Page 19

19

THE ROUTE

S affron didn’t know if Fall Court wine really was stronger, or if he just didn’t realize how much he’d had to drink. It seemed Copper wasn’t entirely sure, either, because soon enough he was speaking nonsense and stomping off into the woods. Saffron might have thought he was going to chase after his father and brothers, before realizing through his own wobbly haze that the fox-lord was headed in the opposite direction. He would not be any help should either of them get lost—but Saffron followed, anyway. Better to be lost together than all alone.

Copper didn’t realize Saffron followed him until they crossed a boulder that Copper scaled easily, leaving Saffron behind until he resorted to calling out for help. Copper poked his head over the crown of the rock, narrowing his eyes like he questioned whether or not Saffron was real, but Saffron just told him to stop looking so stupid and help him up, already. Whether or not Saffron was a figment of his imagination, Copper complied, throwing an arm out and physically dragging Saffron over the mossy, scratchy rock on his stomach. It left green stains and scuffs across the shiny fabric of Cylvan’s doublet, but Saffron didn’t care. If it wasn’t so much colder away from the party’s bonfires, he might have thrown the doublet down a ravine altogether.

“What did you think of him?” Copper asked, words slurring together, half a moment before losing his footing in a slick of mud and crashing to the earth with a pathetic grunt.

“He’s a massive prick,” Saffron said as he attempted to help Copper up, only to immediately slide off his feet on the same spot. “I should—cut off all his fucking hair and make him eat it!”

“I meant my father.” Copper hooked Saffron under the arm, hauling him back to his feet with an exhale.

“He’s a prick too,” Saffron corrected, before sighing. “I can’t believe how quickly Cylvan did everything he said…”

Copper snorted, keeping one hand in Saffron’s as he continued walking, as if he didn’t realize. “Cylvan’s a coward. Thought you knew that.”

“You didn’t exactly stand up to him, either,” Saffron argued. “You’re no braver than Cylvan is.”

“Never said I was. You’re braver than all of us—but don’t take it as a compliment. Especially not with him. Don’t think anyone’s ever talked back to Renard like that. Cylvan’s probably fighting for his life over there right now—and for yours.”

Saffron grimaced. Taran attempted to say something to add to it, but Saffron imagined kicking the dog off the side of a cliff, and he went silent again. “And why not? He’s just another sídhe lord, who cares?—”

“What? My father’s at least as old as Queen Proserpina was.”

Saffron stopped short. He stared at Copper in the darkness, his hair illuminated from behind by the moon in a thin halo of orange.

“He’s…? How?”

“What d’you mean, ‘how’? High fey live for a long fucking time. Especially sídhe fey. Especially sídhe fey who everyone’d prefer dead. How d’you think Cylvan’s survived this long? Ah—sorry. That was kinda dark, huh? I’m a little drunk. I didn’t mean it.”

“Well—how much older, exactly?” Saffron steered the fox back to the point.

“Like, he was friends with King Elanyl.”

“Proserpina’s son?!” Saffron choked. “The one who—who became king? After the war? Ailir’s father?”

“Yup,” Copper clucked his tongue. “Renard’s sister, my Aunt Una, was even King Elanyl’s Harmonious Queen. You know that? I mean, technically she was, but not for long considering Elanyl kicked it after like a month... Real messy, all that. Renard’s still burnt about it.”

Saffron recalled again what Ryder once told him about King Ailir, though it came in wobbly, blurry waves of broken sentences as the satyr wine remained in control of his mind.

“But that means she would be... But I thought King Ailir’s mother was a…?”

“A whore?” Copper grinned. “Yeah. Elanyl died before he could get my Aunt Una pregnant with a true heir, but Ailir’s mother was already carrying him when Elanyl died. Meant my side of the family didn’t get any of the benefits of siring the next king. Una even refused any offers of such—almost like she knew my father didn’t need that kind of closeness with any sort of real power… Think she found the circumstances more of a blessing than anything, I dunno…”

Saffron didn’t know what to say to that. He just stood in the darkness, letting the Fall Court breeze tangle fingers through his hair, across his bare skin beneath the doublet.

“Oh,” he said finally. Too drunk to fully piece together every single nuance of what Copper was saying—but knowing enough to conjure an idea. An idea, at least, of why Cylvan bent over for everything Renard said; an idea of what exactly made Renard such a harsh, intense man even on first introduction. There was a reason why so much bitterness emanated off him, strong enough to make the trees shiver. Not to mention why Cylvan felt so much pressure to appease him. It was to protect Ailir. Not to mention his own future rule, assuming Renard lived another hundred years or however long it took. Oh, Saffron nearly puked at the thought.

They walked in silence for a bit longer, and Saffron could only trust Copper had an actual destination in mind as they went. His mind was too busy recalling what Ryder once told him, about King Ailir, about his birth, about how developing sídhe magic was the only reason they ever let him be king at all.

“Ryder…” he started, but didn’t know exactly what to say. He just wanted to get some of the thoughts out of his head before it popped. “Ryder once said King Ailir was barely made king in the beginning, and even now, he has to try really hard to stay on other sídhe families’ good side or else they could remove him.”

Copper nodded, like he knew what Saffron would say, next.

“Your father is one of those sídhe lords eager to find fault in Ailir and do just that, isn’t he.” There was no question.

“Yeah,” Copper answered after a long pause. It was spoken hoarsely. “Also exactly why I was so hesitant to agree to anything the king asked me back after the Midsummer Games. Erm… I’m sorry about that, by the way. Sionnach was right—it wasn’t ‘honorable’ of me, but I… I was scared, is all. Felt backed into. Corner. Of course I was going to keep you safe, it was just?—”

“It’s alright, Copper. I understand. You don’t have to explain. I never held it against you, anyway. I always assumed there was something else and you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Guess Renard demonstrated the reason well enough.”

“God, he did…” Saffron meant to be playful, but could only scowl like he’d taken a bite of something rotten. “I hope Cylvan is alright…”

“Cylvan could have been a little more pushy, himself,” Copper grunted. “But I imagine he’s been trained for a long time to bite his tongue in front of someone as old and influential as my father. Hate to say it, but don’t be too angry with him. I wouldn’t want to be him right now, at least… Renard could turn the whole Fall Court on Ailir tomorrow if he wanted. And folk would listen, I think. Especially after everything that happened at the games…”

“I’m going to puke.”

“I’m sure you and Cylvan will be back to normal by morn—oh!” Copper jerked his hand away as Saffron turned and vomited into a nearby bush, groaning once his stomach emptied and the world spun.

“Satyr wine is stronger than I thought.”

“Yeah no shit, Saff—didn’t anyone tell you it’s charmed?”

“N-no,” Saffron moaned, spitting another wet mouthful into the dirt, glad he’d emptied his insides mostly all in one go. “I guess they meant it, when they said the Fall Court was full of the good and the bad. ériu help me.”

“Evenériu can’t protect you from Renard. Or satyr wine, apparently.”

“Godddddd help all of us,” Saffron cried, shaking his head and pushing away from the tree that supported him. “Where in the goddess’ name are you taking me, anyway? Please don’t tell me we’re lost.”

“We’re not. My family’s estate isn’t actually that far from here, so I know these woods like the back of my hand. C’mon. I’m headed this way on purpose.”

“We’re not actually going to your family estate, are we?”

“Gods, no, are you out of your mind?”

Saffron followed without another word. Emptying the contents of his stomach, while flooding him with spinning nausea drier than the hottest day in summer, helped to at least clear his head some of the drunken fog. It allowed him to fully taste the sweet air of the trees, to listen as nighttime creatures scuttled around the forest floor beneath their feet, or through the leaves overhead. Saffron searched for them as they walked, whenever he was sure he wouldn’t trip on something in the path, though rarely caught sight of anything more than a mouse or rabbit. He wanted to know what other wild fey things roamed out there—but, perhaps, he was also content to wait until morning to explore any deeper than he already had.

Copper finally came to a halt in a spot indistinguishable from the rest of the thickness around them, and Saffron was half a breath from accusing him of actually being lost when the fey lord suddenly crouched to the balls of his feet—and crawled into the gaping end of a fallen tree. Saffron choked on a laugh, hurrying over to see for himself, just as a match struck within the wooden tunnel and lit a broken lantern nailed into the ceiling.

“Oh!” He gasped in delight at the illuminated interior, realizing quickly it was more than just a fallen tree—it was a hiding place. Childish drawings covered the curved inner walls, with old blankets lining the floor and becoming one with the bark and moss from age. Jars of dusty hard-candies lined an uneven inlet carved into a thicker part of the tree’s wall, and Copper even lit a second lantern a few more feet down the way, allowing Saffron enough room to crawl inside and join him.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Copper explained. He shuffled around the surprisingly cozy space with knowing movements, though it was clear the last time he visited he was half the size he’d grown into. Every time he bonked his head against one of the hanging lanterns, Saffron had to resist laughing. “My days at home weren’t exactly great all the time, so I, uh, spent a lot of time exploring the woods. Sometimes I’d come out a little too far, or just didn’t feel like going home, so I’d spend the night in little nooks like this one. Here, look—this is where I tracked pixies hollows within walking distance.”

Saffron grinned, running his fingers over the amateur drawings and hatchmarks carved into the inner bark.

“Reminds me of how I used to do the same in my sketchbook, on my days off.”

“Huh?” Copper asked, before grunting. “Oh, right. When you were a—a beantighe. At Morrígan. Almost forgot.”

“I can’t blame you—I make a very good fey lord, don’t I?”

Copper smirked. “Not really. You’re always sayin’ sorry and bowing and stuff. Weird.”

“Whatever,” Saffron sneered, reaching up to grapple where he knew fox ears hid beneath the fey lord’s glamour. “I can think of weirder things.”

Together they worked to carve layers of moss and lichen from the walls to uncover more of child-Copper’s drawings, and every time Saffron was able to identify what was what, Copper grinned bigger than Saffron had ever seen of him.

It was easy, it was simple, to chatter on and on about the wild things in the woods, more than once even earning a look of disbelief while regaling him with all the things he’d witnessed in the Agate Wood on his own. How Saffron swore he once saw a unicorn in the distance, but it disappeared into a beam of sunshine before he could know for sure; how he used to appease the pixies of the hollow in the yarrow field before reclaiming objects stolen from beantighes; he even told Copper about how Cylvan had taken him to see nymphs at the lake in the mountains, once, and that was where they first kissed. Copper teased him plenty about that, though gave Cylvan credit for being such a romantic.

When a voice suddenly called their names in the distance, their mouths clamped shut simultaneously, staring at one another and sharing a single string of thoughts listing everything that could possibly be trying to get their attention—but then the pleas rich in desperation and yelps of someone losing their footing in the dark compelled them both out of the log, calling back out to the voice they recognized as Sionnach’s. When the satyr eventually stumbled through the bushes, they donned a long streak of mud up one side of their changed clothing, pine needles and leaves littering their hair and wild blackberry thorns poking out from the fur of their legs.

“Thank—the gods,” they wheezed, bending over their legs to catch their breath. “I thought those damned—brothers had come and eaten both of you. What... hey! What are you doing in there!” They cried, racing over to where Copper was still crouched partially in the mouth of the nook, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and yanking him onto his ass.

“You know about the log?” Copper accused after flailing his arms like a turtle stuck on its shell. “You mean my log?”

“Your log? I’m the one who filled it with blankets!” Sionnach argued, pushing Copper out of the way a second time to get a better look for themself. “You both tracked mud all over them!”

“I think the blankets have been there longer than I’ve been alive, Sionnach,” Saffron commented. “There was already mud on them.”

“And you scraped all the pretty clover off the walls!” They went on, ignoring him and crawling into the mouth of the gutted tree. “The flowers used to be so pretty!”

“Tasty too, I bet, for someone like you,” Copper muttered. Sionnach whirled so fast their horns smacked against the inner wall, making the whole log vibrate.

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” they argued. “Clover flowers are edible for everyone, anyway!”

“That’s also true,” Saffron sighed. Copper muttered something that sounded like ‘Of course I knew that, too…’

Chuckling under his breath, Saffron approached the mouth of the log to peer inside where Sionnach was busy undoing everything Copper had done to rearrange, only for Copper to look inside over Saffron’s shoulder and immediately start bickering. Back and forth, they argued like two roommates fighting over where a couch should go or what kind of place settings to use, until Saffron couldn’t take it anymore and laughed until he couldn’t speak.

Copper was disappointed to not return to the party, but Sionnach seemed relieved when Saffron asked to go back to the house where he could properly lay down. By then, he was thoroughly chilled with only Cylvan’s doublet over his shoulders, feet hurting, heart hurting, ready for the night and all its ups and downs to finally be over.

Saffron remained quiet as they made their way—though neither of his companions particularly noticed, set on continuing to squabble with one another. Saffron didn’t know how to explain it, and he would never say it out loud—but something about their arguing felt different, that time. Closer, more personal, without so much bite behind the words. It reminded him a little bit of how he used to argue with Cylvan, when they were first learning how to navigate one another—which made him smile for his friends’ sakes, but regret turned in his stomach for his own.

After arriving at the dark house, Sionnach hesitantly permitted Copper to make a bed on the floor of their cramped second-floor bedroom, offering him an armful of blankets before showing the way. Copper’s foot caught on the corner of a stack of books immediately past the door, crashing to the ground and shaking the whole house. Sionnach berated him for being so damn clumsy and nearly putting a hole through the floorboards, and Copper sniped back at them for being such a damned pack-rat, all while Saffron was overtaken by Sionnach’s overflowing personal library.

Reminding him far too much of how Cylvan once stored his own books at Morrígan, it was clear Sionnach didn’t have the shelf space to offer their endless collection, more towers of books stacked on the floor than Saffron could count. Accidentally knocking one over was apparently the only thing to get Sionnach and Copper to quit bickering, as Sionnach jumped and then hurried over to see if Saffron was alright. Saffron was certain they were actually more concerned about the old, rare books that tumbled to the floor beneath his feet.

He disappeared into one, then another, then another with ease, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Sionnach hurriedly scrambled to make their room a little more presentable, constantly reasserting that they weren’t used to having guests inside, they didn’t normally live in such clutter—but Saffron hadn’t noticed any of the things they apologized for. Copper obviously didn’t, either, but made sure to tease about whatever Sionnach fussed over in the moment.

Most of Sionnach’s books were far too academic for Saffron to comprehend, even their titles alone making him squirm and quickly tuck away again, until one did catch his eye, and he flipped through the pages while recalling something Sionnach had told him while in Erelaine.

“Sionnach,” he said, interrupting another spat between the satyr and the fox, that time about Copper stealing pillows straight from Sionnach’s bed. “What’s ‘Ailinne’?”

“Ailinne?” Sionnach asked, in the midst of cramming one of the pillows in question against Copper’s face, clearly attempting to suffocate him. Copper played dead just long enough to evoke a moment of panic from the satyr trying to commit murder. “It’s a town a little bit north from here. Why?” Their eyes trailed to the book Saffron held on his lap, curiosity piqued as they finally released Copper from the pillow, summoning a choked gasp from the fox lord in reply. “What are you reading?”

“‘Traditions of the Tuatha dé Danann—Festivities, Family, and Reigns.’” Saffron answered, showing Sionnach the cover without losing his place. “I wanted to see if it said anything about that stuff you were saying before, about Queen Proserpina’s coronation route. Did you know she stopped in the Fall Court, too, before going to Erelaine?”

“Not specifically, but it makes sense that she would. What does the book say, exactly?” They crawled on their knees to where Saffron sat, making sure to smack Copper in the face with their tail as they did. Copper grappled for it, yanking it back and earning a swift kick to the shin from Sionnach’s cloven hoof.

“It mentions she stopped for the night ‘somewhere in the Fall Court while traveling to Erelaine from Ailinne’…”

“Ohhh, the hot springs,” Copper mused. “’Course the queen would stop there on her way. Don’t even care that people say they’re sacred, they’re a godsend on a sore ass after sitting in a saddle for hours at a time.” He met Saffron’s eyes, then Sionnach’s, barely lifting his head off the pillow. “Er… most high fey go there to soothe their humors, or whatever…”

“Their what?” Saffron asked. “Jokes?”

“Nothing, just outdated nonsense,” Sionnach huffed, summoning Saffron back to the book. “But yes—the queen stopped in Ailinne on her route. The springs are said to be connected to the spirit realm, so it’s common for high fey to go there to try and reconnect with natural gods. The minerals in the water are said to help with some ailments, too, which is true, but not to the extent people say.”

“I bet it’s overrun right now,” Copper muttered, sinking down onto the pillows with a sigh. “Flooded with Avren folk thinking they can bathe their ashenness away…”

“Minerals?” Saffron asked, shaking his head and forcing the conversation back. “Minerals, from natural springs…?”

The veil’s voice shot through his mind like a loosed arrow. Where the earth’s minerals heat the rocks…

“I don’t think they can cure you of your human-ness, Saffron, sorry,” Copper joked, earning another sharp look from Sionnach. “Or your weird goat feet, Sionnach…” He mumbled.

Sionnach thwapped him with their tail again, sparking another argument, but Saffron just gazed down at the book. At the illustrated map on the page. Showing every place where Proserpina visited on her journey from Vjallrod in the Winter Court to Avren. Moving in reverse, he thought again about what the veil had told him. He thought about where Ryder had already been. He thought—it couldn’t only be a coincidence.

“Avren, to Erelaine… to somewhere in the Fall Court, to Ailinne, then Vjallrod…” His breath caught, finger hovering over the name printed nearest to Vjallrod at the top. Fjornar.

Ryder had started in Avren, a few days prior. He went to Erelaine, next; then the stripped henge outside the satyr borough. What if those locations weren’t random at all? Clearly the veil even thought so, which meant?—

“What is it?” Sionnach asked again. It took Saffron a moment before he could remember how to speak, forcing himself to pull the thoughts back. To re-center, to refocus.

“I think… Ryder’s next target is in Ailinne.”

“What?” Sionnach jumped, and even Copper sat up again. “Really? How? Why do you think?—?”

“You have another dream earlier, Saff?” Copper asked.

“No, it’s—it’s something the veil told me,” Saffron tried to explain as simply as he could. “When I spoke to it in the stripped henge earlier today. It said Ryder was opening the veil to look for something, or—I don’t know, exactly, but even it seemed to anticipate where he’d go next. Said he wasn’t the first to follow this path. All it told me was ‘where the earth’s minerals heat the rocks,’ and from what you’ve told me… that sounds like Ailinne.”

Sionnach’s eyes lowered to the map in the book, before back to Saffron. “You think he’s following the queen’s old coronation route?”

“What’s he looking for?” Copper added, but Saffron could still only shake his head. He didn’t know. Even the veil didn’t know. The only thing Saffron possibly understood was that, whatever it was, may have been what called to him in his dreams. Begging to be found, reaching out to him—each time Ryder tore the veil open in search.

Saffron settled into Sionnach’s bed alongside them, while Copper remained on the floor. Already fast asleep and snoring, though it wasn’t the reason Saffron remained wide awake. Staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing.

“I don’t know how you can possibly sleep in the same dorm as that creature,” Sionnach hissed in regard to the fox-lord’s noise, glaring at the ceiling. “First he is rude as can be to every person he comes across, then he bitches nonstop to me about my hideaway in the log, then he snores loud enough to shake the house!”

Saffron bit his lip, before deciding he was too tired to resist. “You know, when I was a beantighe, I had three roommates. Well—technically seven, but only three at night.”

Sionnach gazed at him with big, curious brown eyes, laying so close on the pillow next to him that Saffron could hear every breath they took.

“Really?” they asked. “Seven whole beantighes in a single cottage? That sounds so—what?”

Saffron did his best to bite back the laughter, but eventually snorted, shaking his head. “Seven in one cottage, I wish! There were five other rooms in just Cottage Wicklow, which was even one of the smaller houses. When we’d have a meeting with everyone, we’d fill the entire front room, the kitchen, down the hallway, even up the stairs, where everyone would have to crowd in close…” he trailed off, recalling specifically that meeting Baba Yaga had held when the wolf’s attacks in the woods were at their peak. How he’d held Hollow’s hand the entire time—and how Hollow had defended him when someone tried to imply Saffron had something to do with it. He rubbed his fingers over the scars on his forearm, an unconscious movement, like a reminder that there was nothing so evil stalking any of those people any longer.

“How did you learn to read?” Sionnach’s voice broke through Saffron’s growing cloud of worry, puncturing and exhaling through his nose.

“Well… at first, I would read through the practice books Master Luvon’s daughters had from when they were in primary school. I practiced so much, in secret, and eventually learned how to read… not very well, of course, but I got better over time. I used to steal books off Morrígan’s campus, too, if I found any left behind on benches or in class while cleaning up after lectures.” Sionnach’s eyes widened in alarm, and Saffron grinned. He paused another moment—before mentioning the Grand Library. How, for the longest time, all he ever wanted was a single chance to step inside, to see the paintings on the ceilings, to peruse the books, even if they were too complicated for him to understand.

How the Grand Library was the reason for his first ever geis with Cylvan, though describing how he and the prince actually first met in the yarrow field nearly had Sionnach launching out of the bed with a shriek of disbelief. They hissed about how absolutely, undeniably idiotic Cylvan was to give his true name away so easily, how cruel it was for him to expect to just kill Saffron right after or to take his tongue, then to ever agree to their deal again after that despite Saffron still knowing his true name—but all the while, never stopped listening whenever Saffron continued. As Saffron couldn’t help but share a little more, and a little more, until the sunrise peeked over the horizon and they’d both been awake all night long.

Recounting every moment of his time spent with Cylvan, all those memories that were sweet, lovely, avoiding any discussion of what went on in Danann House afterward, just regaling Sionnach with every perfect, romantic, honeyed thing that happened before things truly became complicated—it made Saffron wistful. It made him miss the simplicity of it, the simplicity of his secret romance with the prince of the high fey, the simplicity of the danger it put them both in should they be found, even the simplicity of arid magic at the time. How, back then, it was nothing more than drawing circles with hatchmarks on teacup saucers.

He never imagined he would think such a thing—but for the briefest moment, Saffron wished he could go back. Whether or not there was anything he could have done for things to end differently, he didn’t know, but—he wasn’t sure he would have, even with everything that came after.