Page 32 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Robin the Puk

S

ix

weeks

later

than

I expected, Titaine and Auberon arrive at the gates of the City of Nox. I give myself a good stretch in my cat form, toes gripping the edge of the wall at Nox’s entrance. At last,

I think, my gambit has come to a close.

Now it is time to see what my trickery has yielded: A stronger foothold for elves and fetes in a unified House, or deeper divisions that will see us swallowed by this vast city?

Below me, restless citizens of Nox mill on either side of the gate, speaking in every language inscribed there—even the ancient ones long-since forgotten in the rest of the woldings.

Nox has more or less settled upon a couple of shared languages that make doing business possible, but in moments like these, where emotions run high, all the native tongues that exist behind these city walls come tripping from its people’s lips.

After more than two months in this city, I can pick out all the words of excitement and anticipation.

As they have every day since word spread that the King of the Dark Elves and his fete Houselord Queen had reached the City of Ghosts, the crowds are gathering, hoping to catch a glimpse of these storied figures when they arrive.

This time, the crowd’s numbers are growing by the minute, arriving from all corners of the city, thanks to an elven runner who brought the news.

The number of eager spectators has increased ten-fold today.

Sentinels from deep within Nox, usually stationed around the great pyramid in Sombra Square, have been pulled to manage the crowd. They send people out through the gates, onto the mountain path, so that the last mile or so of Titaine’s and Auberon’s journey is flanked by cheering Noctans.

This is not a city that finds much unusual—especially not where magic is concerned. Something of the arrival of these two, however, has captured the local imagination.

I cannot blame them. The reports of the two leaders who took up temporary residence among Nadie’s shades and ghosts these last few weeks are so fantastical, I’m not sure even I, who know both Auberon and Titaine so well, could believe them.

Nox is an enormous, sprawling city that bleeds out into farmlands and a long stretch of coast. It’s practically its own country.

Indeed, no one rules over Nox but Nox. But even now, I cannot grasp why the arrival of two more people of consequence makes much difference to the folk here.

This city is brimming with legends, heroes, and beings of deep magic.

And then I see Auberon. Auberon.

Not the warm glow of my lady Titaine, but that petty ex-Houselord I served for so long.

From my perch atop the southern wall at Nox’s entrance, my whiskers detect a shift in the air as he approaches on foot, leading a flashy black and white steed that suits the Auberon I used to know, while Titaine rides on Giselda.

But these two are nothing like I recall them. Titaine’s light is dimmed, while Auberon, a half dark elf, is brimming

with chaotic and dark magic. And I cannot quite believe he is the same person I left behind in Avalonne.

The closer they come with the small retinue they’ve brought from Nadie, the louder the crowd grows. Many of the folk gathered here are human, and not all have magic. Even they can feel it.

I do not know what to make of any of this. So surprised am I that I barely register the way he and Titaine keep pace with each other, or how they appear to be in conversation the entire time, until it gets too loud around them to speak.

After five years of my scheming, they are finally back together, and I can barely register what is happening.

Somewhere between Avalonne and the City of Ghosts, Auberon became a true dark elf king.

Well. He’ll fit in well in Nox, where ancient things, long thought to be gone from this world, still survive. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few old gods hidden here and there in the back alleys, or if the tales of an underground city of dragons beneath Nox are true.

I suppose there is only one thing left to deal with now: the consequences.

Despite the appearance of unity between them, which is all thanks to my meddling, I doubt either Titaine or Auberon will be happy with me. I slip from the wall, moving to a farther perch. Just because neither of them ever mentioned my cat form doesn’t mean they won’t know it’s me.

It takes close to an hour for them to navigate the growing throng welcoming them to Nox. The arrival of dark elves—and, to my surprise, some wood elves—helps to disperse the crowd and let the two leaders through.

I race ahead on soft, silent pink pads, knowing where they will go.

The Royal House of the Dark Forest stands closer to Sombra Square than most Houselords would choose.

Evidently, the dark elves assigned to locate and purchase a new House didn’t mind this.

It is an unassuming rectangular building with a sandstone facade, the elaborate carvings long-since worn down by time.

Though it has barely been inhabited these last few weeks by anyone but members of the local builders and engineering guilds, the outside of the new House is slowly coming alive.

Flowering vines have twisted up the columns at the corners of the House’s facade, threatening to burst with brilliant purple wisteria and Nox’s famed black bougainvillea flowers, even though it is technically winter here; Nox doesn’t really care about the rest of the world’s seasons or weather.

The small yard out front has doubled in size, in the way that only places in this city can, and trees that no one planted are now saplings.

To the side of the House, a stone arch marks an alley that did not exist before, which leads to the now-repaired stables in back; those used to belong to another ancient house and inexplicably became part of the deed for this growing compound.

I suspect that if I were to pad back there right now, I’d see freshly laid foundations for other buildings on land that did not used to be there, either.

When at last Auberon and Titaine arrive at the front gate of the new House, they stand in silence, their eyes searching the grounds as they take everything in. Titaine dismounts from Giselda, and a dark elf woman I don’t know immediately takes the reins.

Almost reverently, Titaine steps forward, grasping the bars of the new wrought iron gates that separate the Royal House of the Dark Forest from the winding cobbled street. I hunch up on the far wall, watching the proceedings with slitted eyes.

“You all did well,” Auberon pronounces at last.

“It feels like home,” Titaine agrees.

What?

Titaine already has a home—the House of Fetes. Vervaine and I have been working hard since the day we arrived in Nox to establish the new House here, and to get the now-scattered elves settled. Everything is ready and waiting for Titaine. Our Houselord.

Perhaps I’m reading too much into this. Now that she and Auberon appear to be back together, she must be planning to split her time between the two Houses.

As Auberon and Titaine enter the gates of what will one day be a woodland and courtyard, a slight ripple spreads across the grounds, meeting the sandstone facade and rising to the very tops of the gables.

In half a breath, each one of the wisteria and black bougainvillea buds bursts open in a wave of magic.

The petals then descend more slowly, until they are in full bloom.

The wisteria is a deeper purple than any I have seen throughout the city. Its tiny flowers and the bursts of bougainvillea are both laced with glowing gold.

Oh, no. No, this can’t be.

Who could that glowing gold be for other than Titaine, the fete lady of the sun?

Titaine lingers in front of the House as the others filter in or lead the horses back to the stables, leaving only her and Auberon in the yard.

“Are you alright?” he asks. I am almost touched by the concern evident in his voice and on his brow. It gives me hope that they won’t make such a mess of things this time.

Titaine nods, her expression serene even though I detect no glamour. “I’ll be there in a moment. Go and enjoy. It’s your Royal House, after all.”

“Which you bankrolled. And are queen of.” The furrow in his brow deepens, and for the first time I notice how much the journey has aged him.

A fresh wave of worry for the fetes who would not join us on the last runeships washes over me. But I am fretting over nothing. Titaine wouldn’t leave them to die without magic. She can’t be leaving the House of Fetes.

In fact, I’d wager anything she already has a plan for how to get them to Nox.

“This is as much your home as mine,” Auberon says.

“I know.” She smiles placatingly. “I’ll be inside shortly. I just need a moment with Robin.”

Oh, dragons blast it! Of course Titaine knew about my cat form all along.

An annoying half smile visits Auberon’s features, then, unexpectedly, fades. He gives Titaine a solemn nod before disappearing inside.

She waits until the last of the small retinue of dark and wood elves disappears before she turns to me, one brow arched expectantly.

“Well? Would you rather have this conversation with a fete’s tongue, or a cat’s? It’s your decision—though I doubt mews and yowls will effectively plead your case.”

I have the feeling I’ll be yowling before the end of this no matter what. Leaping down from the wall, I take two strides and shake off my cat form, growing into my full height as a fete. For a moment, my whiskers linger, making my nose twitch.

“My lady,” I say, offering her a bow as I smooth the alarm from my features with a glamour. “You are

still my lady, aren’t you?”

She crosses her arms, waiting for me to rise.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t bow to me anymore.” A chillingly wicked and very fae

smile crosses her lips. “I’ve had much time to think while I recovered, and I’ve decided, as punishment for your treachery, that I shall name you acting head of the House of Fetes.”