Keira snorted before she could stop herself, and then her eyes widened. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude."
Nythera only chuckled. "You mortals are charming when you're honest. Refreshing."
She walked to a shelf and poured wine from a crystal decanter into two goblets. She handed one to Keira, her eyes twinkling. Keira hesitated, remembering too many stories of Fae enchantments in wine.
Nythera raised a brow. "If I wished you dead, child, you would never have seen this chamber. I have taken interest in you, and wish to be friends. Drink."
Keira reluctantly collected the goblet from her.
Lady Nythera wanted to be friends?
She suspected an ulterior motive, but sipped anyway. Warmth slid down her throat, smooth as velvet. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, honey and rose, with a twist of something she couldn't name.
Nythera sat across from her, draping herself along a settee like a lounging cat. She plucked a grape from a silver bowl and bit into it. "And?" she asked. "Have you enjoyed serving Lord Aeren thus far?"
Keira nodded slowly. "Yes, my lady."
A sly smile curved Nythera's mouth. "You are not afraid of him?"
Keira looked down into her wine. "He is kind to me." Nythera chewed her grape, nodding once. "That he is. Though not many know it."
The fire cracked softly between them. "Did he tell you," Nythera asked after a pause, "that you resemble someone?"
Keira's eyes met hers, and she nodded. "He did."
Her gaze flickered, filled with amusement.
"Ah," she said, reclining again. "I thought as much."
Keira's voice was soft. "Who was he talking about?"
Nythera didn't answer right away. She reached for a strand of her indigo hair, twisting it absently.
"Would you like to hear the story?"
The question sank like a stone in Keira's chest.
Keira nodded. "Yes."
Nythera leaned forward, her eyes gleaming in the dark.
"Then listen well."
~
"Her name was Elya. She was a child of both realms, part human and part Fae. A rare thing. A dangerous thing. The Court did not quite know what to make of her. Too soft, some whispered. Too wild, said others. But she burned bright, brighter than any star I've ever seen. And two hearts—" here Nythera's voice grew quieter still, "—were drawn to that light."
Keira's lips parted, but no sound came.
"Lord Aeren, the Fae lord you now serve," Nythera continued, "was the first. She brought something back into him. A tenderness we had not seen in years. But Prince Riven…" A shadow crossed her face. "He was not so easy to sway. He had no need for softness. Only order. Still, he found himself drawn to her, not gently, not quietly, but like a storm pulled to the sea."
Keira's throat tightened. "And she…?"
"She chose Riven." Nythera's voice was calm, but there was an old ache beneath it. "Though she did not hate Aeren. She loved him too, in her way. But Riven was her mirror. Her ruin."
The silence that followed was thick.
Keira's heart beat like a wardrum. She thought of the portrait in her room, the girl with her face. The aching glance in Lord Aeren's eyes. The way Prince Riven watched her like a ghost returned.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a soft knock broke through the quiet.
Nythera blinked, as if waking from a vision. Her lips pursed. "Enter."
The door opened, and a Fae servant stepped in. Her black hair was bound in ribbons, her robes marked with sapphire threading. She held a scroll against her chest and lowered her head.
"Lady Nythera," she said, but her eyes widened when she looked up and saw Keira standing beside her mistress. "I did not mean to intrude—"
"You are not," Nythera said coolly, taking another sip of wine. "Speak, Arwen."
The girl hesitated, then bowed deeper. "You have been summoned. By Prince Riven himself. It is urgent, my lady. All the high lords are called to the Hall."
Nythera's fingers tightened around her goblet. "Urgent, is it?" She cast a long glance at Keira, who was already on her feet, the taste of the wine still lingering on her tongue.
"I should go," Keira murmured. "Thank you for the story."
Nythera's eyes lingered on her face, a strange look passing through them, something like caution. Or fear.
"You may visit me tomorrow," she said. "There is more to tell."
Keira nodded and bowed her head in return.
Without another word, she turned and slipped past Arwen.
~
They were already arguing.
Sir Daelen Orik stood to the left, youngest of the assembled lords, his flaxen hair bound in silver cord.
Beside him, Lady Syreine of Hollowfen paced like a wolf confined. Her gown was the color of frozen ash, and her dagger, curved glass, bound in thorn-metal, gleamed at her side. Her gaze slid to Lady Nythera, narrowed and unreadable.
"Show it again," she snapped. "If that is what you claim it is, then let us see it with our own eyes."
Lord Thandor Vale was seated at the far edge of the dais, swathed in his ever-silent black.
Lady Nythera moved to her place without a word, the silk of her indigo gown brushing the carved steps.
Lord Aeren was already seated, one hand clenched upon the armrest of his stone chair. When he caught sight of her, his gaze sharpened.
He did not speak, not yet, but his eyes said enough.
"You have spoken to the human," he murmured, low but enough for only Nythera to hear.
Nythera smiled slyly as she sat beside him.
"Why, Aeren," she purred, "do you not like to share your things?"
He said nothing, but the stiffness in his shoulders deepened.
At the base of the dais, the human girl, Sera, lay still upon the woven carpet, her skin sallow, breath shallow. Her tunic had been pulled slightly to the side, revealing a blackened, jagged symbol at the base of her throat.
Three interlocked serpents, crowned with two heads.
The Mark of Maelor.