Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Forget carving a studio apartment into a tree—this tree had an entire palace carved into it! And yet, just like Bran and Lachlan’s hideout, it was still alive and flourishing. When I looked up, I saw people walking along its massive branches as though they were normal roads. There were whole houses carved into the larger branches and other branches, that were slightly smaller—though still massive—had houses hanging from them.
At first, they looked like bird houses you might see in a regular tree in the human realm. But then I saw people going about their business in the windows and realized they only looked small because they were so high up.
“Wow—this is…” I shook my head, at a loss for words. “I can’t even describe it!”
“The first time you see the Summer Court, it takes your breath away,” Bran remarked.
“It really does,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful!”
“You will not think the dungeons so beautiful, I think, prisoner,” Chrisanther piped, whizzing around my head.
“You talk like I’m already convicted,” I protested. “I have to at least have a trial, don’t I?”
“You will indeed, be brought to trial—by Lady Starchild herself!” he announced in his tiny voice.
“What? But what about the Queen?” I demanded. I still remembered what Headmistress Nightworthy had said about the Queen of the Summer Court being bound to listen to all sides of an issue and give a fair ruling.
But Chrisanther shook his tiny head.
“The Queen’s councilors will not allow her to be bothered in the sentencing of a lower Fae such as yourself, prisoner.”
“Mind your tongue, Nixie!” Lachlan said sharply. “You saw yourself how the Obsidian Portal reacted to my Lady Emma’s touch. You’d best be careful who you call a ‘lower Fae.’”
“True…true,” Chrisanther buzzed. “I shall put it all in my report,” he said decidedly. “But for now, we must go.”
“I don’t know that I want to go, if I’m not going to be given a fair trial!” I said.
But at that moment the golden gates at the front of the massive tree swung open and ten tall guards with golden brown hair marched out. They were all armed to the teeth and they surrounded me and Bran and Lachlan, who both refused to be parted from my side.
“You are the Fae by the name of Emma Plunkett,” one of the guards said to me—it wasn’t a question. “We are to take you to the Sentencing Hall at once.”
And then there was nothing I could do but go with them.
77
The Summer Court palace was lavish—all the structures inside seemed to be carved of the snow-white tree trunk, which kind of made me feel like I was inside an ultra expensive home where the owners could afford to have white carpets and drapes and furniture because they had a full-time, live-in maid to keep them all spotless.
Only the palace was on a much bigger scale.
We passed by impossibly tall staircases carved of the white wood which led up in infinite spirals towards the top of the tree, and vast halls filled with chatting Fae. Though we were much too deep inside the tree for any kind of windows, there was no lack of light. Magical glowing spheres—some as big as houses—hovered high in the air everywhere we went, shedding golden radiance across everything like a shimmering blanket.
As we passed, heads turned and the Fae nobles murmured in surprise. They all had light hair in varying degrees of gold or blonde, I noticed, and I saw more than one sneer when they noticed that Lachlan and I had black hair.
At last we came to a smaller hall which held only a handful of people. There were seats in the back and a raised dais in the front, with a tall podium at its center. Of course, all of it was snow-white, since it was carved out of the enormous tree’s trunk.
Sitting at the raised podium was a woman who looked exactly like Morganna but older—and with hair, of course. Morganna herself was standing in the corner. Her head was covered with a white shawl and there was an angry scowl on her lashless, browless face. Both she and the older woman—who must be Lady Starchild, her mother—were dressed in silver dresses with golden embroidery.
“Ah—I see the prisoner has arrived!” Lady Starchild said, eyeing me. “But only see how she’s dressed! In the royal purple!” She glared at me and pointed one long, slender, manicured finger. “How dare you come into the palace of the Summer Court wearing such attire? The impudence!”
“I, um…” I wasn’t sure what to say, but Bran and Lachlan both spoke up for me.
“You have only to look at her eyes to see that Emma deserves to wear the royal purple,” Lachlan said. And Bran said,
“She’s only here because you forced her to come, Lady Starchild.”
“This is insufferable! Guards, bring her forward and Bailiff, read the charges!” Lady Starchild demanded.