I know the ritual.
Imbolc brings the start of the lambing season and stands between the summer and winter solstices. Bonfires are lit throughout the forest, and all the guests wear masks and heavy cloaks.
One of the fae guests will be crowned the Prince of Winter, and another will be crowned the Prince of Summer—forced to duel to represent the clash between seasons. Summer will win, of course, and then the Queen of Summer will be crowned by my mother—though of course the crown she is gifted with is the Crown of Summer, and not the Asturian royal crown.
No, that will be locked away in the castle, which means this is our best time to strike.
The castle will be lightly guarded. My mother will be distracted by the festivities, and I know her well enough to know that the smile she grants the new Summer Queen will be tight and jealous. She won’t let the night’s queen out of her sight, because my mother prefers all attention to be upon her.
It’s a temporary honor, of course, though the Summer Queen will bless all of those who have married between seasons and kiss the foreheads of numerous babies.
And then the wine will be brought out.
Come midnight, everyone will sling off their cloaks, revealing gossamer gowns and tunics beneath, and the hedonistic part of the night will truly start.
This is our best chance.
The enormous oaks that guard the royal hunting preserve have been here for centuries. The Queen oak thrives in the heart of the forest, and some say it was planted by my mother herself when she bound herself to the land and took her naming rights as queen. Fae lanterns hang through the trees, illuminating everything in a soft glowing light.
It’s beautiful.
I spent so much time in these woods as a child, playing hide and seek with Andraste. We used to carve little notes to each other in our secret language in the bark of the trees—a map of sorts to the heart of the queen’s forest, where there’s a little cavern we claimed for the two of us.
And then my mother found the carvings and banned us from the woods, furious that we’d desecrated sacred trees.
“Is everything all right?” Finn asks, clearly picking up on my mood.
“Old memories.” I laugh a little at the irony. “They weren’t all bad.”
And maybe that’s the hardest truth to swallow, because all the good memories I have belong to those moments I shared with my sister when we were both children. Young. Carefree. Foolish.
I can trust her, can’t I?
Finn’s gaze slides over the gathering. “Looks a little solemn for my tastes.”
“That’s because nobody’s naked. Yet.”
“Yet?” The corners of his lips kick up. “Do tell.”
“We’re not going to remain behind to see,” I warn him. “One hour to get in and out. Don’t get distracted.”
“What could distract me?” His head turns as a lady in bright red shoots him a knowing wink.
“You’re right. Eris is not here.”
Finn shoots me a look somewhat akin to that of a deer catching the hunter’s scent on the breeze. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
The mask shields his face, but his glare practically incinerates me.
“Ladies!” someone calls with a laugh. “And lords. And all who dwell in between. Let us bring in the summer. Let us sing to the sun and beg her for a good harvest!”
Every inch of me stills.
Mother.
I’d expected her to be holding court near the barrow mounds, where an enormous fae-made pool of water reflects the moon. It’s her favorite place, deep in the heart of the queen’s wood.
This is a disaster.
Though, if she captures me, at least I won’t have to worry about the Mother of Night twisting me to her purpose or Angharad cutting the heart from my chest.
“Small wins,” I whisper to myself.
“Pardon?” Finn mutters.
“Nothing.”
“Let us bring in the summer!” a dozen other voices chorus.
The crowd parts even as my ribs constrict. And then a tall, elegant woman sweeps out of the shadows.
Gold feathers adorn her cloak, hiding all but the hem of her gown, and a ruff of them guard her throat. A crown nestles in her braided hair like hungry gold teeth stabbing into the sky. Someone’s dusted ground gold along her cheekbones and painted her lips with it, though her eyes are shadowed with kohl.
I see every touch her brownie valet, Thistledown, has tried to make to present her as something she’s not….
Queen of Summer.
A kind, benevolent monarch.
The power that brings this court into the season of growing.
Warm. Golden. A sun that shines so brightly, it obliterates all others.
And yet, somehow the effect fails. Gold has never looked so cold and merciless. Smiles slip as she passes by, though the clapping remains loud and emphatic.
One does not dare wield one’s unease in front of the queen.
I kneel with the rest of them, hauling Finn to his knees and bowing my head so she won’t see the shock on my lower face. It’s been three months since I saw her last. Three months since I stood in that Hallow and faced her with all the power I could draw.
Does she know?
Does she suspect?
Did my sister tell her?
My palms feel clammy.
“Rise,” Mother calls. “Rise and prepare to bring in the summer.”
Two swords are brought forth as we all surge to our feet. One is made of hawthorne wood, and the other forged of spelled glass. Both have sharpened tips, though this is a mock battle and neither prince is supposed to be harmed. It’s happened on occasion—purely through mischance—but it’s said that a bloody start to summer’s reign is a bad omen for the crops.
“Let Maia bless this court,” my mother calls, lifting the hawthorne sword. “Bring forth her prince of summer. Bring forth our valiant knight, here to slay the icy cold!”
She flings the sword into the air, and it catapults end over end, until a gleeful blond knight snatches
