She needs to know how serious the threat is. They all do. Because really, it was foolish of me to confront Samson alone like I did. I got lucky that Kitty’s been watching me, and she brought a few of her brownie friends. And lucky that Samson wasn’t a real threat…
His eyes, wide and sorrowful, fill my mind.
I shake myself. “Let it be known the Red Caps are getting closer.”
“What do you mean—”
“They’ve found ways to hide fae magic,” I say. This is not exactly true, but reality is too complicated to go into now, and the effect is the same.
“That means they could hide among us!” Lady Reres looks sick at the thought.
“No. They still can’t cross the border.”
Her shoulders sink in relief, but I can see doubt on her face. “A way to hide magic though…” she says, her voice barely audible. “Could that be? They said the High Blade was the greatest inventor the Seelie Court has ever seen.”
“The High Blade?” I try to scoff, even though my heart seizes at the name.
The High Blade. The leader of the Red Caps when they sided with the Romans and started a war on fae and Scots alike.
That was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. But I can’t think like a human. Red Caps cannot die unless they are killed, but bloodshed makes them stronger. It’s possible the High Blade still lives.
Still invents…weapons and more.
I put on a brave face, even though the idea terrifies me. “We have enough to fear without jumping at old stories and ghosts,” I say. “There is no evidence the High Blade is behind this. But we do know that Darnley and Lady Lennox are working with Lord Cecil from England. This is a real threat, and we have to deal with it.”
Lady Reres pales. “I will tell the queen you are occupied today, and I will let the other Leths know why.”
I dip my chin to her as I turn to the stairs. “Thank you.”
***
In less than an hour—after I confirm with Kitty that Samson packed his bags—I’m mounted on my horse and racing east.
While I may not be at the queen’s side currently, I know of her plans for the baptism celebration of the infant prince. The actual ceremony will be done in the chapel at Stirling Castle, but holy water on a screaming wee one’s head is nothing compared to the celebrations after. Mary’s built a fake castle to stage an Arthurian battle inside the real castle, costumed players will mingle around masked guests, and there’s enough wine to drown half of Scotland. Mary’s even had men in Leith making fireworks, although that’s supposed to be a secret.
It’s the costumes and masks that gave me the idea for today. The baptism itself is for religion, holy and revered, but the parties afterward are all about decadence. Apparently, according to their logic, God’s not going to look at what people do when they wear masks. Some of the costumed actors hired to weave through the crowds for entertainment are even going to be dressed as devils.
And several are going to be dressed as fae.
It’s an accident of time, of course. The people of Scotland have always lived in a world that runs parallel to the fae court. The portals were once more plentiful, but even now, there are multiple access points scattered around the wilderness. It is little wonder that legends arose. While the Leth hide the fae creatures that slip into this world better now, the hardest thing to kill is a story.
And I will use that to my advantage.
There are no signs to where I am going, but I know this trail well enough, and the traces of magic weaving through the air assure me I am on the right path.
The landscape grows more rugged and wild, and soon enough, I have to leave my horse behind, tied at the bridge that crosses over the gorge. Finnich Glen is hard to reach, but I pause on the bridge, appreciating the way water tumbles through the rocks, the moss covering the stones making the whole area look soft, despite its danger.
I walk on a ways, finding an easier path down into the gorge. Someone’s left a rope tied to a tree that I hold on to as I make my way down the slippery, steep slope, giant rocks bulging along the path. It feels like a descent. Like going to another world.
Because if I step wrong, it is.
These wild areas, they’re where the connections between this world and the other are stronger. Portals are defined areas, marked by stonerings usually, but anywhere the land remains feral is a place where the Seelie Court and Scotland are close together, the separation between the realms thinner. Gossamer sheets of magic wrap around the stones in the valley, wafting like mist over water.
And I slip into the other world.
It’s a matter of seeing that one spot where the sunlight shifts, feeling where the temperature dips, hearing where the silence stretches a bit too long, and then purposefully leaning into the impossible, trusting that something more than nothing will catch me.
Ringing fills my ears, a wave of nausea tugging at my gut. I blink rapidly, the human parts of my body readjusting to the fae.
