Alex regarded herself in the mirror. It kept trying to steam up, but Alex wasn’t quite finished. Her make-up was a flawless fusion of glamour and art, her dress fitted OK, and her hair — well it was behaving itself. That was the best that could be said.
Her only problem was her tattoos. She’d become used to the black vines that normally twined around her wrists, but at some point the black flowers had receded and now she was adorned with tiny pale blossoms. She’d tried to make them vanish, but they persistently grew back. Each white four-petal bloom had a tiny red centre that didn’t go with the dress, but she was damned if she could make them go away. She was just going to have to live with it.
She smoothed down the dress and turned to the bathroom door. “How do I look?” asked Alex from the doorway.
Tate looked up from the book he was reading and regarded her for a long time.
“Well say something,” she said, smiling hesitantly.
“I was trying to find the right word,” he said, still appraising her.
“You don’t like it? You think it’s over the top? Too long? Too tight?” she drew the skirt sideways in a slither of material and plucked at the neckline of the royal blue dress. “The back’s quite low as well,” she said, turning slowly in her high heels.
“Beautiful,” said Tate, as he closed the book and shifted across to sit on the edge. “Simply beautiful.”
“Now you’re teasing me,” she said, approaching him. “Tell me what you were really thinking.” She stood next to him, looking down into his eyes. They were very dark. He didn’t need to say anything and she knew. The honestly in his eyes made her blush, but she smiled. “I really have to go,” she said. Her tummy was tight again and she knew she was already late. If she stayed any longer then she was going to be in so much trouble.
“Then I will escort you,” he said, taking her hand.
“You don’t have to,” she said, brushing her lips against his in a way that made her want to change her mind. “I know the way.”
“How are you getting there?” he asked.
“Down the Ways, like always.”
“And you’re going to walk from the Ways to the house in those shoes, are you?” he asked.
She looked down. “Maybe I can take my trainers and change when I get there?”
“Or I could carry you?” he offered.
Grinning at him, she said, “We are not doing piggy-backs again. No way. Not in this dress.”
She found herself swept up into his arms as he stood, cradling her against him. “Like this?” he said.
“Tate?” she said. Her ear was against his chest and she could hear the slow thump of his heart.
“Yes?”
“We could go back to bed.”
He shook his head. “Duty calls. You promised, and you must keep your promise. But I will come with you as far as the house.” Without difficulty he carried her out the door and down through the house.
“What if someone sees us,” she said.
“No one will see,” he said. In moments they were slipping down the Ways.
When Tate travelled the Ways it was like being carried along by an avalanche. They slid around the nodes at a pace that left her breathless, arriving in the darkened wood at the edge of the village. Without breaking stride he carried her through the trees to the road.
“How far to the house?” he said.
She looked up and down the road, getting her bearings. “The pub is just down there, so the house is that way. It’s about half a mile.
He carried her until they reached the driveway where he set her down.
“I can manage from here,” she said.
“I’ll walk you up to the house, and then head back to the courts.” He strolled along beside her as she tripped along in her heels until they cleared the trees. The drive circled around to where the house stood, lights shining through every window.
“Looks like the party’s already started,” she said.
“Where are we?” asked Tate, halting on the drive.
“I told you. Grey’s Court. It’s the house where the Eighth Court is having its gathering. It’s OK, I expect they’ll all be too busy to worry about us.”
“I’ve been here before,” said Tate.
She stopped and looked back. Something about his expression had changed. Suddenly she felt cold and exposed. “What is it, Tate?”
“This isn’t Grey’s Court,” he said. “I’ve been here before. It’s changed a bit, and they’ve done things to it, but I’d recognise it anywhere. It’s not a place you’d forget.”
“If it’s not Grey’s Court,” said Alex, “then what is it?”
“It’s the Court of the Wraithkin,” said Tate. “This is the Seventh Court.”
“It can’t be,” said Alex. “Blackbird paid for it with a rose. It’s ours.”
“You have to warn them,” said Tate. “Get everyone out.” He turned and started running back towards the village, his pace increasing with every step.
“Where are you going?” Alex shouted after him.
“Get them out of there,” he called back. “I have to get help.”
He disappeared into the dark. Alex slipped her shoes off, then turned and ran across the meadow to where the house stood illuminated against the dark.
At the end of the line of people was Angela. No one else waited after her.
“Are you the last to swear allegiance?” I asked her.
She nodded, bearing her wrist.
“Where’s Alex?” I asked her.
“I could ask you the same question,” she said, quietly. “Is it her intention to join the court?”
“As far as I know,” I said. “I haven’t seen her since we came back from beating the bounds.”
We had to concentrate then, since it would be a shame to spoil an otherwise almost unblemished record by severing a limb. Angela tasted blood, as had those before her, and in a moment it was done — we had formed a court. There was another spontaneous outbreak of applause. My suspicion was that the applause was being orchestrated by Angela, but she looked as surprised and nonplussed as I did.
I wiped my sword for the last time, carefully stowing the cloth in a pocket out of sight less the sight of blood spoil someone’s appetite. Having stood for over an hour, I was ready to sit and eat, but Blackbird had other ideas. Lesley brought forward our son, dressed in an outfit of teal silk to match her own. It was a measure of my experience with fatherhood that my first thought was — if he throws up on that we’ll never get it clean.
She approached me and, as she did, he reached out for me. I took him from her and she turned to the assembled people. “Members of the Gifted Court, if I may have your attention for just one moment more.” She waited until the hubbub of conversation died away. “There is a tradition among the Feyre that children are not named for the first six months of their life, but are simply referred to as ‘baby’. It harks back to a time when children were more prevalent, a time which I hope will come again, but we are in the happy circumstance that tonight the son I share with Niall will receive his name.”
There was a scattering of applause and she waited while it died away.
“Amongst the Feyre, a male baby’s name is traditionally chosen by the father, and so Niall would like to say a few words.” She turned to me.
I stepped forward, and there was another bout of scattered clapping. My son clung to me, nervous at being the sudden focus of attention. I couldn’t blame him. I could see Lesley, passing among the members of the new court, handing out glasses of champagne, and I took that as a cue.
“Like me,” I said, “many of you have grown up with the traditions and rituals of humanity. You would have been looking forward to Christmas, some of you with mixed feelings, and your New Year celebrations would have been not long after. It seems strange, then, to be celebrating the New Year on the solstice, when Christmas is not yet come. Indeed, Christmas is not a festival celebrated by the Feyre.”