by Melissa Marr
“Your children’s mother was mortal.”
“Yes.” He stared at her. “Thelma was a mortal.”
“And she would have been the Summer Queen?” Aislinn echoed, trying to wrap her mind around whatever Irial was sharing. “If she’d have . . . and then I’d have . . . I would have been mortal.”
“No, my dear.” Irial met her gaze. “You were never truly mortal. Elena’s father was fey. You’ve always been part-fey, a halfling like Ani and Tish—and your grandmother.”
Irial leaned back in his vine-wrought chair and watched her expectantly, as she pieced together his statements to the conclusion he was implying. When she burst out laughing, flowers popping into existence throughout the loft, and several of the birds came zipping into the room.
“Oh! You almost had me!” Aislinn rarely felt so light-hearted around him. “Your expression. . . You are a master at lying without actual lies, Irial.”
Irial, however, frowned.
She giggled. “That was so convincing. The whole set-up, walking in as if you were drunk and . . .”
She stood and stepped toward him. Leaning down, she brushed a kiss on his cheek. If he could play a prank on her, he could tolerate a token of affection.
“Was this Leslie’s idea? Seth’s?” she asked. “I can’t imagine Niall having this sort of prankster urge.”
Irial caught her hand as she started to step back. “Aislinn, I am serious. Many years ago, I met a woman, a fierce rebellious beautiful mortal, and I knew she was the one who could free summer.”
Aislinn stared at him.
“I made that curse,” Irial continued. “Over nine hundred years ago, I bound Keenan. There was a beautiful mortal girl, and—at that time—I thought it was clever to hide that sunlight in a family of women. Your family.”
Aislinn pulled free of his grasp and sat back down gracelessly. No traces of her laughter remained. “No. Stop it. This isn’t funny now--”
“Aislinn . . . I cannot lie outright. You know this.” He paused, watched her intently as he added, “Centuries after my oh-so-clever curse, I met her. Thelma. Thelma Foy.”
“You must be confused—"
“I am not. I see her in you now that I have my memories freed. Her courage and strength . . . She would be proud to see what you’ve achieved.” Irial’s expression was the same one he had when gazing at Niall or Leslie. He was as subtle as a brick through a window when it came to love. “I fell for Thelma, willing to damn the world if that was the cost.”
“Foy is Grams maiden name, but . . .”
“She kept her mother’s name. I had no name to give her.” Irial met Aislinn’s gaze. “I’d have married her, damned the world for her—and my daughter. After I’d lost Niall, I feared I’d never be loved again. Truly loved, not adored or admired or desired, but loved.”
“Leslie and Niall love you.” Aislinn stood and walked away from him, her back to him, wishing she could have Seth at her side.
“I don’t deserve it, but I am grateful that they do,” Irial said, tone still tender and open. “I would do anything for love. I learned that lesson when Niall left me. Had I known that I was cursing my own, I would never have cursed that long-ago mortal woman, Aislinn. I swear to you.”
Aislinn nodded. She wasn’t sure she could say the words she needed for the revelation he’d brought to her. What were the words? Did he want a pardon? Understanding?
“Thelma was desperate, you see, to avoid her fate.” Irial’s voice had grown softer still, tender as if she were a small child—and to him, she supposed she was. “I wanted to stay in Faerie, raise Elena there.”
“So was my mother,” Aislinn whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Desperate, I mean. She died to stay human.”
Irial nodded. “I wish I could have known, could have saved her. I wish I could have raised Elena—and been there for Moira and for . . .you.”
He walked closer and dropped to his knees before Aislinn. “I loved Elena when she was born, and I love her granddaughter, my great-granddaughter already. Instantly. Family is precious, has always been precious to the Dark Court. You are my family, Aislinn. Let me into your life.”
Aislinn stared down at the faery who had cursed her, who had cursed her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother—the faery who had loved her great-grandmother.
“You’re my . . .” Aislinn’s words fled. She couldn’t even say the words.
“Great-grandfather,” Irial finished, sounding reverent. “And I want to rebuild our family.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head and backed away. Grandfathers weren’t to look your age, or be sleeping with your friend. They were old and smoked pipes. They told rambling stories, and they had not cursed you. “I just . . . I can’t . . .”
Siobhan cringed at the sudden storm that flashed over the entire loft and—from the look of the torrential downpour outside—the surrounding area as well. Her queen had not summoned her, and as advisor to the Summer Queen, she’d feel a call if Aislinn needed her.
The loft, though it was rebuilt for the current inhabitants, was not designed for holding this much water. There was a grate that opened, and once that was done, the flood that currently rose over Siobhan’s ankles would sluice down into the open park that was the site of their revels.
Lightning flashed inside the aviary, and the birds all flew out into wherever they nested at such times. The blur of vibrant feathers looked like magic in the air, as if a riot of blossoms had been launched into the park.
She realized that she was laughing in glee as she sloshed toward the valve to open the grate. There was something invigorating about a sudden deluge, not quite a waterfall, but near enough that a part of her wanted to let the water build so they could swim.
The water was more than knee-deep as Siobhan finally reached the valve.
“Can you turn it?” Tavish was there, at her side, soaked and gorgeous. “Siobhan?”
Logic said not to let instinct rule.
Logic said she wasn’t interested in rejection.
She said nothing as she gripped the old-fashioned valve and cranked. The water sluiced out, sucked past her legs and sending her toppling into Tavish’s arms. She could’ve resisted, but why not enjoy it?
She smiled at him as his arms stayed wrapped around her. For all the faeries she’d met in the time she was a part of this world, and for all that she, too, was completely fey now, there was something about Tavish’s inhuman beauty that left her breathless.
The silver strands of hair that were usually kept tethered in a braid had come loose, and the overall effect was a softening of an otherwise austere face.
“It is hard to trust you, Siobhan, when you look at me with cunning smiles,” Tavish said finally, breaking into her reverie.
“Perhaps, Tavish, there are good reasons for those ‘cunning smiles.’”
“Tell me.”
“I haven’t seen you look like this in years.”
“Bedraggled?”
“Aroused,” she countered. “My years as a Summer Girl might be coated in softer things, but my memory is not gone.”
He said nothing.
“Tell me no,” she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her until she wasn’t sure she’d still stand if not for the tightening of his arms around her. Her lips parted to invite him to deepen the kiss, and her hands reached up to tangle in the metallic silver that was so rarely free.
But he stopped.
“No,” he said finally. “You are her advisor, Siobhan. To pursue this, one of us would have to abandon that duty.”
Siobhan blinked to try to push her lust back enough to answer him. “Ash said that?”
“No.” Tavish rested his forehead against hers. “I have served this court since the last king’s father was ruler. How could I leave my responsibility? How could I abandon her for . . .”
“A meaningless fuck?” Siobhan finished, stinging with his rejection and lack of regard for her. “I
suppose I could ask Irial if there are others in his court not so opposed to my affections.”
“Then I suppose you should await the end of his meeting with Aislinn, to advise her and speak to him,” Tavish said. “I would rather not speak to him at all.”
Tavish stepped away, striding out of the room before she could reply.
And Siobhan was grateful that the rain was still dripping on her face. It helped hide her tears. No man had ever wanted her—not the Summer King who stole her humanity or the Dark Kings who saw her only as a friend and sometimes lover. Was it so impossible to find one who wanted her wholly?
Perhaps she was not suited for the Summer Court.
Aislinn stared at the faery who watched her with such open and obvious affection. The room flooded, and if not for the bubble of sunlight she created around them, he’d have been drown. He’d not moved even as rain and thunder rolled through the loft.
“I can’t do this,” she repeated.
“Talk to me? We speak often, Aislinn.” Irial stayed on the floor, but his voice had a comforting tone she’d rarely heard. Oddly or not, it upset her to have him worry over her feelings.
“We cannot be family. You are partner to the Dark King.”
“And your partner is child to the High Queen.” Irial lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “My other partner is friends with the Summer Queen, who is friendly with the Shadow Court, as well.”
Aislinn sighed. “I assume Sorcha knows?”
“She cursed me.” Irial shrugged again, but the look of pain in his expression was enough to make the coldest heart soften. “Your great-grandmother and I wanted to keep our daughter safe.”
“Grams. You forgot about Thelma to protect Grams.” Her grandmother, the sweetest and fiercest person Aislinn had ever known, was half-fey. She’d hidden it or . . .
“Does Grams—”
“Elena knows,” Irial said. “We are to meet, and she has already told me that if I keep trying to send guards or buy her things, she will ask you to set ‘my faery arse on fire.’ I believe there was an explanation about a magnifying lens and sunlight. I seem to be an insect in this example.”
The embodiment of Chaos, the former king of the worst of the faeries, looked positively charmed by Grams threatening his life. It was disconcerting.
“Aislinn?”
She met his gaze.
“Elena has a brother,” Irial said softly. “He’s not as human as she is. Some fey children are more human, and others are more fey.”
“Like Ani and Tish.” Aislinn felt a twinge for Tish, who had died in the months when Bananach was rampaging.
“They were like children to me,” Irial mused. “I didn’t remember then that I had children, but I wanted a daughter. I dreamed sometimes of—” He shook his head. “I would have given Elena the world if I could, but the only way to protect her and Thelma was to leave. If I stayed, Keenan would’ve discovered her. Or Beira would’ve. How could I let him touch my beloved? Or my daughter? Or . . .”
When Aislinn said nothing, Irial took her hand tentatively. She looked at him.
“Or you.” Inky tears slid down his cheeks. “I missed a century of having my daughter. I’ll never meet Moira . . . please, Aislinn, at least consider letting me into your life.”
“We’re almost friends, so . . .” she started awkwardly. “You’re already here. And you’re Chaos. Upheaval”—she stood and walked toward the door—“which you more than deliver. Surely, that’s enough.”
“Aislinn . . .” His voice broke.
She shook her head, back to him. “I had no father. No grandfather. I have no idea what one even does with a father, and it’s not as if you seem much like a grandfather.”
“Faeries are different,” he began.
Aislinn looked at him. “I cannot offer anything easily. You must know that, Irial. I have duties. I am a queen to a court that was cursed. By you. I am a faery because of your curse.”
“No,” he said, walking to stand at her side. “You are a faery because I fell in love with your ancestor. I surrendered her and my children knowing then that I would meet you. I saw it, Aislinn. I saw the future; Sorcha allowed it. I looked into the now, and I saw you. You were the reason I was able to give up Thelma. I knew that you would exist, and that you would break the curse.”
Aislinn stared at him. It was all she could do without letting the emotional storm inside escape.
“I knew you would be a magnificent queen, and that because of you I would again meet the daughter I once held in my arms.” Irial’s voice broke. “I remember it all now, the love I had for Thelma. The loss. I was ready to let the world die if it meant being with her and my children.”
“Do I know my . . . grand-uncle?”
Irial shook his head. “Elena tells me he left home when he was young, and that she hasn’t heard from him in almost forty years.”
“So, there is a faery that knows who you are, who I am,” Aislinn said, not sure what that could mean. “He’s related to two faery courts by blood, and we have no idea what he’s doing.”
Irial nodded. “He will visit you or me now that we know.”
“He’s your son.” Aislinn shivered. “I cannot fathom what he must be like.”
At that, Irial grinned. “Elena is my daughter, and she’s a magnificent, kind, gentle creature. A lady like her mother.”
Aislinn laughed. “Can I be there when you tell her she’s gentle? And ladylike?”
While Aislinn loved her grandmother wholly, she was well aware that Grams was as gentle as a lion. She could be sweet, but threats to her loved ones were not tolerated. In a flash of clarity, Aislinn realized then that she understood that impulse—and that she was looking at the faery from whom they had inherited their ferocity.
She turned to Irial and kissed his cheek quickly. “I need time. To consult with my advisors and . . . I cannot promise anything.”
Irial looked like he had received a lifetime of gifts all at once. “Anything for you, granddaughter. Anything I can do or slaughter or bring.”
She wasn’t ready for his intensity. So, she nodded and repeated, “What I need is time. Please?”
“As you wish.” The former Dark King, her great-grandfather, bowed deeply and strode toward the door, sloshing through water and floating flower buds.
And Aislinn had no idea what to do with this knowledge—other than begin to try to locate Grams’ brother and figure out what this all meant for her grandmother, who was apparently over a century old and had been hiding that detail.
Siobhan watched a markedly less cheerful Irial exit the queen’s chambers. He seemed lost in thoughts—which undoubtedly did not bode well. She waited until he was at the door before stepping to his side.
Irial met her eyes.
“Does my queen have need of me?” Siobhan asked.
“You’re her advisor these days.” Irial studied her. “She’ll tell you. She must. Before word and whisper circulate, she’ll need to figure out what her thoughts are.”
“On?”
“The news that my great-grandfather has been found,” Aislinn said as she stepped into the room, not drenched as Siobhan was. The Summer Queen appeared as beautiful and radiant as always. Her once-black hair was sun-kissed, and her skin had the perpetual tan of days lounging at beaches.
“I was always here,” he said, staring at her covetously. “I missed so much. I want to grant your request for time, but Elena . . . insists that I gain your consent before spending time with me, Aislinn. Her loyalty to you is a beautiful thing, but I want to know my daughter.”
“Will Grams die?”
“We all die eventually,” he hedged.
“Irial . . .”
He sighed. “I have no idea. The obstinate streak in her—” He pressed his lips together in a most un-Irial way. “She won’t answer a thing until you consent. Visiting her would alarm people, as if I am a threat to my own daughter, so I am left hoping your request for time is not--”
&n
bsp; “I need time,” Aislinn said. “Grams is her own person; she does what she wants. And if the other courts are alarmed by your visit to her, I will manage it. I do not object to your visiting your daughter.”
Irial bowed deeply, and when he stood, he was smiling as widely as Siobhan had ever seen him do. “You are a gift, my dear.”
And then he was gone, presumably off to see the queen’s grandmother.
His daughter.
Siobhan and Aislinn exchanged a look, and then her queen said, “You can tell Tavish.” She sighed. “Be gentle with him. . . and let him know that if his feelings toward me change, I . . . I accept it. I cannot do more today. Tomorrow we will deal with whatever this means. Update Tavish. I will speak to you in the morning.”
Aislinn turned and left Siobhan to break the news to her co-advisor.
Siobhan tapped at Tavish’s door. “Tavish?”
“Enter.”
She stepped into the room, struck by the sheer number of plants in his space. One wall held a number of faery-made weapons. Cutlasses, rapiers, and daggers, fashioned in fey-friendly metals hung in cabinets with glass doors. A sitting area, complete with comfortable seats and a wet bar, filled the left of the room. Off to the right, behind a thick wall of foliage, was Tavish’s bed. Wooden, simple, and overflowing with luxurious linens.
“Things looks different,” she said mildly.
“We are settled finally.” Unmistakable pride thickened his voice. “Should I have no creature comforts?”
“Not a criticism.” She met his gaze. “It’s welcoming, the kind of space that says a lot about the owner.”
He shrugged. “I do not have many guests.”
“Ours is a court of pleasure.” She stepped closer. “I remember you having regular guests.”
Tavish stiffened.
“I remember being your guest.” Carefully, she touched his chest, resting the flat of her hand over his heart. “Fondly, Tavish. I remember those nights and days with joy.”
“Niall and I had a duty to the Summer Girls,” Tavish said, voice low enough that she wanted to move closer still.