Add then a halfpinch of cindered birch and two splashes of clear water. Allow to simmer under a moonless night, then decant and allow to age for…
Violet's eyes glazed, sliding off the weathered text. She hadn't really been paying attention for about a half hour, now. Since returning to the Wyld, she had fallen back into her old routine. Roaming the forest, training with the Knights, studying magic, both mortal and Winter, killing the occasional Summer fae… it was pleasant enough, certainly, but a bit dull compared to what she had been up to in the mortal world.
Well, that would be changing shortly. Each year, high ranking fae from all across Winter flocked to Queen Mab's Court to celebrate the coming of a new year. The Solstice Night was the most prominent social event in Winter, and many a minor fae dreamed of one day receiving an invitation. Satria, of course, begged off whenever possible, as she held a general disdain for the pompous extravagance of such occasions, instead sending her ambassador Lyle in her place. Unfortunately for her, with the current instability in the Court, she could not justify missing such a prominent event.
Violet, on the other hand, was looking forward to it. Satria had requested she accompany her, and Violet had accepted immediately. She had never been to the High Court before and was very keen to see it for herself. Of course, it wouldn't just be a social affair. Satria was certain that despite that the shadowy conspiracy responsible for over a dozen murders was still active, even if they had suffered a significant setback when Violet killed Aryssa. They would be taking the opportunity to probe for more information.
She heard someone knock lightly, and the door to her room swung open. "Are you prepared?" asked Satria, leaning through the doorway. "It would be best to leave promptly, if possible."
Violet snapped shut the book she was reading and leapt to her feet. "Finally."
Satria laughed and slid her hand over Violet's shoulders. She was wearing one of her favored silk dresses that would have been totally unsuitable for a long ride if she were anyone other than a Lady. Violet had chosen more practical garments. They would be arriving a few days early anyway, and there would be plenty of time to dress up for the festivities.
Two pale stallions, already saddled and bridled awaited them. The rest of the company, a mixture of retainers and servants were already mounted. Lyle the ambassador was there too, which was probably a good sign. Satria didn't exactly have a good track record of getting through these sorts of events without being provoked into killing some appallingly arrogant peon from the outer courts. Hopefully his moderating presence would reduce the chance of such a scandal this year.
Violet suppressed a sigh at the prospect of the long three day journey. She had grown accustomed to the convenience of instant magical transport, but such magic was not possible in the Wyld over any significant distance. Still, there was nothing for it, and the procession set forth, Sidhe steeds maintaining a fast lope without the slightest hint of fatigue.
Their horses hoofbeats were eerily quiet as the glided over winding snowy roads, surrounded on both sides by ancient forests. Violet urged her horse forward until she was astride Satria.
"Are we expecting problems?" she asked softly.
"You speak of the conspirators? It is difficult to say. I, of course, have not been idle since you foiled their plans in the mortal world. And yet, I have found nothing. It is galling."
Violet frowned. "Perhaps they suffered a greater setback than we believed?"
"Perhaps," Satria said with a sigh. "But I think we're missing something. The murders, committed without the slightest scrap of evidence left behind, combined with the sheer audacity of their plan in the mortal world, suggest a degree of dedication and competency that would not be stymied so easily." She shook her head. "No, I do not think they have abandoned their cause. In fact, I think it is quite likely that they will make their move during the Solstice Night festival. If they are to be recognized by Winter as the new King or Queen, they will need the support of the Lords and Ladies as a whole."
"And since they've killed or cowed anyone who might contest them…"
Satria made an amused sound. "Not quite. I seem to recall them failing at least in one case." Violet preened.
"What's our plan then, if they do make a move?"
"We simply don't have enough information. Mab has ruled since time immemorial, and countless attempts to depose her have failed. It is one thing to kill her, quite another to assume her role in Winter's eyes before she raises herself from the dead—such is her power that she is able to do so in mere months. On the other hand, I cannot recall a scheme against her that was so complex and well executed, and Mab is not the force she once was. I can only assume that they will have a plan to ensure they are recognized by Winter."
"So?"
"So we try to avoid backing the losing side, whoever they might be. I have no love for Mab, the capricious whore, but it is probable that whoever would take her place would be a more dangerous enemy, while she is at least easily manipulated in her perpetually drunken state. Besides, eventually, we will be in the same position as the conspirators if our plans proceed as intended. Mab would be far easier to depose when the time comes than a competent and puissant potentate."
Violet nodded. "So we have to stay out of it?" she asked, a bit disappointed.
Satria's lips twitched. "I didn't say that. If things do get… heated, everyone not directly aligned with the usurpers or Mab will be trying to take advantage of the chaos to eliminate their rivals. I, for one, would be very pleased if you introduced Aggariel—the fucking ponce who spilled wine on my dress, you remember him—to a Killing Curse."
"Noted," Violet said with a grin. "Anyone else I should keep an eye out for?"
Satria shrugged elegantly. "I cannot profess to care. If I haven't specifically mentioned someone, odds are I'd be happy to see them dead. Feel free to enjoy yourself. I certainly will."
"I knew there was a reason you were actually going to this one."
"Indeed, and I even invited you along for the fun. Rejoice, for this may be the only legitimately enjoyable Solstice Night in the history of the Winter Court."
Violet laughed softly. "Anything else I should know?"
Satria rolled her eyes. "If you want a lesson on the complex political web of Winter, talk to Lyle. I'm not nearly drunk enough for it. As for the festival itself, it stretches from sunset to sunrise, but there are various lesser celebrations before sunset and the day before. I will absolutely not be attending these, but you're welcome to if you feel like bullying some minor aristocrats. Personally, I recommend staying in your quarters until the Solstice begins and then getting massively drunk as quickly as possible so that you can tolerate the blithering idiots discussing how wonderfully elegant the icicles are, but maybe fuchsia was a poor choice for the tablecloths, I've always preferred a nice mossy green without impaling someone. At least most of the time."
"I see," Violet said dubiously. "I think I'll ask Lyle for his advice."
Satria sighed. "And to think you used to trust me implicitly."
"Hard to believe, isn't it?"
True to Satria's prediction, Lyle eagerly talked her ear off with detailed information on the internal machinations of the Court and its prominent members. The most eminent of these were, of course, Mab and Maeve, Mab's only known kin. Their exact relationship had been lost to the creeping aeons, and it was possible that not even they could remember whether they were sisters, mother and daughter, or something else entirely.
What was known, though, was that Maeve had once had a sibling by the name of Esrid. Always on the outs, with a reputation for feuding with the unified force of Mab and Maeve, he had disappeared without a trace about a millennium ago. There was little doubt that Mab, Maeve, or both, had had a hand in it. Coincidentally, his disappearance had occurred at about the same time as the beginning of the Winter Court's slow decline. Lyle theorized that without the constant political threat he had posed to Mab, she had allowed herself to descend into self-indulgence and laxity.
~#~
They traveled for a day and a half before the High Court came into view. Towering spires stretched above three concentric walls in a monumental testament to Mab's power. The city's sheer size was staggering, though still unremarkable compared to a mortal metropolis. It was probably several hundred times larger than Satria's court. This was the heart of Winter, resplendent in its majesty. Several days from the Solstice Night, the streets thronged with crowds of arriving dignitaries and the processions that surrounded them.
"Impressive, no?" Satria said as they urged their horses forward.
It certainly was. The towers consisted of great stone blocks color in pastel shades of white, blue, and rose. Great islands of earth floated far above the city proper, themselves supporting further wonders of architecture. As they approached, Violet could pick out forests on some of these flying islands, trees abloom and laden with fruit despite the eternal cold.
They rode under the three great gates, the sentries bowing deeply to Satria. One joined the procession, speaking briefly to Lyle before leading them through the wide streets of the High Court. Later, white coated aides seemed to materialize around them. They separated from the rank and file then, who were led to quarters somewhere in the city, while Violet, Satria and Lyle continued toward the commanding edifice in the center of the city. Satria identified it as Mab's palace.
It was not nearly the tallest building, nor the largest, dwarfed by strange curving buildings that should not have been able to bear their own weight. Yet it still had a looming bulk, its fortified construction proclaiming martial power over any kind of artistry, though it was all the more striking for it. It was like a castle unto itself, surrounded by large courtyards.
"Milady, if it pleases you, I will show you to your accommodations?" said one of the aides, a tall man with an unusually soft voice.
Satria shook her head. "I think not. Lyle, go with him and sort things out."
"As you say," the ambassador said. He gave Satria a bow and Violet a grin.
"Of course," the aide said, bowing as well. "Do you require anything else, milady?"
"No. You may all go." She made a dismissive gesture to the small crowd of attendants.
"Very well, milady. I will inform the Queen of your arrival."
"You do that," Satria said, the end of her nose curling delicately. "Please, do inform her that we understand why she could not greet us personally. I am well aware that she is… occupied by other matters."
Violet snickered. Before Lyle and the aide were even out of earshot, Satria spat on the perfectly manicured grounds, a shocking display of rudeness from the normally aristocratically mannered woman. "If that sybaritic profligate is occupied with anything other than consuming voluminous quantities of wine and harassing her staff, I'll throw myself from the highest spire. Truly, things have come to a pretty pass when the Queen would rather atrophy in her tower than greet a Lady of her lands."
Violet raised an eyebrow. "Is everything all right?"
"Quite," she said with a sniff. "Come. I think I need some air."
Ignoring the fact that they were already outside, Violet followed her. They walked across the courtyard before finding themselves in a lightly wooded area. The cobble path followed a fast running river, the water clear and cold.
"Mother of all, that woman galls me," Satria finally muttered. She seemed to deliberate for a moment, then continued, "You know, she wasn't always like this."
"Really?"
"Of course. She has ruled for thousands of years. Do you really think she could have done so were she always so distracted?"
Violet frowned. "I suppose I never thought about it."
Satria sighed. "Natural, I suppose, since you have never known anything different. Certainly, I have never given you any reason to think otherwise. Perhaps it is easier for me to pretend she has never been anything other than an embarrassment."
Sudden realization struck Violet. "Were you… close?"
"Close?" The ancient fae gazed down at the rushing river, and for a moment, the weight of eternity hung heavily around her. "I suppose that would not be an inaccurate description. I once had a deep respect and appreciation for her. But with each turning of the moon, I find it ever more difficult to remember those days. And it seems that she recalls them no better."
Violet stood uncomfortably, trying not to stare at her. In the nearly seven years she had known her, this was the closest Satria had ever come to showing any sort of vulnerability. It was disconcerting.
"She betrayed me, you see," Satria continued slowly. "Although she would likely claim it was the other way around. I should have expected it, of course, but I was younger then and did not see things as clearly then as I do now." Her expression hardened, wistfulness turning spiteful. "Well, Fate is catching up to her. Whether by the conspirators' hand or ours, her choices bear their poisoned fruit. The end of an immortal approaches."
"There are no immortals," Violet softly, thinking of the dozens, even hundreds, of Summer fae who had met their final end at the point of her sword or in viridian light and of Aryssa, who had shown no fear, even at the end.
"No," agreed Satria. "There are not."
Finally, her melancholy mood seemed to lift and she shook her head ruefully. "Forgive me, Violet. I forget myself."
Violet shrugged awkwardly, looking for something to change the subject. She gestured to one of the hovering islands. "How do you get up to those?"
Satria squinted, assessing the distance. "They are close enough that the most powerful can simply teleport. Those less impressively talented must wait for the islands to descend low enough for them. Their altitude oscillates over time, but I have never paid attention to the timing of it. I believe there are also magic rings that intermittently transfer their contents to and from the islands."
"I'm pretty sure I could make it," Violet said. Apparition was slightly less inhibited by the environmental magic of the Wyld than Winter magic.
"You are welcome to try. The view is quite compelling, and with your association to me, none will dare stop you from wandering as you wish." She smiled briefly. "Though I would like to see them try in any case."
"Why not?" Violet mused thoughtfully. "Come with me?"
Satria wrinkled her nose. "I do wish I could, but if I don't make some sort of an appearance, I'll be no better than Mab, and we can't have that."
Violet smirked. "Have fun." She looked back up to the nearest floating island, the tops of tall trees just visible over the edge. She concentrated and turned in place.
Apparition through the Wyld felt strange, as it always did. It might be described as a sense of resistance, like passing through molasses, but that wasn't quite right. It was more as if the sense of compression that came with Apparition was weaker than in the mortal world, reality less willing to bend to her will. Even so, she materialized safely on the flying island without so much as a fingernail splinched off.
The island, a vast bulk of earth and rock, was large enough that Violet couldn't see the other edge through the haze of fog. Beneath her, she could see the sprawling expanse of the High Court, partially obscured by drifting plumes of mist. The island itself seemed desolate, but it was obviously carefully maintained. There was no snow settled upon it despite its elevation and the ever present cold of Winter.
Rigidly defined paths traced geometric patterns through the short grass, which flourished impossibly in the cold. In the center of the island, Violet could see a tall water fountain set in the center of a shallow pond ringed by smooth stones. The entire island was saturated with Winter magic, so strong that it was almost tangible.
It was really quite beautiful.
Violet slowly meandered her way toward the center of the island, in no particular hurry. As she drew closer, she realized that she wasn't alone after all. A woman was sitting on a wooden bench set around the fountain, focused on a leather bound book. She had vibrant blood-red hair, unusual for a fae of Winter. She seemed somehow familiar, but Violet couldn't quite say from where.
As Violet approached, the woman slowly set aside her book and looked upward. She smiled, not the slightest bit of warmth meeting her eyes, and Violet realized just what she had missed.
The heavy blanket of Winter magic she had attributed to the enchantments protecting the greenery from the weather was not, in fact, any passive enchantment at all. Oh, such an enchantment was definitely in place, but now that Violet could see the source of the waves of sheer power that enveloped the island, she realized that what she had really been sensing the entire time was the presence of a fae of monumental power, one who now sat no more than ten paces away from Violet.
She felt a chill run down her spine, feeling vaguely like a wolf who had stumbled upon a dragon. Her right hand twitched, poised to reach for her wand.
"Ah, there you are, Violet," the woman said. "I've been waiting for you."
Though she showed no outward sign of it, Violet's mind raced through the possible candidates for this red-headed fae's identity. She was more powerful than anyone Violet had previously encountered, and her presence seemed to carry, by some ineffable sense, the grandeur of a bygone age. The list of possibilities of her identity was both short and worrying.
"I'm honored," Violet said. "But I seem to be at a disadvantage."
The fae's lips curled upward. "How refreshing," she said. "You truly do not recognize me. But I know you, Violet Potter."
What?
It should have been impossible for her to know Violet's last name or, indeed, anything of her origins. She knew that Satria had told no one, and it was almost inconceivable that she could have learned of it on her own. After all, Satria was quite unique for her willingness to interact the mortal world. As far as she knew, no fae of the Winter Court had so much as set foot in mortal Britain for the last decade, save for…
Oh, hell.
In a blur, her left hand plunged into her cloak, fingers settling around cold iron. As it did, the subtle glamour around the mysterious fae collapsed, and suddenly Violet knew all too well who she was looking at. Though they had never met in person, those crimson locks were recognizable from a thousand portraits and historical tomes. It was Maeve herself, sister, daughter, or otherwise, to Mab and quite possibly the second most powerful being in all of Winter.
"You—"
Maeve's smile turned cold. "Yes, me. I see you have figured it out. This must come as a shock to you, but I assure you, it cannot possibly compare to how I felt when I learned my right hand and confidante for a thousand millennia had been slain by a mortal child." She rose, displaying an intimidating height. "There is nothing that could compare. You may have ruined everything!"
Violet laughed humorlessly. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with her luck? Not only was alone on a desolate island with the mastermind of a conspiracy to unseat Mab, who had already tried to kill her once before, but it was Maeve herself.
"If you're trying to finish her job, I regret to inform you that you've forfeited the element of surprise," she said dryly. She felt strangely calm, given the situation. No one, not even Satria, had considered the possibility that Maeve would move against the Queen after loyally supporting her for time immemorial.
"Do you truly believe that you could stand against me, even forewarned?" Maeve asked, and her words were punctuated by a creaking moan as the fountain froze, droplets of water suspended in the air. Violet swallowed heavily.
"Perhaps not," she allowed, allowing her wand to slip from her sleeve into her hand. "But do you really believe that even you are beyond the touch of cursed flame? All of Winter would behold our pyre."
The tension stretched for a long moment, then another. Finally, Maeve looked away and chuckled. "The stars tell of your spirit. Perhaps there is hope after all."
"I suppose it was also the stars that told you to kill me," Violet said coldly, still clutching her wand.
"The stars tell many thing to one who has watched them shift in their celestial alignment since time primordial. And yet they did not tell me of you until it was too late."
"Would that they had," said Violet with vicious pleasure.
"Indeed. It was an oversight that cost me dearly. Perhaps, it will cost us all." Her eyes flicked to Violet's wand, still held taughtly. "You can put that away. You won't need it."
Violet scoffed. Even if fae were bound to honor their words, there was a considerable amount of room for interpretation. "You won't need it" could be interpreted in a number of ways that would leave her very much regretting putting away her wand. "You cannot possibly think me so foolish," she said.
Maeve made a soft sound of amusement. "So suspicious. Very well; I do not intend for you to come to harm on this day. If I did, I assure you, I would not have approached you so openly."
Slowly, Violet returned her wand to her sleeve, not bothering to hide her relief. Death by Fiendfyre wasn't exactly something she was eager to experience.
"A wise choice."
Violet inclined her head slightly. "As you say, your highness."
A moment passed. Then, Maeve asked, "How did it happen?"
"What?"
"Aryssa's death. How was it that you overcame her?"
Violet blinked. She hadn't expected that question. "One of your agents in Satria's court overplayed his hand. Forewarned, I was able to take her by surprise."
"I see," Maeve said, her lip curling. "And thus, by iron, eternity was cut short. As her, unto us all."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Violet exclaimed. It probably wasn't wise to risk provoking her, but Maeve's constant allusions to some sort of greater circumstances were beginning to frustrate her.
She abruptly broke into a manic laugh, seemingly involuntary and noticeably strained. Violet took an unconscious step backward.
"Of what do I speak?" parroted Maeve. "Only of cataclysm, absolute and irrevocable. A dark tide that will forever sow the land with iron. Nothing of importance, clearly."
"What?" There were perhaps a dozen questions Violet wanted to ask, but one stood out from the others. "Why are you even telling me this?"
"Whyever not?" she replied, some of her earlier instability returning to her voice. "What does it even matter?"
Licking her lips nervously, Violet contemplated for a moment. Any relief she had felt at avoiding a confrontation with Maeve was rapidly fading in light of this newest revelation. "When you say cataclysm, what do you mean, exactly?"
At once, Maeve's nearly delirious animation vanished, and she sagged back onto the bench. "A specter of the past haunts me," she whispered. "In my dreams I see him, ever closer, gloating in his resplendent decay—Oh, how I remember the days when we sang and danced gaily together under purest moonlight. So shortsighted was I to hold my majesty above all fetters. And now he returns, wreathed in forsaken beauty and the twisted whims of a mad visionary."
Violet narrowed her eyes. Maeve seemed, at best, deeply disturbed. Less charitably, the word deranged came to mind. If anything, that only lent weight to her doomsaying. Any dreams that could so deeply unsettle a being so ancient and powerful would not be content to stay dreams for long. Violet could connect the dots. Someone, presumably a powerful fae, from Maeve's past was seeking revenge against her, or Winter in general, and she had foreseen that it would somehow involve the mortal world—iron. That at least explained her attempt to make inroads into the mortal world, though it was still unclear whether it was connected to her attempt to wrest the throne from Mab.
"Who?" There was no question what she was asking.
Maeve's answer tore itself from her throat. "Esrid! Oh brother, prince of the frozen lakes, the gentle dreamer."
"Your brother? But I thought he was… gone." Tactfully, Violet didn't mention that it was a poorly kept secret that Maeve had almost certainly been responsible.
"Gone? I only wish it were so. Those who are static and unchanging are not so easily destroyed… or forgotten." Maeve shook her head, red hair rolling in a cascading wave. "Tell me, Violet, were you not so uniquely positioned to wreak formidable change in this world, how would you solve the question of a brother who at every turn stands against you? Whose willfulness seems calculated to spite those who do not languish in existential misery?"
A dull creak of cracking ice issued from the direction of the fountain. Violet stayed utterly silent, aware that she what she was hearing had quite possibly never been told to another soul.
Maeve sighed and stared into the frozen fountain. "Esrid was always… mercurial, even for a fae. However I try, I cannot pierce the veils of time to recall our childhoods, if indeed we even experienced one. I can only speculate as to what shaped him into the man I remember, simultaneously too soft and too hard to truly fit in. And rather than bow to a prevailing current, he would sooner try to turn back the tide."
"And that's why you…"
"Sought to eliminate him? Yes. But do not misunderstand; I did not take such a path lightly. For thousand upon thousand of years, I tolerated his vagaries, when he would disappear for weeks on end to document some loathsome being or another or proclaim from the highest tower that, perhaps, there could be peace between Summer and Winter."
Maeve's derisive tone showed exactly what she thought of that last supposition, and Violet couldn't disagree. Her experience in the mortal world had made it clear that there was a fundamental difference between humans and fae. Immortality came at the price of determinism, at least to an extent. Just as the Sidhe could tell no lies, Violet didn't think they could truly change their nature, either. If Summer and Winter were to find peace, they would be Summer and Winter no longer.
"What changed?"
"Esrid did. Charming eccentricities were replaced by bizarre convictions. His creed grew ever more irreconcilable with the way of Winter, and he began to speak of revolution and cleansing flame. His cause was hopeless, of course, or so I believed at the time. How could a son of Winter hope to strike against his very nature? For all his power, and he was always the strongest of us, he fundamentally misunderstood so many things. In the end, it was almost a mercy, I think. Of course, I could not simply kill him; I had to get… creative." Despite herself, Maeve seemed noticeably proud of whatever it was she done to eliminate her brother.
A cold stone of dread settled in Violet's stomach. "What did you do to him?"
Maeve smiled. "I did nothing at all to him, save for whispering words in his ear. I suggested that if he so loathed the conflict between Summer and Winter, perhaps he should seek enlightenment where their influence is weakest. Unfortunately, it seems he may have found it."
Violet frowned. "He went to the mortal world?"
"…No."
It took a moment for her to make the connection, but when she did, Violet gasped. "The Distant Lands," she whispered.
"Yes."
The Wyld was essentially a colossal canyon, ranging between two and five hundred kilometers in width, bordered on either side by cliffs that touched the sky. At its center stood the Origin, a tree that was the source of both Summer and Winter, whose branches reached over the stars themselves to cover all of the Wyld.
The canyon, stretched, possibly without end, in either direction. The fae, however, inhabited only about a thousand kilometers of that, only the most reclusive of hermits daring to roam further. Precious little was known about the lands many thousands of kilometers away from the Origin, but it was said that in that unseen expanse, logic and reason themselves failed, supplanted by a surreal reflection of reality that reshaped itself in accordance to the aberrant thoughts of those who wandered it. If the Wyld was a refraction of the mortal world, the Distant Lands were like light passed through a jewel, shattered into uncountable fractions, each greater and lesser than the whole. Violet couldn't even imagine what would become of anyone who intentionally explored so far, but it was unlikely to be good.
"And now he's coming back. After a thousand years completely alone, surrounded by a realm of delirium." Violet whistled softly. "That cannot be good."
"That would be something of an understatement," Maeve said dryly. "Of course, as soon as the dreams began, I knew what I had to do. In its present state, Winter was utterly unprepared for such a confrontation, and Mab was too distracted to lead. So I plotted to seize power while simultaneously making inroads into the mortal world, all in the hopes of finding some clue, some scrap of knowledge to forewarn us of what was to come." A dark sneer crossed her face. "And that would be when you came in. Seemingly the final piece of the puzzle, the extraordinary product of a union between mortal and undying. For the first time in over a decade, I felt hope, secure in the knowledge that my most trusted could not possibly fail to capture and sacrifice a mongrel child."
"But you were wrong," said Violet, her tone taking on a note of vicious mockery. "I wasn't an impotent half-breed content to be led to the slaughter. And Aryssa paid the price for your arrogance."
Maeve didn't visibly react to her tone, instead inclining her head to acknowledge the point. "Indeed. But I cannot claim all of the blame. The meddling hand of Fate has hung over me since I first thought to remove my brother. That it would all go wrong should have been expected."
"And now your problem is becoming all of Winter's problem," Violet continued, thinking out loud. "You wouldn't tell me all this if you didn't want something from me. You think I can help you, somehow."
"Correct. Misguided as my plan was, I believe I was correct that you must be the key to all this. A mortal girl, chosen by Winter in a confluence of events so improbable that they have never occurred before, while peril looms unseen? No, a coincidence this is not. A devil approaches upon foreign winds, and you are Winter's reply."
Violet just stared, eyebrows raised. "You're crazy," she finally said. It was understandable, really. After who knows how many thousands of years, anyone would be a bit eccentric. Besides, it seemed that mental instability ran in the royal family. "How the hell is any of this my problem?"
Maeve sniffed. "Aren't you paying attention? It doesn't matter what you think of me. Loathsome as the thought may be, this threat faces us all. I'm sure you'll see reason."
"Sure, are you? As you so have made abundantly clear, I'm mortal. Why should I fear a world sown with iron?"
"You can't be serious," Maeve hissed. She gestured expansively to the picturesque scenery of the floating isle, suspended over the fog covered city. "You would give up all of this?" She scoffed. "Besides, there is opportunity for you, too. I will make my move against Mab on the Solstice Night; support me then, and you shall have your fill of power and influence."
Violet shrugged, feigning indifference. Unfortunately, Maeve was right. There was no way she would stand by as the world she considered her home was destroyed, not if there was anything she could do about it. She wasn't about to admit that to the woman who had got them into this mess in the first place, though. Without another word, she got up and started walking toward the edge of the island.
"Where are you going?" Maeve demanded.
"To tell Satria everything you told me," Violet admitted.
Maeve groaned. "Must you? That dreary crone never fails to spoil the mood."
Violet didn't deign that with a response, continuing toward the edge of the island. When she cast a final look backward, Maeve was gone, the only sign of their surreal meeting the stilled water of the fountain, frozen in time. She turned in place, rematerializing back on the path snaking through the cultivated forests surrounding the palace. She set off at a brisk pace, glancing suspiciously around her, as if the corrupted memory of fallen Esrid might lurk behind every tree trunk or under every bough. This really wasn't going to help her paranoia.
AN:
I noticed that a few reviews (much appreciated, by the way) were asking about possible pairings, so I figured that since this is fanfiction, it might be best to address it outright. So if you want a "pure" experience where you experience the story solely as it is written, maybe don't read the rest of this AN.
In short, this is a story about adventure, magic, and drama, not romance. That's not to say that it can't have romantic elements, but they have to serve the plot rather than the other way around. Violet is strongly influenced by the attitude of the fae, who themselves don't really form romantic attachments. Whether this is because of their innate nature or a consequence of their longetivity is up to interpretation, but suffice to say that Violet has no interest in a long-term romantic relationship, and her character would have to shift in a a drastic and fundamental way for that to change.
As for the Violet/Satria scene last chapter, that was just a natural extension of their developing relationship. Fae don't really share in human inhibitions, so don't place too much importance on it. Mutual affection combined with attraction, yes, but not romance.
As always, thanks for the support.