A Touch of Death

Chapter 26

It took a full day of riding in a carriage to make their way to the royal court of Quilland. The capitol city was positioned far to the North of the nation rather than near the center, close to the Fae forest. As Tarran lived on the edge of the Fae forest, it meant that it was easy to make his way to the royal court in the case of an emergency. Despite the relatively close proximity compared to other visiting Enchanters, though, they nearly arrived late for the entrance ceremonies.

"Put on your cloak," Tarran said, gesturing to the unruly pile of red fabric on the carriage seat beside her.

Heart in her throat, Aoife shook out the fabric and slung the cloak around her shoulders. It was the same cloak that she'd taken with her all those years ago, blood red and a little too long, but well-loved and a small comfort to the mass of anxiety growing in her gut. Tarran's cloak, she remembered. It was Tarran's old cloak, and somehow that gave her strength.

Aoife carefully slipped out of the carriage, cloak billowing behind her in the brisk evening breeze. She stared up at the imposing outline of the palace in front of her. The building was brightly lit against the darkening sky, but it did not seem cheerful. On the contrary, the lights looked like an ominous warning to her instead of a friendly beacon.

Tarran, on the other hand, did not seem bothered as he, too, donned his cloak and stepped from the carriage. Unlike Aoife, he pulled the hood over his head and let it dangle over his eyes, obscuring half his face in the same way he'd looked when they first met. His appearance only added to the tension of the situation.

"Enchanter Beryl is the Master of Ceremonies this year. It likely won't work in our favor, so be on your toes," Tarran instructed softly as they walked towards the castle doors.

"Why aren't you the Master of Ceremonies?" Aoife asked, wrinkling her nose. "You're the highest-ranking Enchanter there."

"I, personally, detest the job. It puts me on far too much display, and in a position that brings more animosity than favor when the highest-ranking person also has quite a terrible reputation for doing very little among the Enchanters of the kingdom. However, outright declining would look like I lacked the initiative to take responsibility, so I set up a rotation among the senior Enchanters. It's his turn this year."

"Why do they think you don't do anything? Didn't you bargain your way into getting me by pulling strings with favors the King owes you?" Aoife asked, clutching the cloak around her shoulders a little more tightly.

"The work I do for the King is incredibly... discreet," Tarran gave her a pointed glance, hoping she understood, "and my personal work in the lab is nothing shy of a total secret to anyone but the two of us. Even the King has only a vague idea what I do there. Understood?"

Aoife raised her hands as if in surrender. "I know nothing about any work for the king and I have never seen your secret tower lab, which does not look like a tornado running through the room might actually improve the mess."

Tarran glared, but Aoife didn't flinch. "Good. Don't forget that."

Once at the door, Aoife reluctantly handed off her red cloak to a maid, but Tarran kept his. They no longer even asked for it when he arrived at the palace.

"We're nearly late," Aoife clenched and unclenched her fists, nervously peeking down the hallway ahead of them. Tarran didn't acknowledge it, keeping his moderate pace as they walked towards the throne room.

"And nearly everyone will be here already to see us enter." The corner of his mouth twitched up in a sideways smile, and Aoife cut him an exasperated glance.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a sneaky, conniving old man?" she said, but there was little real malice in her voice.

"More than once, yes," he said without hesitation.