Summerfall Read Online Free

Rinka. “Faeries haven’t officially visited the capital in years. I expect they’re only caught off-guard.”
    Garen made a noncommittal noise, and Rinka got the distinct impression he was amused at her—at her naiveté, he would undoubtedly say. What did you expect, Rinka? For them to love us as much as you love them?
    Rinka ignored the Garen in her head and the one beside her, urging her horse away from the group. She searched the face of every human they passed, thirsty to find kinship with one of them. Maybe a man taken with her beauty. Maybe a woman fascinated by the pendants in her hair.
    She found herself, perhaps foolishly, yearning to find a friend among them, and soon. Someone impressed by and devoted to her, to whom she could devote herself as well. Someone as eager to learn about her and her kind as she had always been to learn about theirs. Together they could prove Garen and those like him utterly wrong.
    But then even these thoughts fell away, for they had passed along the main road, up a gently sloping hill, and Rinka saw what lay before them.
    Along the perimeter stood a high white wall, and it was through an arched gate that the faery entourage entered the king’s city. The stories a young Rinka had heard, decades ago now, from faery travelers stopping at Geschtohl for prayer and reflection—the accounts of the city Rinka had read in her father’s books—had not done Erstadt justice. Towering and white, the city spilled across the foothills of the mountain range known as the Kingsmarch, which loomed dark and hidden in low clouds. The king’s palace, Wahlkraft, gleamed as splendidly as Rinka had imagined it—pearl-colored spires and towering gray turrets, the walls embedded with tiny pieces of glassy stone that caught the sun and made the city shine.
    The sight of it left Rinka breathless.
    “Is it everything you’ve ever imagined?” asked Garen blandly.
    “Better,” said Rinka, as they passed through the city gates and into a great marketplace bustling with people—who stared and shuddered and smiled and scrambled at the sight of them. Rinka tried to ignore the uneasiness in the air, and tossed her braids. “And don’t spoil this moment for me, Garen, or you won’t live to regret it.”
    But the moment was spoiled anyway, by the appearance of a harried-looking young—oh. Oh. Rinka felt a flutter of delighted alarm.
    The young woman in brown, hurrying to meet them, was a mage . She had to be, with that dark hair and pale skin, her eyes sharp and silver like knives, and the presence of magic about her. The coldness of her power thrummed against the heat of the faeries’ own, and wavered there gently. The faeries and their horses shied away at the contact—except for Rinka.
    She would not allow herself to appear so unsophisticated.
    “Hello, Lady, and good morning,” she said warmly, jumping down from her horse to extend her hand. She had heard of shaking hands in human country, and assumed the mages would have adopted that custom as their own—as they had done with many others. “Have you come alone to greet us? Surely you aren’t meant to handle our horses and supplies by yourself.”
    The mage let out a tiny breath of laughter. “Please, I’m no lady yet. But if you’ll follow me—”
    “Oh, of course,” Rinka interrupted. “Only those mages who’ve apprenticed at court and been blessed by the king are accorded the titles of Lords and Ladies of the North. Isn’t that right?”
    The mage did not seem to know how to react to Rinka’s enthusiasm, and detached herself gently. “That’s correct, Countess, but—”
    Now it was Rinka’s turn to laugh. “Countess?”
    “Rinka,” warned Garen, still astride his horse.
    “I’m no countess,” Rinka went on. “My father is on the Council of Geschtohl, but I hardly think that awards me the title of countess. I’ve no property to speak of.”
    The mage girl pursed her lips, impatient. “That’s fine, but we really must