“On that, you are correct,” he said, his voice soft.
I shifted my weight and shoved a few grapes in my mouth. I didn’t like what was hanging in the air between us—some vague sense of disappointment on his part but confusingly mixed with what almost seemed like a hint of apology.
I swallowed and wiped my lips with the little napkin Emmaline had tucked into my hand when she’d brought the plate.
“Well, I somehow ended up with Marisol’s approval,” I said with a light tone. “Temporary, I’m sure, but still, this is an historic occasion.”
I swiped a glass from a passing server, clinked it against Maxen’s, and took a long drink of the pink liquid. I recognized fizzy, flowery rose amrita. He chuckled and sipped, too, allowing the tension to dissipate.
The rest of the reception passed relatively painlessly, despite the fact that I only allowed myself the single glass of bubbly. Soon Marisol and the others who weren’t going to the Duergar palace departed, and Emmaline was coming at me holding a jacket that was really more of a cape.
“Seriously?” I said as she settled the garment around my shoulders.
“It’s tradition and protocol to cover the shoulders when you arrive in a foreign court,” was all she replied.
The envoy, including Maxen, began moving out of the reception hall. Emmaline walked beside me with her ever-present tablet.
“So how do we travel there?” I asked. “Horse-drawn carriage?”
She snorted a laugh at my sarcasm. “You haven’t been part of many diplomatic parties, have you?”
“That obvious, huh?”
“We’ll be traveling by doorway,” she said. “In fact, the porters have already gone through with all of the luggage.”
She told me the sigils to trace to go to the destination doorway, which she said was near a road leading to the Duergar palace. I’d been in the Duergar kingdom before, of course—Morven’s pub was located there—but never to the palace.
A little sliver of ice crept up my spine as I remembered the wraith trying to kill me in the netherwhere. I shook it off. That wraith was dust. It still irked me that my mark was at large, but I’d told Oliver I’d rescue Nicole, and of course I had to. Even if she weren’t my sister, I couldn’t leave a New Gargoyle changeling in Duergar hands—in spite of what Maxen believed about my lack of duty to my people.
Emmaline and I followed the others through the corridors of the fortress and out into a small, circular courtyard that was ringed with what appeared to be a solid wall. But in the sculpture of the wall were several arches, designs that would catch any Fae eye. Doorways.
The man who seemed to be the head attendant, the one who was personal servant to Maxen, was leading the party. He took us to one of the arches that looked the same as the rest, until the page began drawing sigils in the air. The area under the arch shimmered, as if inviting us through.
I waited my turn while others entered the doorway, and then I stepped into the void of the netherwhere.
It was time to find my twin.
Chapter 12
COMING OUT OF the netherwhere, the first thing to greet me was the bright, upbeat music of the Duergar royal buglers. The second was Lochlyn.
Because she wasn’t New Garg, she’d had to take a different doorway and meet us here rather than travel with the official party from the fortress. Dressed in a blue gown so pale it was nearly white, the bodice and hem embellished with crystals, she looked like a fairy-tale princess. She skipped up to me, clapping her hands under her chin.
“You look like royalty,” she said with a pleased little giggle.
“That’s what my assistant said,” I groused. “Where did you get that dress?”
“Oh, this old thing? One of my gig dresses.” She swished the skirts and then twirled, letting them flare gently.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, letting my mood warm a little under the influence of Lochlyn’s excitement.
I drew a slow breath and looked around, taking in the pomp and the setting. We stood in a clearing of a wooded area and overhead the branches of very old trees had interwoven to form a natural canopy. Wildflowers edged the clearing, and birds chirped and swooped overhead, competing with the trumpet flourishes. A hard-packed dirt road bordered by ancient hawthorn trees led away from our gathering place toward the Duergar palace, just visible in the distance. Performers dressed in leotards and body paint of Duergar colors—pine green and pale orange—danced around the spot where the clearing turned into the road, ready to lead the party. Even my crusty, court-hating heart recognized that the scene was quite beautiful.
King Periclase himself stood to one side with his hands clasped in front of him, flanked by six hulking guards dressed in full body armor and outfitted with a sword and two daggers each. On one side of the king stood a man I recognized as his brother—Darion, a formidable Duergar soldier. On Periclase’s other side was his wife, Queen Courtney, casting her chalcedony-blue eyes aloofly over the heads of the crowd.
I tilted my gaze upward and spotted a few crossbowmen and women among the trees surrounding the clearing, and if that many were visible, I’d have bet there were at least twofold more out of sight.
In contrast to the festive atmosphere, the Duergar king’s face was hard enough to rival my stoic father’s. Periclase was an oddity of the Cataclysm. He’d spontaneously become part-New Gargoyle, but something had gone wrong with the transformation. Periclase’s change had left him with a face that was stone across the temple next to his left eye, over the cheekbone, and along the jawline on that side. He also had one hand that was curled into an immobile stone fist. It was as if stone armor had permanently taken over those areas of his face and body. In a strange twist of the Cataclysm, despite the areas of stone skin he couldn’t summon full rock armor. But even if he’d been able to prove sufficient New Garg blood, he’d have had no real reason to join up with Marisol. The Duergar kingdom was one of the larger Unseelie realms, and he’d been in line to rule it since the day he was born.
I’d heard that Periclase was a formidable-looking figure even before his transformation. With his half-stone face and stone fist, he was downright fearsome.
Maxen was striding across the clearing toward the Duergar king with half a dozen New Garg politicos following him. They stopped and bowed before the king, and Periclase gave them a slight nod of acknowledgement. Maxen straightened and spoke a few words to Periclase, who responded briefly. I wasn’t near enough to hear any of it.
Maxen took a position opposite Periclase, so he and the Duergar king each stood to one side of the road. The rest of the New Garg party formed a loose line to pay their respects to Periclase and Courtney. Lochlyn and I joined the queue with Emmaline behind us. When it was our turn, Lochlyn and I stood side by side before the King and Queen.
“Petra Maguire,” I said.