My nerves come back to me in a rush, and I'm glad I'm already clinging to Cash's arm as we make our way towards the king and queen. To either side of the dais steps, opulently dressed and masked Aetheri are gathered, many holding drinks in everything from jeweled chalices to ancient-looking horns. Each of their masks is a work of art—every one of them unique, save a few. Some incorporate crowns, others resemble the faces of animals, still others could almost be armor. But two are blank plates of polished bone that cover the entire face…even the eyes.
The royals of the other courts, and the lesser royals of this one.
I take a deep breath and swallow before looking up to meet the gaze of the unmoving figures seated above us.
To the left sits the Moon King, dressed all in draping, inky black and seated upon his throne—which is carved entirely of dragon bone. His mask is a black crescent shape edged in polished bone, its points jutting up over his head like a pair of horns. His long hair hangs loose, the color of a crows feathers in the sun. His skin is deathly bluish-white, his hands tipped in long, translucent claws.
But it's the Moon Queen whose presence simultaneously sucks me in like gravity and roots me to the ground in awe and fear. She sits upon an onyx throne, dressed all in white like the world's most dangerously ethereal bride. Her hair, caught up in cream-colored braids, are arranged into an elaborate crown atop her head, cascading down the back and around her shoulders. The sheen of her black skin is so lustrous, she practically glows. Her golden eyes bore into me from behind a mask in the shape of a down-turned white crescent moon, its points framing her full lips.
As one, we bow—bending at the waist and dipping low as we can.
"Welcome, Clan Blackwood," says the queen, a voice whose lyrical beauty is echoed by a sound like a rushing of wings in the night.
"We thank you, my Queen, my King," answers Theo, righting himself and gesturing for Cash and I to come forward. "I would like to personally present Erin, the newest addition to our family."
Again I bow, and this time when I raise my eyes to the faces of the Royalty perched above, the queen's golden gaze is waiting for me.
"She is not entirely human," observes the king with a note of interest.
"She's part selkie." confirms the queen, her eyes boring into me. "Tell me, child, do you have the Voice?"
My blood goes cold. I can't lie to her. She would know, and it would be disastrous. Though we're in the family of sirenkind, only about one in seven selkies has the Voice, and I'm half human. If I could just not say anything, everyone would assume I don't. But that's not an option.
"I—yes, my Queen," I answer at last, voice barely above a whisper.
Her elegant brows shoot upward.
"Aren't you a treasure," she says, gaze trailing over my face in an appraising way that makes me feel like a mouse in the claws of a cat.
Behind us, the gargoyles declare three more names. Following Theo's example, the rest of us bow yet again before begging the Queen and King's leave. As Theo exchanges the final pleasantries, my attention wanders to the other royals—many of whom are watching me with new interest now. One in particular stands out—a woman wearing a seahorse mask, a dress that looks as though its made of kelp, shimmering fish net and accents of shell-mail. I feel her regard like fluid weight ranging over me.
Narrow upper levels ring the outer edges of the Moon Chamber. Beneath the first, the light is dimmed and dining tables line the glass and beam walls. On the others, more court folk and guests lounge about, many draped over the railing along with all the vines and night-blooming flowers, looking down at the rest of us and sipping summer wine.
Occasionally I catch sight of another human as we make our way through the masses, the distinctive shimmer of their skin marking them out. Most are dressed in simply cut but luxurious black silk donor uniforms: their necks, shoulders and collar bones exposed. A few, however, are more distinctively clothed and wear collars—marking them off limits to all save those whose crest they bear. All wear vials of donor's tonic on belts about their waits.
Theo guides us to an empty table. Padraig pulls my seat out for me before taking the one at my side.
"So, what do you think?" Says Cash, looking from Theo to Padraig. "Half an hour, forty minutes, then we bail?"
"We should probably stay for an hour at least," grumbles Theo, accepting a glass of wine from a slender vampire in a server's uniform. I cup the one they set in front of me in one of my hands, frowning down into the honey-colored fluid.
"Are we sure it's safe to eat and drink what's offered here?"
"Of course," Cash waves a hand. "The consequences of breaking the bindings of hospitality are catastrophic."
The others are all drinking from theirs already. I take a sip, and a warm thrill runs down my spine as the sweet, spicy flavor of it blossoms across my tastebuds. Though a few donor humans approach to offer themselves, my vampire companions wave them all off...quelling the odd spike of jealousy I feel every time it happens.
Then another server appears, this one bearing platters of food—far more than Padraig and I should be able to eat on our own. Or so I thought. Within minutes he's wolfed down more than half of it all, a feat made easier by his long snout and multitude of teeth. He does manage to keep his furry, clawed hands just human enough to use a fork, the sight of which I have to fight back a laugh at. At least he's polite.
After taking my first bite, though, my eyes go wide. "Oh. Oh my god."
Padraig looks up from his nearly empty plate, swallows, and growls something that sounds like "Right?" before stuffing another several forkfuls in his face.
Suddenly I've got the appetite of someone three times my size, and I wouldn't be surprised to see fur sprouting across my own hands as I demolish dish after dish. Crusty cardamom bread. Fresh greens with fine cheese and garlic dressing. Stuffed quail, truffles royale, wild hare in chocolate and blackberry sauce, honey lavender cake with clotted cream. More wine. Delicious. Amazing.
"Why aren't we members of the Moon Court, again?" I wonder jokingly as I finally start to get full.
"Don't say that," hisses Cash. "You'll summon him."
"Who?"
Nearby, a figure clad in russet and topaz bursts from the crowd,
"Good evening, my dear Blackwoods!"
Cash's eyes narrow. "God damnit."
"I just wanted to take a moment to personally welcome you to court and thank you for finally accepting our invitation. I trust everything is to your liking thus far?" As he speaks, he smirks at the other vampires before sweeping me a low bow and extending a hand as if in request to take mine. But Cash leans over me and slaps away the offending appendage.
"No, Oslo! Bad Oslo!"
"Aren't we the possessive ones tonight," tsks the red-haired vampire, whipping a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiping off the top of his hand. "In any case. I was hoping we could discu—"
Across the table, Padraig throws back his head and howls. Half a second later, another howl echoes from across the Moon Chamber. Before I know it, every werewolf within hearing range is howling, drowning out all else. Then a magically-amplified clap issues from the royal dais. Once, twice. Three times.
Well above us on the middle ring-level of the Moon Chamber, the musicians who've been weaving a soft backdrop to the feast change track. The tempo picks up, the volume increases, and a voice like liquid gold pours forth from among their ranks to gild the room in pulsing radiance.
The chamber erupts in a flurry of movement, as some people—mostly werewolves—make for the main floor. Meanwhile, others surge to the outer edges or the stair that leads to the upper rings. Padraig's already on his feet, tossing off his jacket and unbuttoning his vest. Catching my eye just as he turns to follow the others, he grins toothily and extends a furry hand to me in offering.
I only hesitate for a second before thinking why the hell not? Before I know it, we're out together on what's quickly become a dance floor. Already other werewolves in groupings of anywhere between two and ten are twining together in fiercely beautiful, intricately coordinated movements.
With the non-dancers mostly out of the way, my companion and I whirl to face each other.
"I hope you're not expecting me to be able to dance like that," I warn, looking up into his warm eyes. They crinkle at the corners, and he shakes his head. Then, so carefully I have to throw a jokingly sour look over at him, he twirls me outward before pulling me back in close again…though not too close.
But as the awkwardness unwinds and the music takes us, I find myself moving more and more fluidly. Echoing the passion and enthusiasm of the werewolves around me, and Padraig in particular. As we spin and laugh and cling to each other, I find myself wishing I could look into his human eyes. At his human face. But this form is beautiful too.
Warmth floods through me, followed by a jolt of realization.
Oh. Oh no. Do I like him too? Really, Erin? Already? You don't have time for this right now.
But it would make sense. I guess it's true, what they say about the transition from the Uther to the Aether realms being like a second puberty for humans. Our emotions can seem especially intense for years as we adjust to a new experiential framework. It isn't anything we wouldn't normally feel…but it's heightened.
The song changes, flowing into another one. Just as easily, we continue into the next dance. But by the end of it, I'm feeling guilty for holding Padraig back. "I think I need to go get some fresh air," I yell up at him over the music. "I'll let you go get some real dancing in, alright?"
The instant I break away from the werewolf, Nicholai emerges from behind a cluster of dancers to walk at my side. I flash him a look, heading for one of the doors leading out to the balcony.
"Aren't we protected here by the laws of hospitality? I thought it'd be nice to get a moment to myself outside."
"Hospitality only binds our hosts and their people. There are many others here. There is no 'moment to yourself,' to have."
He's not wrong. The long balcony that wraps about the base of the moon chamber is as crowded as the indoor space. Eyes and whispers follow my path as though I'm a passing tray of rare delicacies, and I'm forced to admit to myself it's a good thing I have a guardian.
Nicholai hangs back a ways in silence, giving me space to breathe as I find a spot for myself along the balcony. Leaning onto it, I look out over the city and breathe deep of the cool, fir-and-stone scented air. As I grip the railing, the bone ring digs into my finger, and I snatch up my hand, covering it with my other. The many-colored lights of the city suddenly seem menacing.
He could be out there, the one who did this. Behind one of those windows. Walking one of those streets. Here in this tower.
I squeeze my hand, nails cutting into he skin at the top of my palm.
Who are you? Where are you?
That's when I remember my whole reason for wanting to come here. Information. But I hadn't imagined just how intimidating everyone would be. Particularly the important ones. And thinking back to the crowd of royals, I don't remember seeing any goblins. Besides, if the perpetrator is among them, how likely are they to be honest with me, and how safe could it be to approach?
But if the woman in the seahorse mask wasn't a royal of the Court of Tides, I'll eat my own dress. And it's almost certain that my mother would've returned to that same court, after making it back to the Aether realm. Maybe she or one of her people would know who she sold my skin to.
With a goal in mind, I head back inside.
It doesn't take me long to relocate my target. The Tide Court woman lingers at the outer edges of the dance floor with a gaggle of attendants for company, looking rather bored.
It takes significantly longer to summon up the courage to go talk to her. But when I do, there's a satisfied look on her face…as though she'd been expecting me.
"Ms. Blackwood," she says, extending a hand. I get the distinct sense that I should drop to one knee and kiss her ring, but even here that seems ridiculous. So instead I grasp her hand and squeeze it lightly before letting it go. From the look in her eyes I'm pretty sure it was the wrong choice, but she seems to dismiss the faux pas—her expression warming in the blink of an eye.
"You have the honor of entering the presence of Her Majesty the Queen of Tides," says one of her more opulently-dressed attendants. I bend at the waist in a bow.
"A...a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty," I stammer, raising my head once more to meet her beautiful eyes. Teal, dark and huge.
"I had hoped to meet you, when I heard you'd arrived in the realm," she drawls, a lazy fluidity to her voice.
"Really? D—did you know my mother?"
She laughs, and I can't help but picture a joyful splashing as of some creature playing in the waves. "Oh yes, I did indeed. I was the one who had her executed."
