The Eighth Court (31 page)

There was a stillness in the room. For a moment I thought no one would step forward. Then Andy moved forward out of the crowd. “It is my wish to be first,” he said. “Though I do not know what is expected.”

“Come forward,” said Blackbird, “and bare your wrist.”

A space cleared in front of Blackbird as people drew back. I stepped forward into that space and drew my sword. Andy looked worried then, but slipped out of his jacket and passed it to the woman in the orange dress to hold. As he stepped forward he unbuttoned his cuff and pulled back the cuff.

“Hold out your wrist,” said Blackbird.

“You’ll be able to sew it back on afterwards, right?” said Andy to me, joking. A murmur of nervous laughter rippled through the room.

“You can close your eyes if it helps,” I told him. His eyes met mine and held them.

It was with a moment of trepidation that I readied myself. A mistake at this point would be a bad moment, and no one else would volunteer after Andy. In a single fluid movement, I lift the sword and cut swiftly downwards, stopping the blade over Andy’s bare wrist. He looked momentarily relieved and then paled as a line of red welled across his wrist. It was the moment when I acknowledged that all those hours of sword practice had been worth it.

“Taste it,” said Blackbird, “and stand before me.”

Andy turned and lifted his wrist and pressed it to his lips, sucking the blood from the long cut.

“By your blood do you swear to serve the Gifted Court until released of your bond?” asked Blackbird.

“I do,” said Andy. I could feel the power building in the room.

“By your heart, will you abide by the rulings of the Gifted Court, for better or worse, even until life or death?” she asked.

“I will.” My own mouth watered at the memory of the taste of blood.

“By your mind, will you become an embodiment of the honour of the Gifted Court, always remembering your place in it, and its place in you?”

“I will,” he said.”

“By your power, will you seek to protect the Gifted Court, its Lady, and all its members, even unto the cost of your own life?” said Blackbird.

“I will,” said Andy.

Blackbird offered her hand and Andy gave the hand with the cut on the wrist to her. She pressed her other hand over the wound and when she removed it there was no trace of the cut, or the blood.

“Be welcome into the Gifted Court, The Eighth Court of the Feyre,” she said.

Applause broke out around the room, and Andy turned around and beamed at everyone, relieved that I hadn’t accidentally chopped his hand off at the wrist. After that they came forward, initially in ones and twos, but then a line formed. Each of them was sworn into the court, one after another. Each tasted their own blood, and with each taste, the sense of power in the room built.

At one point I briefly looked for Alex in the line, but she was not there. I found myself angry and disappointed after what she had said, but then had to push all those thoughts to one side when the next cut was a little strong and that much deeper. A gasp went down the line, and there was a degree of hesitancy in the next in line. After that I centred myself completely in the moment, focusing, as in a battle, only on what was in front of me.

Alex regarded herself in the mirror. It kept trying to steam up, but Alex wasn’t quite finished. Her make-up was a flawless fusion of glamour and art, her dress fitted OK, and her hair – well it was behaving itself. That was the best that could be said.

Her only problem was her tattoos. She’d become used to the black vines that normally twined around her wrists, but at some point the black flowers had receded and now she was adorned with tiny pale blossoms. She’d tried to make them vanish, but they persistently grew back. Each white four-petal bloom had a tiny red centre that didn’t go with the dress, but she was damned if she could make them go away. She was just going to have to live with it.

She smoothed down the dress and turned to the bathroom door. “How do I look?” asked Alex from the doorway.

Tate looked up from the book he was reading and regarded her for a long time.

“Well say something,” she said, smiling hesitantly.

“I was trying to find the right word,” he said, still appraising her.

“You don’t like it? You think it’s over the top? Too long? Too tight?” she drew the skirt sideways in a slither of material and plucked at the neckline of the royal blue dress. “The back’s quite low as well,” she said, turning slowly in her high heels.

“Beautiful,” said Tate, as he closed the book and shifted across to sit on the edge. “Simply beautiful.”

“Now you’re teasing me,” she said, approaching him. “Tell me what you were really thinking.” She stood next to him, looking down into his eyes. They were very dark. He didn’t need to say anything and she knew. The honestly in his eyes made her blush, but she smiled. “I really have to go,” she said. Her tummy was tight again and she knew she was already late. If she stayed any longer then she was going to be in so much trouble.

“Then I will escort you,” he said, taking her hand.

“You don’t have to,” she said, brushing her lips against his in a way that made her want to change her mind. “I know the way.”

“How are you getting there?” he asked.

“Down the Ways, like always.”

“And you’re going to walk from the Ways to the house in those shoes, are you?” he asked.

She looked down. “Maybe I can take my trainers and change when I get there?”

“Or I could carry you?” he offered.

Grinning at him, she said, “We are not doing piggy-backs again. No way. Not in this dress.”

She found herself swept up into his arms as he stood, cradling her against him. “Like this?” he said.

“Tate?” she said. Her ear was against his chest and she could hear the slow thump of his heart.

“Yes?”

“We could go back to bed.”

He shook his head. “Duty calls. You promised, and you must keep your promise. But I will come with you as far as the house.” Without difficulty he carried her out the door and down through the house.

“What if someone sees us,” she said.

“No one will see,” he said. In moments they were slipping down the Ways.

When Tate travelled the Ways it was like being carried along by an avalanche. They slid around the nodes at a pace that left her breathless, arriving in the darkened wood at the edge of the village. Without breaking stride he carried her through the trees to the road.

“How far to the house?” he said.

She looked up and down the road, getting her bearings. “The pub is just down there, so the house is that way. It’s about half a mile.

He carried her until they reached the driveway where he set her down.

“I can manage from here,” she said.

“I’ll walk you up to the house, and then head back to the courts.” He strolled along beside her as she tripped along in her heels until they cleared the trees. The drive circled around to where the house stood, lights shining through every window.

“Looks like the party’s already started,” she said.

“Where are we?” asked Tate, halting on the drive.

“I told you. Grey’s Court. It’s the house where the Eighth Court is having its gathering. It’s OK, I expect they’ll all be too busy to worry about us.”

“I’ve been here before,” said Tate.

She stopped and looked back. Something about his expression had changed. Suddenly she felt cold and exposed. “What is it, Tate?”

“This isn’t Grey’s Court,” he said. “I’ve been here before. It’s changed a bit, and they’ve done things to it, but I’d recognise it anywhere. It’s not a place you’d forget.”

“If it’s not Grey’s Court,” said Alex, “then what is it?”

“It’s the Court of the Wraithkin,” said Tate. “This is the Seventh Court.”

“It can’t be,” said Alex. “Blackbird paid for it with a rose. It’s ours.”

“You have to warn them,” said Tate. “Get everyone out.” He turned and started running back towards the village, his pace increasing with every step.

“Where are you going?” Alex shouted after him.

“Get them out of there,” he called back. “I have to get help.”

He disappeared into the dark. Alex slipped her shoes off, then turned and ran across the meadow to where the house stood illuminated against the dark.

At the end of the line of people was Angela. No one else waited after her.

“Are you the last to swear allegiance?” I asked her.

She nodded, bearing her wrist.

“Where’s Alex?” I asked her.

“I could ask you the same question,” she said, quietly. “Is it her intention to join the court?”

“As far as I know,” I said. “I haven’t seen her since we came back from beating the bounds.”

We had to concentrate then, since it would be a shame to spoil an otherwise almost unblemished record by severing a limb. Angela tasted blood, as had those before her, and in a moment it was done – we had formed a court. There was another spontaneous outbreak of applause. My suspicion was that the applause was being orchestrated by Angela, but she looked as surprised and nonplussed as I did.

I wiped my sword for the last time, carefully stowing the cloth in a pocket out of sight less the sight of blood spoil someone’s appetite. Having stood for over an hour, I was ready to sit and eat, but Blackbird had other ideas. Lesley brought forward our son, dressed in an outfit of teal silk to match her own. It was a measure of my experience with fatherhood that my first thought was – if he throws up on that we’ll never get it clean.

She approached me and, as she did, he reached out for me. I took him from her and she turned to the assembled people. “Members of the Gifted Court, if I may have your attention for just one moment more.” She waited until the hubbub of conversation died away. “There is a tradition among the Feyre that children are not named for the first six months of their life, but are simply referred to as ‘baby’. It harks back to a time when children were more prevalent, a time which I hope will come again, but we are in the happy circumstance that tonight the son I share with Niall will receive his name.”

There was a scattering of applause and she waited while it died away.

“Amongst the Feyre, a male baby’s name is traditionally chosen by the father, and so Niall would like to say a few words.” She turned to me.

I stepped forward, and there was another bout of scattered clapping. My son clung to me, nervous at being the sudden focus of attention. I couldn’t blame him. I could see Lesley, passing among the members of the new court, handing out glasses of champagne, and I took that as a cue.

“Like me,” I said, “many of you have grown up with the traditions and rituals of humanity. You would have been looking forward to Christmas, some of you with mixed feelings, and your New Year celebrations would have been not long after. It seems strange, then, to be celebrating the New Year on the solstice, when Christmas is not yet come. Indeed, Christmas is not a festival celebrated by the Feyre.”

There was a murmur of
shame
from somewhere at the back.

“Nor are christenings, and the tradition of Godparents, with all that entails. Instead we have a naming ceremony, something that will be strange and new to many of us, me included.”

I looked around the faces, seeing many I did not recognise.

“All of you have just participated in a ritual of power. You are the new members of a new court, formed tonight on the solstice, sealed in blood, bound with power. That’s one ritual completed. Now we have a different ritual, which is no less powerful, when we give my son the name by which he will be known. Names have power, which I think you all know, and by giving him his name we acknowledge him as a member of this court, even before he goes through the ritual you have all been through. He will be the first child of this court, but not, I think, the last.” I smiled then, at Lesley, who smiled as she handed out champagne.

“Names are important,” I said, “not just because they give us a measure of identity, but because they are symbolic. When we say the name,
Blackbird
, we invoke the symbol of the Lady of this court, and in doing so we acknowledge her power and influence. When I came to choose a name for our son, I wanted it therefore to symbolise something for him, and for us. Our court stands between the human world and the fey world, and each of us straddles that divide. We all know, some of us to our cost, what that means.” I glanced at Angela.

“I could have chosen a fey name – there are some I admire, some I find inspiring, but everyone else in this court has a human name, some of us more than one.” I nodded to Blackbird. “At the same time I wanted to choose a name that recognised the spanning of these worlds and acknowledged the dual nature of all of us here.

“There was a man who spanned those worlds. He connected the human world to the world of the Feyre, though whether he truly knew what he was doing, I do not know. He chose to weld the fate of fey and humanity together and the choices he made hundreds of years ago are the reason we are here tonight. He rose from being a no one, hunted and persecuted, to being a king. He was born a bastard, and he became known as the Conqueror. It’s a strong name, and my son will need to be strong. He had enemies, as does our son. The difference was the people around him. I hope you will be the friends and supporters that our son needs as he grows.” I held the baby up high, so that they all could see him. “I give you…”

Through the crowd gathered around the long table, someone was moving forwards. There was a flash of blue as she pushed her way forwards, her mass of curls wild and unruly. She pushed through the gathered rank at the front and stopped in front of them all, breathless. She was holding a pair of high-heeled shoes in her hand, swinging from the straps, and her feet were bare and dirty. When you looked at her dress, the bottom of it was stained dark where it had soaked up water.

“You’re late,” I told her in a low voice. “I will speak to you later.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, leaning forward to put her hand on her thighs and catch her breath. “You’ve got to get out.”

I sighed. “No amount of dramatics is going to get you out of this one, Alex. You’re in deep trouble.” I lifted the baby high and called out to the assembled court. “I give you, William, first son of the Court of the Gifted, may he live in happiness and peace.”

“To William!” they shouted, raising their glasses, trying to ignore the theatrics from my daughter.

“You have to leave!” Alex shouted at them. “Go now!” The room fell into an uneasy silence.

“Alex, that’s enough,” I said to her.

She ignored me. “You’ve all got to get out!” she said. “While you still can.”

“Alex!” I shouted.

She turned to me. “It’s a trick, don’t you see? This isn’t Grey's Court, it’s a trick to get you all here. You’ve got to get out, while there’s still time.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Blackbird.

Another figure pushed forward through the crowd, slowly this time. They parted around her, and there were murmurs of unease as she advanced through them. Finally she stood beside Alex, looking up into her face. Alex looked down on her with a mixture of revulsion and fascination.

“So this is the girl,” said the spindly figure in her crackly voice. She reached up with her oddly formed hands – no thumb but a little finger at each side articulated inwards. The wispy material of her sleeve fell back revealing alabaster skin so thin it was as if you could see the bones beneath. Alex stepped back to avoid her touch.

“Kareesh,” said Blackbird. “What are you doing here?”