“Go now,” she said, shooing him with her hand. “I want to watch you as you walk away.”
It was only then that he noticed her feet. In the hours since he’d been with her, he’d been pulled in by her strange beauty. He seemed to be covered in moss and dirt from their tryst in the woods, but she was perfectly clean, pristine, except now he saw that her feet and shins were caked with dirt and mud and a strange grayish substance. She noticed him looking, and then she was gone.
12. THE HIEROPHANT
THE NEXT MORNING, a small procession made its way through the woods and up to Cairn Hill. It was a short walk through the forest and then up a steep slope that let out above Seelie Lake. There, at the Mouth of the Goddess, Emily’s body, now wrapped in silk and anointed with oils of cedar and hyssop, was placed in the snow, and then solemnly, and with great care, the stones were laid atop. But Rowan did not place a stone. Overtaken with grief, she departed early. She did not even leave the customary offering of cinnamon for the Goddess. Her father would see to it that her share was placed.
Wracked with sobs, she made her way through a smattering of trees to the drop-off that overlooked Seelie Lake. A traditional place of mourning, it was called Lover’s Leap, and though she had often heard people crying there, it was her first and only time at the edge. She sank to her knees and wept. A moment or so later, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up to see the duke. She wiped her eyes, and gingerly, he helped her to her feet.
“It was good of you to come,” she said, trying to pull herself together.
“Your father tells me this place is called Lover’s Leap,” he said. “I assume it’s called so because lovers throw themselves off it after the death of their mate with some regularity.”
“Yes,” Rowan said, wiping her eyes. “That’s why, and yet, I don’t know that anyone has ever really done it.”
“Really?” the duke asked, looking down at the ice-covered lake below them. “But it would be such a romantic gesture. I almost want to try it myself. I think I would if I weren’t sure to break my neck and drown.”
“They used to say there were water nixies in Seelie Lake,” Rowan said, smoothing her skirts. “Tom’s grandmother told him they were real, and when we were little, we believed her. She said they only came out at night, so how would we know the difference? It’s strange to grow up and realize that so much of what you believed was a lie.”
The duke sighed. “The pain will ease,” he said. “With time, it will ease.”
“I imagine you don’t have nixie stories in the palace city,” she said, trying to smile, grateful for his company.
He shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard them. I spent my childhood among the mountain folk, and the old grannies used to warn us to stay out of the water at night if we didn’t want the nixies to eat us alive.”
Surprised, she furrowed her brow. “How does a duke end up in the mountains?”
“Ah,” he said, sighing, suddenly sheepish. “It’s a long story. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”
“But I do,” she said, looking up at him seriously, and after he considered her a moment, his shoulders fell.
“Fine. You know what a vicoreille is, right?”
Rowan nodded. The vicoreille was the advisor to the king—only, Rowan knew that in some sense the vicoreille held even more power than the king, for it was within the vicoreille’s right to veto any law, although he seldom did. He usually served more as a religious figure, advising the king in spiritual matters, for his name meant “in place of the ear,” and it was said that his was the only ear in the kingdom into which the sea god spoke.
“Well, my grandfather was the vicoreille to King Clement the Third.”
Rowan tried to hide how impressed she was. The brother of the queen was one thing; the grandson of a vicoreille was quite another.
“Now, it so happened that my father’s sister was quite beautiful, and the king decided he wanted to retire his first wife and marry my aunt. My grandfather refused, for my aunt despised the king. I don’t know what you’ve heard about him up here in the mountains, but he was an awful, bloodthirsty man. Angered by the rejection, he had my aunt dragged through the streets and slaughtered in front of my grandfather. When my grandfather moved to stop the violence, the king had him ejected from the palace city. Our family was exiled to the mountains.”
“That’s awful,” Rowan said, sick to her stomach at the thought. “How was it that you came to return to the palace city, and your sister to the throne, no less?”
He nodded. “When Lucius the Fourth came of age after his father died under, shall we say, questionable circumstances, and thank the sea god for that, my grandfather was pardoned and our family was brought back to the city. Lucius the Fourth had loved my grandfather and wanted to right the wrong his father had done, and so as a gesture of friendship, an offer was made to wed his son to my sister.”
Rowan sighed, his family’s tragedy heavy upon her chest. “I’m so very sorry.”
He nodded. “But those years in the mountains taught me humility. They taught me kindness. That’s why when Merrilee was brought to court—her parents were criminals; they had murdered a soldier for his gold, and the child was to be put in a workhouse—I couldn’t let that happen. In her eyes, in that sorrow, I saw my grandfather, my family, and I agreed to take her on as my ward.”
“She’s a good child,” Rowan said, ashamed of the way she had yelled at her after the incident with the vase. “I’m sorry if I hurt her feelings. I’m afraid I ruined any chance we might have had at a friendship.”
The duke smiled. “I’m sure she will forgive you. She thinks the world of you.”
“Really?” Rowan asked, surprised. “She does?”
The duke nodded and moved to speak again, but just then, Rowan heard her father call out from behind them. The ceremony was over. It was time to head back. A village meeting was in progress over at the inn. Usually such affairs were for men only, but Rowan accompanied her father and the duke, hoping they wouldn’t dissuade her from coming, and was pleased when they didn’t. Her father wasn’t feeling well, and he excused himself when they passed their home, but the duke was eager for Rowan to come along.
When the two of them reached the inn, Rowan was surprised to see Jude standing out front.
He called to her, and when the duke continued inside, she reluctantly went to speak with him.
“What is it, Jude?”
“You don’t want to go in there,” he said.
“I don’t?” she laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Since when have you been the arbiter of what I do and don’t want?”
“It’s about organizing another hunt,” he said. “It’s just Goi Tate yelling over everyone.”
“When isn’t Goi Tate yelling over everyone? Thank you for your concern, Jude, but I trust I will be fine.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug.
Rowan walked past him and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, she found a large group of men in the midst of a fierce debate.
“This thing has taken three from our village. We have to go out again,” Goi Tate was saying, his face red with anger. “I’ll not be held hostage in my own home.”
Paer Jorgen nodded, his calm exterior a salve to the fury that surrounded him. “I understand your concerns. Since the duke has agreed to stay as the king’s representative and lead the investigation, I think it’s best to let him speak now.”
“Please, gentlemen,” the duke said from his position near the bar. “You must understand. This situation is a unique one. I urge you not to get carried away.”
“Carried away?” Goi Tate said, crushing his fists into the table before him. “This thing, whatever it is, has taken lives. What’s more, it’s somehow gotten through the village barrier. The situation is dire. Whatever it is, we need to chop its head off and burn it, is what we need.”