place to sleep for the night—“

Indigo’s eyes widen, outright shocked. “Your majesty doesn’t wish to attend our midsummer night celebration?”

Inwardly, I groan. I’ve just insulted them.