A Red-Rose Chain

It was a slow process, so slow that at first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. But the crack of light that appeared between them grew wider and wider, until glimpses of the wide, open air courtyard on the other side became apparent. The red brick of the esplanade continued beyond the gates. We would have a level surface on which to pull our little wagon. Bully for us.

It took almost five minutes for the doors to fully open. We didn’t move during the process; instead, by silent agreement, we waited to see what would happen next. I was expecting the King’s guard, maybe accompanied by his seneschal, to appear and tell us that we weren’t welcome—that, or show us to our rooms. It all depended on whether or not they accepted that I had the right to claim their hospitality.

But the doors opened, revealing the deserted courtyard. There was a fountain at the center, made of gold, with stylized Sidhe bodies and stags caught in eternal, faceless dance. The statues were featureless enough that they could have belonged to any of the ruling races, but the yarrow branches etched into the stone around the fountain’s edge made it clear that the installation had been originally commissioned by one of the Tylwyth Teg. The walls of the courtyard had been scrubbed as clean as it was possible for granite to be, and there were no tapestries or pennants hanging there, leaving the fountain as the only decoration. It made the little water feature seem sad, almost, like it was trying too hard to brighten a space that was far too large for it to illuminate alone.

Spike leaped from the wagon and trotted over to stand next to my feet, rattling its thorns in a timbre that I recognized as frustration.

“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty jerked around, too,” I said. “Come on, guys. Let’s walk into the big creepy castle and see if we get attacked by something. Doesn’t that sound like fun? I think it sounds like fun.” I began to walk.

“She’s your fiancée,” said May. There was a small rumbling sound as she and Quentin began pulling the cart over the bricks. Maybe having them do the pulling was a little unfair, given that Tybalt and Walther had their hands free, but there was a method to my madness. Quentin was my squire: I didn’t want him being looked at as anything else. And when a knight has a squire, that squire can expect to be put to work doing whatever irritating or unpleasant jobs the knight isn’t in the mood for. May was my Fetch, but she was here as my lady’s maid, and it made sense that if two people were needed to do the pulling, she would be the second one. I’d probably hear about this from both of them later. In the moment, they understood as well as I did how important it was for things to appear normal.

Well. As normal as it was possible for anything about our little group to appear.

We walked through the open, unwelcoming castle doors and into the courtyard. There were no visible doors on this level, apart from the one we’d entered through. I shot Walther a hard look, and he shrugged helplessly. It’s not uncommon for the people in charge to design their strongholds in a way that makes it clear that they make the rules, that anything you do is dependent on their kindnesses. The Mists has always had a lot of Daoine Sidhe in positions of power, in part due to meddling from their Firstborn. As I looked around what was essentially a room with no windows and only one door, I found myself faintly grateful that Evening had been so inclined to stick her nose in. At least Daoine Sidhe had to walk everywhere, and hence built strongholds that were useful to the rest of us.

Except for the part where Evening had been indirectly responsible for me being turned into a fish, and had actually caused the death—however temporary—of one of my greatest allies, I could almost forget that she wasn’t actually my friend.