by M. A. Grant
Sleep doesn’t come for me though. I lie awake, staring at our ceiling. The moment near the fire replays in my mind.
It shouldn’t mean anything. Lugh and I tease and compliment each other all the time. But something about tonight was different. He looked different somehow. I close my eyes and I can see it all. The firelight dancing behind his messy hair. The bunched muscle of his shoulders as he leans his weight forward onto the chair. The affection in his eyes and the slow sweep of dark lashes when he tries to hide the way he’s been watching me. It’d be easier to believe if he weren’t always watching me, a detail I know because usually I’m watching him right back.
My breath catches and the blankets against my skin send my pulse racing. I roll away from Lugh’s empty spot and cling to the farthest edge of the bed. I need to sleep. I need to forget how my body responds to his like he’s my true north.
I pretend to be asleep when Lugh finally comes back. He moves quietly about the room before sliding under the covers. He doesn’t reach out to me or curl up against me. He does whisper, “Good night, Keir,” moments before his breathing steadies in sleep.
Morning will be here soon. I need to sleep. I need to force myself to rest while I can.
Despite my best intentions, I fall asleep imagining Lugh’s mouth curving up in the private smile he saves for me alone before his lips part on a whisper of my name.
Lugh
The draugr growls and moves under my skin, vibrating my bones with its wordless threats.
The long audience hall of the Seelie palace is a ridiculous confection of architecture. Gold gilding. Empty thrones on the dais. Windows from floor to ceiling to reflect in the sun’s light.
A pity, that. Only the strongest monsters grow in the darkness. Mab proved that. I will too.
Who is this? Where am I? The magick in this place is corrupted and dying.
“You.” The bastard Seelie prince—the unlikely seed of all Faerie magick—stares at me and I fight the urge to preen under his awed scrutiny.
“Me,” I agree.
He lifts one arm, exposing the healing punctures on his wrists. I can almost taste his untouched power, and I marvel as every injury inflicted on him closes without a trace of trauma.
“Fascinating,” I whisper. What will my body be capable of once I’ve cracked open his shell and devoured the magick inside?
I’m young. I can feel it in the push and pull of my muscles, in the timbre of my voice. And my flesh is warm, the world is warm, not cool like it usually is in these memories... I’m alive and I don’t know how or why...
“You’re healing so quickly now,” I point out. What a joy it will be to cut into that unmarred flesh as I free the promise within. A blank canvas awaiting the perfection of my artistic vision.
To cut?
The draugr howls and shakes against its prison. Its talons scrape and peel, but I hold it back. Refuse to give it this moment. I need to see this. I need to know who I am.
The seed doesn’t understand. If I had a heart, it would ache for him and his stupidity. He’s such a pretty, foolish thing. Laudine never told him the truth of his power. She thought she was protecting him. She thought banishing him from the Summer Court would prevent me from leading him back here. Thanks to his naivety, I didn’t have to lead him anywhere. He came back to me. Somewhere in the depths of his heart, he knew his purpose and he chose me to help him fulfill it.
A blessing, indeed. He deserves to know. I must show my gratitude.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?” When he doesn’t respond, I fight down the hurt and try again. “Centuries. I’ve spent centuries trying to find you again.”
“You’ve seen me at Mather’s. At Domovoi’s.”
Roark went to Mather’s. I don’t know the other place, but Roark might. I have to hold on to those names. I have to tell Roark, but there’s a pressure growing in my skull and words are so hard to cling to—
He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t understand. He understood the last time I witnessed his sacrifice, when he was held aloft over pale marble floors by a spear and offered his blood to rebuild the world. Except, the king denied me my right to the last drop. He stole the power that was rightfully mine and wasted it. His greed led to the Accords, to Oberon’s distrust of me and Mab’s tight grip over the balance of Faerie. Through all the time that passed, I waited. I practiced patience and reminded myself every day my chance would come again.
It’s come at last, a gift from the High Prince and Princess of the Faerie Courts.
The seed listens to me lay bare every secret about our intertwined paths. I plead and beg him to remember me, to remember his power, but he’s been lost for too long. A sacrifice poorly treated.
Oberon and Mab failed him. They failed Faerie. I will not.
“I don’t understand,” he tells me when I finish speaking. He’s pale. With his dark hair and darker eyes, he looks like a ghost already. He’s ready to blossom. He just needs that last push. The last nudge.
“Of course not,” I reassure him. “But that doesn’t matter. I know who you are.”
I lift my hands and the world rips apart, the draugr roaring and drawing blood behind my eyes and in my throat, covering everything in red and rage and pain while the body is held above me. The shades howl a chorus of agony from every corner of my mind. They try to flee from this horrific sight, only to slam against a barrier they can’t claw through. I think I’m shattering, breaking into too many pieces to ever come back together again.
And he’s whispering—I’m whispering—and the world seems to echo it into Tir na nÓg—
“You are the Green Man, and through your death, I will be reborn.”
* * *
“Lugh! Lugh, for fuck’s sake, wake up!”
Keiran’s hands on my shoulders are cool in comparison to the blood-drenched flesh I inhabited in the nightmare. Bits and pieces break away in the face of my hard wakefulness. I try to cling to them, but it hurts too much.
“Gods, Lugh, please look at me,” Keiran begs.
I hold his gaze. This doesn’t hurt. I wish it was love in his eyes, but even if it’s not, it’s warm and safe and I want to rest in it forever. Until the white-hot lines of pain under my skin fade and my head doesn’t threaten to crack in two if I breathe wrong. Keiran clasps my face in his hands. His thumbs rub over my cheeks and the cool night air prickles against my wet skin. I’m crying and I don’t know why.
“Was it a shade?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper. It wasn’t a shade. It was something else. Something worse, I think. But when I search for it, I can’t find a trace. The shades in my head are silent. Even the draugr keeps a fearful peace.
“What do you remember?”
Nothing there. Empty blackness in my mind. “I don’t remember anything,” I tell him.
I lean in, tucking my head against the curve of his neck. He’s sleep-warm and he smells like the forest. Like home.
“Tired,” I mumble. “Just want to sleep.”
“Will you try to stay up with me for a while?”
“It’s not there anymore, Keir. We can sleep.”
He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin lightly on my head. “I don’t want to.”
“Promise me you’ll try to sleep again.” When he starts to argue, I nuzzle in closer and he falls silent. “Please, Keir?”
“Fine,” he whispers. “I’ll try.”
He promised he’d try. He never breaks his promises, not to me. Content, I give in and let sleep claim me once more.
Chapter Fifteen
Keiran
I don’t sleep. I cradle Lugh, and when my limbs start shaking, I lay him down and face him, watching his slumber for any signs of distress. He sleeps like the dead, peaceful and softer than I’ve seen him for years.
When he wakes, he
doesn’t mention last night at all. His glamour is steady when he eats among the glowering Mainlanders in the hall. He’s confused by my worried questions about how he feels, then grows concerned enough that I stop asking altogether. He sobbed so loudly in his sleep last night, I woke up, and now, I would never know anything was wrong.
“Keiran, are you okay?” Lugh asks me.
I glance up from my porridge and find the attention of the entire Hunt fixed on me. Lugh’s brow is pinched with concern, and I doubt I can explain my thoughts in a way that will relieve any of his doubts. So I lie and assure them all, “I’m fine. Just nervous about what will happen when all the clans are present.”
We’ll find out any moment now. The call goes up that the Northerners are on the lone road into Krigsmöte. The mood of the fortress changes with their arrival. We follow Aage and his supporters outside the hall to greet the new arrivals. Of the Mainland clans, only Resnik joins us. The rest watch dourly from the hall. The six groups spread out over the field, with their banners flicking to and fro in the morning breeze. Aage makes a formal welcome, and soon enough there are wide smiles and slapped backs and loud conversations discussing the travel conditions and how things at home are. Lugh’s swallowed up by the crowd, and I stretch myself to my full height, desperate to find him among the milling bodies.
Olofsdotter has Drest’s chin in hand, laughing at him when he starts and sputters from something she said. Kermode gives me a brief wave, but doesn’t stop on his way to the stables. Where the fuck is Lugh?
“Poet!”
Thorburn, one of the few Sluagh larger than me, lifts me in a crushing hug. He’s one of the youngest huscarls, voted into the position by his clan after his father’s death a scant century ago. Even before his ascension, every visit we made to his village has been full of drink and laughter and generosity. He’s a handsome man, according to Lugh, and I suppose I can understand why people think so. His thick arms stretch the fabric of his tunic, and he’s taken the time to braid his honey-dark hair back for the formal occasion. Even his beard has delicate braids worked in. He’s a warrior in his prime, and I never realize it more than when he gives me one final spin and sets me down.
Thorburn doesn’t notice. He keeps a hand clasped on my shoulder. It’s a strange weight, so different from Lugh’s, but his wide smile and bellowing voice distract me from deciding whether or not I like it. “Poet,” he says again, “it’s been too long!”
“It’s good to see you here. Peaceful crossing?” I reply, patting his shoulder twice before dropping my hand and continuing my search for my absent Horned King. Damn Lugh for allowing the Hunt to see through his glamour today. I wouldn’t miss his horned helm if I could see it.
Thorburn’s hand stays where it is. “Aye, it was a peaceful crossing. Gentle seas,” he says. “Even Jensson survived.” The man in question makes a foul gesture in Thorburn’s direction, which only makes him laugh before he turns his attention back to me and leans in closer. “What of the Hunt’s journey?”
“Long,” I admit, “but better now that we’re here.”
“Is the seidhr with you?”
As though his words were a magick spell, the crowd parts to reveal Lugh watching us. Voll chats quietly with him, though she’s curious enough to search out what’s drawn his focus. When she sees me, she gives a pleased smile and lifts a hand in greeting. I try to wave back, relief coursing through me to discover Lugh’s momentarily safe with a friend, but Thorburn’s grip on my shoulder makes it awkward. He notices and releases me so I can complete the motion. He turns to see who has distracted me and makes a low noise when he sees Lugh.
“Ah. There he is,” he says. They watch each other politely before Lugh glances back to Voll. “You still have no plans to leave his company?” Thorburn asks me, his smile slightly dimmed, but still genuine.
It’s difficult to not laugh outright at the suggestion. “No,” I say instead, still watching Lugh and wondering how he can burn away the sensation of Thorburn’s touch with a look alone. “Not until he asks it of me.”
“An impressive display of devotion,” Thorburn muses. “Well, if you ever tire of riding the Wylds, there’s a place for you in our village. I always enjoy your company, poet.”
“I’ll remember that.” I might. In truth, I’ll probably forget his offer the moment he walks away. But his gesture is kind.
When I offer nothing else, Thorburn glances around. Friendly challenges fly back and forth between clans, with Resnik and his retainers issuing most of them.
“Do you know if the thegn has any additional work we can help with?” Thorburn asks. “I know we’re the last to arrive, but we want to pull our weight.”
“You’re not the last,” Lugh says. He’s finally abandoned Voll to join us, and he greets Thorburn with a smile. He waits for Thorburn’s respectful half bow, aware of the Mainlanders who have finally left the hall to watch, before reaching out to give him a one-armed hug. “I believe hunting or wood gathering are the only tasks remaining though.” I must make a face because Lugh chuckles. “Tell us how you really feel about collecting more firewood, Keiran.”
“Gods, a hunt would give a welcome stretch of the legs.” Thorburn looks between me and Lugh eagerly. “Should we put together a party?”
“Voll’s already started asking for volunteers,” Lugh says. It’s a simple statement and could never be taken for a dismissal, but he knows Thorburn’s competitiveness well. After a swift goodbye and the promise to catch up at supper, Thorburn is off through the crowd, yelling for Voll. Once he’s gone, Lugh heaves a soft sigh and leans closer, his shoulder pressing against my arm. The flutter in my gut wasn’t there when Thorburn touched me. It grows the longer Lugh and I stand together, leaning against each other’s weight.
“It’s nice to have them with us,” he remarks quietly. “Knowing there are allies here to support Aage is a relief.”
“They support you too, you know,” I point out. “You’ve proven yourself to them.”
“I suppose I have. I’m glad someone trusts me.” There’s a flash of sadness over his face, a moment of doubt that disappears before anyone else could catch it.
The Northern clans trust him, unlike his own Court. Unlike his mother. I nudge him gently, hoping to shake him from his thoughts. “Did you need something, seidhr?”
I can’t miss the way he watches Thorburn in the crowd. “Voll invited me to go hunting. She said they spotted a herd of deer on the edge of the meadow while they were ascending. Sounds like it’ll be an easy meal.”
“I don’t know, Lugh. It was a bad night and—”
“I want you at my side,” he says and my heart stops. It stutters back to life when he throws me a sideways, cheeky grin and adds, “I need someone to carry my trophy deer back for me.”
“Fuck off,” I growl. Before I can shove him off, he darts away, narrowly avoiding a collision with Aage.
The thegn shakes his head with resigned amusement. “Can’t leave you two alone for a minute, can I?” he jokes. “Voll was looking for you, seidhr. They’re heading out.”
Lugh stands straighter, his eyes burn brighter, and his voice rises as he asks, “Will you come with me, Keiran?”
Surprisingly, Aage answers in my stead. “I had hoped to borrow him for a short spell,” he says. “Do you mind, seidhr?”
“Do you?” Lugh asks me. And, as if he’s read the worries in my mind, he adds, “Drest’s coming too. Along with our other friends.”
He’ll be safe with them. He wants to go. He’s clearly not suffering any lingering effects of last night’s terrors. And Aage’s request may be tied to Lugh’s goal of securing an open alliance. I can’t risk his failure. I can’t risk his mother separating us as punishment, not when Lugh may need me more than ever.
“Enjoy your hunt,” I say.
He brushes his hand over my shoulder, in the same spot Thorburn had,
but is gone a moment later. There’s nothing left in his wake but the lingering brightness of his smile and the urge to follow after him. Not because I truly fear for his safety, but because I want to be there when he lands a perfect shot and looks over to share his triumph with me. I want the good memories, the ones that will cover and wipe away bad nights. I selfishly want to be there because at this moment, any distance between us seems too great. Instead, I tear my gaze from his retreating back and turn to the man at my side.
Aage begins to walk the moment he’s secured my attention. We leave behind the still jubilant crowd and wander into the hall. He begins speaking once we turn into the wing our Hunt shares with him and his retainers. “Tonight’s supper should be freer with the Northern clans here.”
I nod. “You’d better be prepared to speak loudly. They’ll be rowdy, especially if the hunt goes well.”
“And you should rest your voice. They’ll have you telling stories until you fall asleep on your feet.”
He raps once on his door before pushing it open. The sight of Breoca rousing himself to wakefulness in Aage’s bed is unexpected, and the tender look Aage directs at him is even more so. I’m not sure how long I stand there, halfway into the room, dumbstruck. It’s long enough for Aage to look back at me and say, “The door, Keiran.”
I finish following him inside and then close it. Breoca doesn’t seem bothered by my presence, and Aage moves about their room without any self-consciousness.
“The clans arrived?” Breoca asks. His voice is sleep-rough and he rubs at his face with a hand before standing and stretching.
“Already off on a hunt,” Aage answers. He gestures me toward the paper-laden table in the corner of the room before returning to conversation with his most loyal retainer. And lover, it seems. “The last will arrive tomorrow?”