My throat tightens at his sincerity, and the stark reality of it all hits me like a fist to the gut. He’s promising his life—his life to protect me. A girl he barely knows. I want to say something, to respond, but the only words in me right now are I’m sorry.
He gives me a slight tip of his head and steps away.
The priest comes forward again. He faces the audience and asks in a stern voice, “Who is your bloodmother?”
I search my brain. Not Lauren, she was my fake mother. “The goddess Brighid,” I manage to get out, trying not to tack a question mark on the end of it.
“What is your primary bloodgift?” the priest asks.
My mind races around the word bloodgift. After a few tense seconds, I say, “Fire,” hoping it’s the right answer. “I start fires.” It sounds completely ridiculous. And yet everyone stares at me like it’s no big deal.
“Do you have a secondary gift?” he asks.
I could have more than one? I shake my head. “No.” Another so-called gift is the last thing I need.
There’s some whispering in the audience, like they didn’t expect me to say that.
The priest is unfazed. He reaches out and places a hand on my temple, closing his eyes. He whispers under his breath for several seconds. My eyes find Faelan again, and the mark on my forehead buzzes.
Suddenly the priest declares, “All is set aright!” so loud I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Blood, spirit, water, fire, and bone, the Balance is kept,” he continues. “All is as it should be. She is Otherborn, she is now one of us.” He motions to my head, then surveys the audience dramatically for several seconds, both the lower courtyard and the royal figures surrounding us on the balcony, like he’s trying to catch every eye in the place. “Her guard holds true,” he says. “Anyone may vie for her fealty, but only one House shall win this beauty’s honor. May the contest commence!”
TWENTY-SIX
FAELAN
I stand at Sage’s side, getting ready for the demis to begin their introductions. The awareness of my blood on her forehead is nearly overwhelming, the small crescent moon showing me as her chosen shadow, tied to her as long as she wishes. And after what I did beside the fountain, that idea is . . . terrifying.
Some of the most powerful demis in the West are here to witness my soul’s suicide—even the Cast’s envoy is looking on with sharp eyes. It’s rare for so many to be present at an Introduction. The Emergence ceremony is where the full court gathers. Tonight, however, there are several representatives from every line in attendance. The curiosity about the newblood is strong. And I have a feeling Marius is about to have serious competition for her loyalty.
Sage is a ruby appearing in an ash heap, and the world’s head is turning to see it catch the light.
She’s standing tall in spite of the fear I can feel on her. I wait just behind her on the small platform as each House approaches to place their gifts and their intentions on the table.
But first the envoy to the Cast comes forward, the representative of our lords—or, more accurately, our babysitters. He looks Sage over, head to toe, taking stock, and allowing those on the Otherside who are watching through his eyes to take stock as well. The silence of the moment stretches out as he studies her. Then he tips his head, like he’s listening to something.
“Our lords wish to welcome you to the fold,” he says. “They see you are well settled with a protector and will be watching your Emergence closely. The Balance must be kept.” When Sage doesn’t respond to his words with the usual “May Danu aid us,” he adds, “I’m sure you agree,” his tone becoming low. A warning.
Sage doesn’t know the meaning of the man’s words, but she nods, which seems to be enough for the envoy, thank Dagda.
I should’ve prepped her to meet an envoy. I just didn’t expect one to be here. They usually leave the Introductions to the local powers. This is a clear sign of how seriously the Cast is taking a new female demi from the line of fire: with watchful caution.
The envoy bows his head and mutters the blessing of Danu under his breath in Gaelic, “All is life, all is death, may the Mother be with you,” before he turns and walks away, his duty complete.
The weight in the air lifts as he goes, and the head druid priestess moves forward to begin calling out the Houses and demi titles.
They are announced in reverse order of importance, so the lowest House walks up to Sage first, the House of Brighid, with Marius as the master, and two of his druid children: Aelia and the eldest daughter, Riona, who must’ve come in from Paris. And from behind them appears Sage’s brother Sean, that hand-carved pipe perched between his lips as always. He’s the only useful or respectable demi of Brighid’s line left besides Sage—the others have all been sanctioned, decapitated, or cast into the Pit.
He takes his pipe from his teeth and kneels at her feet, saying his hello quietly. That unusual open smile of his fills his features, and his red curls are as unruly as ever.
Sage barely seems to hear him or see him, focused intently on those at the end of the line.
She’s got her attention locked on Kieran and his sister Mara. Their party is last, a larger group made up of half a dozen demis, along with their consort underlings and druids.
Her gaze finds them every few seconds, like she’s expecting them to pounce on her. Luckily, Kieran would never risk harming her here.
I lean over and whisper in her ear, in case she’s missing the importance of what’s happening. “This is your older brother.” Then I repeat what the priest just announced: “Prince of Morning and Keeper of Music. He’s the third son of Brighid.”
Her features open in surprise. “Oh, sorry. Hello.”
Several seconds of silence pass while Prince Sean puffs on his pipe. Smoke curls up around his shoulders, and he tilts his head, almost childlike, before finally commenting: “My, aren’t you a doe.”
She frowns. “What’s that mean? People keep calling me that.”
“It means you’re delicate,” I say, trying to help things along. She seems relieved for a second, but then she’s frowning again, obviously equating delicate with weak.
“It’s good to see you, sir,” I say to the prince to fill the awkward space.
“Right, right. Let’s hope this one lasts, aye?” He chuckles deep in his chest, then wanders off in a trail of smoke.
Sage watches him go before she turns back to Marius and Aelia.