The next day, Cressida called court.


    It was not announced with dragon horn fanfare, as it usually was in Veridia, and nobody had to stand in the giant gilded greenhouse of the assembly hall and listen for hours to petitioners and complaints, hot and sleepy and uncomfortable. Instead, Willard rang the dinner bell and called up the stairs, “Ey! Meeting!” and everyone gathered around Idris’s dining room table, where Lila had set out honeyed milk and plates of biscuits.


    Nobody was dressed for court. Instead, they wore leather armour or house clothes, or comfortable garden trousers. Cressida settled at the head of the table and was granted first choice of biscuits. Idris sat at the other end, as the official owner of the property, and was given the second biscuit.


    “I would like to call to order the first session of The Gleesdale Court, here in the kitchen of Summer’s End,” said Cressida, in her most imperious voice. Kurellan dutifully began taking notes. “This is a special court, for a special purpose – namely, the destruction of the Dead Walker armour, the Spirit Glass.”


    There was a knock at the front door. Idris frowned, but Willard grinned.


    “Knew my pa would be late,” he said, getting up.


    “He can let himself in,” said Idris.


    “Oh, fae can’t just come into people’s homes without invites,” said the hedge witch. “You should prolly come, too.”


    “Excuse me for a moment,” said Idris. Cressida inclined her head.


    Joa was, indeed, at the front door, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the birds with a pleasant smile.


    “Ah, Master Dead-Talker,” he said, noticing Idris and bowing. “Apologies for the abrupt ending to our previous meeting. I did not have time to discuss my intentions with you and I had instructions of my own.”


    Idris bowed, too. “All is well, Highness. Please, come in.”


    It was peculiar, seeing Joa inside the house and seating him at the kitchen table. He was a piece that did not quite fit; he found the whole enterprise amusingly quaint, judging by his sideways smile and glittering eyes.


    “All present,” said Cressida.


    “Noted,” said Kurellan.


    “We shall start with Sir Idris.”


    Idris cleared his throat and began.


    “The Dead Walker armour is a Vonner heirloom, created by Johannes Vonner and the fae during the Third Fae Incursion. It included one helm, now destroyed; one dagger, also destroyed; a staff, in our possession in two pieces; the breastplate, which Lord Layton Vonner has; and a set of pauldrons. The pauldrons,” he added awkwardly, “are in the Naga vault.”


    “They are?” said Cressida, frowning.


    “I had the archivists look into it some months ago. I think they are in one of the bricked-up cubbies.” He continued, “The armour has necrotic qualities which are rather far-reaching. The breastplate melts metal, apparently, protecting the wearer from most attacks. The staff... it enabled complete control of the aria. It does nothing much now but wail. I cannot tell you what the pauldrons do -”


    “If I may?” said Joa politely. Idris nodded. “The pauldrons acted as a barrier between the helm and the breastplate, connecting thought between the two pieces of armour. It was a rather enlightened piece of aria weaving and engineering. I doubt the pauldrons have much use on their own, although I can imagine the residual necromantic aria within them must render them rather... worrisome.”


    “All of these are troubling in their own right,” said Idris. “But what I think is the real problem is the skull of Johannes Vonner. This will sound... fanciful, but please hear me out. When Johannes used the Dead Walker armour, it stripped him of his humanity. I think it also stripped him of flesh and muscle. What was left was his skull, but it is infused with the death aria to the extent that Lord Vonner uses it to supplement his own skills.  Lord Vonner is capable of terrible acts with it in his possession. He made sure to take it when he left Raven’s Roost.”


    “Necromancers can leave ghosts?” said Willard.


    “Not so crude as that. It looks like some sort of magical repository – a well, perhaps, or a shadow.”


    “It can happen,” said Joa.


    “In order to find the breastplate,” said Cressida, “we must first find Lord Vonner, then. Kurellan?”


    “Lord Vonner has effectively vanished,” Kurellan said. “I have scouts in Outer Arbedes, Temple Hill and the surrounding areas in Marbury. No sightings.”


    “He has also not returned to Raven’s Roost,” said Riette.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    “He will let us find him when he is ready,” said Idris quietly.


    “There, I agree,” said Kurellan. “Based on Sir Idris’s observations of Lord Vonner’s... emotional and mental state when he left the tower, I do believe he thinks himself hunted and disgraced, and has set himself against us in a sort of heroic last-stand. While this isn’t true, it does suggest that he will allow himself to be found at some point and will lead us to him.”


    “Then this is what we do,” said Cressida. “First, we destroy the staff. We will do so at our earliest convenience, in the safety of the palace in Veridia. All agreed?”


    A chorus of ‘aye’ went around the table.


    “Second, we take the pauldrons from the vault and -”


    “We will need the pauldrons to destroy the breastplate,” said Idris quickly. “That is not a simple matter.”


    Joa sat forward. “I have a proposal, if you will allow it.”


    “Certainly.”


    “I cannot discuss it now, but I would like to be present when you unearth the pauldrons.”


    “Granted,” said Cressida. “Third, I will draw up a treaty with the fae. Your Fae Highness, are you permitted to sign and negotiate such treaties?”


    “I am,” said Joa.


    It struck Idris as comical, that the most momentous treaty in a generation was going to come to fruition around his farmhouse dining table, but he knew better than to laugh. There was too much at stake.


    Other matters were discussed – what to do with Raven’s Roost (leave it unoccupied but guarded) and how to deal with the other necromantic artefacts in Layton’s home (to be placed in Idris’s care, for his disposal or use as he saw fit); the protection of Temple Hill (to be negotiated with Lady Eremont at her earliest convenience) and the family trees (which the archivists would deal with when they returned to Veridia). It felt better to talk about these things as a matter of business rather than as a facet of Idris’s intensely personal issues. For the first time in days, he felt calm.


    “Idris,” said Cressida at last, “the final matter is a delicate one, and if you wish to discuss it privately -”


    “No,” he said. “It is quite all right. Everyone around this table already knows.”


    “You can remain without a family affiliation if it pleases you,” the Queen said earnestly. “That is your right. But I would feel better if we could provide you with a crest of your own, and a name you like. That way, we can address you as ‘lord’, as is proper, and you can put this miserable business behind you.”


    Idris sighed, drummed his fingers on the table. “I... there is no name that comes to mind. I am neither Eremont nor Vonner, and I do not wish to claim the latter.”


    “In fae lineage,” said Joa, “we take our surnames from our great deeds. Perhaps that might suit you?”


    Idris almost said ‘I have no great deeds’, but he saw Riette watching him and he closed his mouth.


    “I will stay as Sir Idris,” he said. “For now. But I thank you for the consideration.”


    “Any other matters for the court?” said Cressida.


    “I would like to put forward a recommendation for apprenticeship,” said Idris.


    “Proceed.”


    “Lady DeTrentaville, would a squire suit you?” he said. She smiled.


    “Certainly,” she said.


    “I would very much like to draw up a contract to transfer Lila into your service.”


    Lila blinked, started. “But - Sir Idris, I must protest,” she said.


    “It is not a punishment,” he said quickly. “By no means a demotion or a dismissal. Simply a transferral of skills.”


    “I wish to squire,” Lila said, addressing Cressida now, “but Your Majesty -” And she stood and bowed low, “I do not wish to leave Sir Idris’s employ. I wish to be his knight.”


    Kurellan raised his eyebrows, sat back in his chair. Cressida hummed thoughtfully.


    “Interesting. I do not know if a nameless lord can acquire knights. Let me think on it.”


    “I do not mean to be so bold as to say something improper,” said Lila, head still lowered, “but Sir Idris does rightly need me and I can’t leave him to fend for himself -”


    Willard laughed; Cressida bit her lip and gave Idris a sideways-glance, and he sighed and shrugged.


    “ - and he can’t fight none, and -”


    “Very well, Lila, very well,” said Cressida kindly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You may rise. I will see to it that you get excellent training, but that you can stay with Idris. That is my personal promise.”


    “Thank you, Majesty.”


    “We will adjourn,” said the Queen, “if there is no more business. Willard, how does it suit you to become my Fae Ambassador?”


    “Oh, it sits right kindly with me, Majesty,” said Willard, jumping up to bow. “I can do that.”


    “Then we will make our plans and reconvene once the Spirit Staff is dissolved, and -”


    There was another knock at the door.


    Idris frowned. His gut stirred uncomfortably. The jovial atmosphere around the table dissipated, like smoke into the air.


    “Are you expecting anyone?” said Riette.


    “Draw your sword,” said Idris in reply, standing.


    Kurellan stood, went to the window. “Hooded figure. Female, I think.”


    Lila drew her sword, too, and said to Idris, “I have you, sir.”


    Slowly, Idris walked to the hall. He was certain the death aria, usually a whisper in places like this, was louder, more insistent.


    “Hello?” he called. No response. Simply another knock, loose and quiet.


    Trembling, he reached out and lifted the latch.


    A thrall lurched inside. Idris staggered back; Lila lifted her blade and held it protectively before them, but he waved her down.


    “No, no. It is already dead and I do not think it wants to harm us,” he whispered.


    The thrall stopped walking. It had its fist clenched around something, its hood up, and it swayed as if it had walked for days. Its clothing and shoes hinted as much, too – the shoes were threadbare on the feet and the cloak was coated in dust.


    Within it, Idris could hear Layton’s peculiar music, floating through the aria.


    “Hello, Father,” Idris whispered. “Do you have something for me?”


    He reached out his hand in a gesture of acceptance.


    “Come,” he said. “I am here. Give it to me.”


    He reached out through the aria, too, diving into Layton’s melody, and he joined with it. He wondered if his father knew it, could feel it, and was watching.


    The thrall lifted its clenched fist, dropped the contents into Idris’s hand, and then crumpled to the ground, the aria leaving it instantly once its task was done.


    It was then, when the hood dropped, that Idris felt afraid.


    “Oh bells,” said Lila, putting a hand to her mouth.


    It was Polly, the groundskeeper.


    She was newly dead. The skin and lips were white. But around her neck were deep purple bruises of ghostly hands, much like the bruises Idris had just lost around his own neck.


    Polly must have been protecting Temple Hill. If she was dead... what of the others?


    Idris swallowed hard, took grounding breaths, and unravelled the parchment in his hand.


    IF YOU ARE NOT WITH ME


    THEN YOU ARE AGAINST ME


    DO NOT STAND IN MY WAY


    Idris sucked his cheeks, held his tears at bay.


    “Prepare a pyre, Lila,” he said. “I think Layton Vonner just declared war.”