by K. J. Sutton
I stepped into the morning and closed the door firmly behind me. The action spoke loud and clear, even if I said nothing—if she tried to go inside, I would stop her. As I faced the witch, I crossed my arms for warmth. It was cold enough that even I was bothered. “How is she?” I asked by way of greeting.
A frown pulled at my mouth. No, wait, I’d meant to order the witch to take her fucking claws out of my family.
Unaware of the enraged thoughts going through my head, Mercy gave me a polite smile. She didn’t need to ask who I meant. “Savannah is resilient. For now, I’ve done what I can and she’s agreed to come stay with me. But that’s not why I’m here, Queen Fortuna. You helped my niece, when you had every reason to throw her to the wolves. In my family, we don’t waste time thanking someone—we return the favor as soon as possible.”
“Return the favor?” I repeated, wariness weaving through my voice now. Witches. Magic. Spells. I had learned that, more often than not, these things carried darkness with them.
Mercy nodded, her gaze distant. “The future is constantly changing. Even the small choices we make, like whether to stop for coffee or kiss that cute boy from school, affect the path.”
Before I could form a response, she moved. Later, I would put together that she’d raised her hand and thrown the ingredients of a spell at my face. As a cloud of herbs assaulted me, her palms came to a rest on either side of my head. A croak escaped my throat. I stared into Mercy’s blue eyes, drowning in them. She muttered in a language made of music and power. Some part of me remembered it was Enochian.
It felt like I was running a fever, or experiencing a bad high. I hunched over and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the feeling to pass. It ebbed and flowed, the pain shrinking and expanding in bursts. After a few minutes, I straightened slowly, hoping to avoid vomiting all over Mercy Wardwell. Not that she didn’t deserve it.
But Mercy wasn’t standing in front of me anymore.
My eyes darted in every direction. Confusion and fear surged through my veins—I didn’t recognize the room I stood in. The walls were a pale yellow, like a fading sunflower, and there was a crib to my left. Turning, I glanced over a changing table and a rocking chair. Everything was aglow with the soft light of dusk. Where the hell am I? What is this?
I was on the verge of screaming Mercy’s name when the door opened. A familiar figure came through, walking backwards, but I would recognize him anywhere. Relief rushed through me, followed immediately by alarm.
“Collith,” I said sharply, hurrying toward him. “There was a witch here. She did something—”
“Someone has been asking for you,” he cut in, acting as if I hadn’t spoken. I frowned at Collith, puzzled—he looked different, somehow—but then he turned. There was something in his arms.
As my eyes fell upon it, I forgot everything.
When he spoke again, it felt like Collith’s voice floated to me from a vast distance. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”
“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked faintly. All I could see, beyond the pink blanket covered in yellow stars, was a tiny fist. But something about that fist affected me in a way I didn’t understand.
He laughed. “I asked if you’d like to hold her.”
I nodded mutely, not trusting myself to speak. Collith crossed the room and carefully settled the baby in my arms.
I handled her as though she were made of something even more breakable than glass. The face peering up at me was pink and scrunched. Her eyes were half-slits as she hovered between waking and peaceful slumber. She did not yet know the nature of the world she had been forced into. I touched the baby’s cheek wonderingly, thrilling at the softness of it. “Hello, there,” I whispered.
I knew her. She was barely a person yet—she had no memories, no thoughts, and none of the experiences that formed someone, like skinned knees and first kisses—but I knew her. My body knew her. For nine months I had fed her, protected her, waited for her. She was part of me, regardless of whether she still lived inside me. The love I felt for this tiny being had no limits or boundaries.
“I never knew it could be like this,” I whispered, running the tip of my finger down her nose. Her dimpled arms reached for the ceiling. “She has your eyes.”
I didn’t look away from her, not even for a second. Collith’s temple brushed against mine. He touched the blanket, his wedding ring glinting, and pressed a kiss to that downy head. Watching the two of them, I felt something happening inside of me. A lock turning, a wall crumbling, clouds parting.
This was the reason. This moment was why we endured so many other bleak, terrible moments in life. Every heartbreak, every night we cried ourselves to sleep, every broken bone—it was worth it, because now I was here.
Minutes or hours later, I noticed that the light shifted, and I reluctantly pulled my gaze from the baby to investigate. Outside, the sun had set. Shadows stretched across the floor. Emma was probably working on supper. I told myself to move, but I made the mistake of looking down again. The child’s eyes fluttered as she succumbed to sleep. I watched, riveted, long after her breathing deepened.
Suddenly her delicate face started to blur. What’s happening? No! I frowned and blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear it. It only worsened, until the blur evolved into a pounding headache. I stumbled away from the crib, crying out, and rammed into something cold and hard.
When my vision cleared again and I was able to look up, I saw Mercy standing on the other side of the porch. I was holding onto the railing for balance—that must’ve been what I collided into. It felt like my heart was in my throat as I realized there was no baby, no rosy glow over everything, no sense of elation. The day was just beginning, rather than coming to an end. My mind fought to realign with reality.
The weight of loss was so crushing that, for an instant, it felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. “What was that?” I managed.
The witch met my gaze without any trace of remorse or concern. “Your future, Queen Fortuna. Or one of them, at least. I apologize for startling you, but the spell only works if your mind is unguarded.”
With that, she bowed and went down the steps. Smart woman—she was probably moving quickly to avoid retaliation. Mercy slipped into the dark morning like she was made of shadows, and it finally hit me that she was leaving.
“Wait! We’re not finished,” I snapped, rankled at the knowledge that she’d done such an intimate spell without my permission. Not to mention that I’d never gotten the chance to tell her off for being a no show at the tomb. Because of her, Gwyn had killed me and gone free. My shoes made hollow sounds against the steps as I ran after Mercy. “Hey, do you know what Savannah was talking about? When she mentioned a door being opened?”
There were other things I wanted to ask, of course—all of them surrounding the vision she’d just summoned—but this one was the most pressing. If my family was in danger, I needed to be prepared for it.
The question made Mercy halt. She faced me and shook her frizzy head. Keys glinted in her hand. “No. I might be able to learn something, though, if you’re willing to open your mind to me.”
She raised her eyebrows in a wordless question. I started to agree, but something stopped me. The person I’d once been would not have hesitated—she’d let this witch do anything to get what she wanted. The one I had become, though, would not give anyone her trust so blindly. No matter how good Mercy seemed to be.
“Maybe next time,” was all I said, wanting to scream in frustration. Too many enemies, too many threats. It felt like I was always putting my family in danger.
Mercy didn’t look surprised by this response. She simply nodded and finished walking to her car. I followed, debating whether or not to force the issue, and then it was too late—Mercy opened the door and got in. I was about to walk away when I heard the whir of a window coming down. Wary of another trick, I turned back cautiously.
“I will do my best to find out from Savannah. It might take some time.
I’ll send you a message, if I succeed,” Mercy told me. Her tone was distracted, and she seemed to be searching for something in the passenger seat.
The debt between us was paid; Mercy Wardwell had nothing to gain from making this offer. I wavered between gratitude and suspicion as I replied, “I appreciate it.”
“One more thing.” She shoved a pair of sunglasses on top of her head, the item she’d been rummaging for, evidently. Their purpose was unclear, since there wasn’t exactly any sunlight. Mercy looked me in the eye and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Her fingernails gleamed red. “When I performed the spell, we became one for the briefest of moments. I saw what you fear most. You should know that you are not a monster, Fortuna Sworn.”
Something painful and nameless swelled in my throat. It took several attempts to speak. “What makes you so certain?” I asked finally.
The witch gave me a faint, solemn smile. A smile that said she had her own fair share of nightmares and bad memories. “A true monster doesn’t care whether they’ve become one. Until next time, Your Majesty.”
The window closed between us, and I saw my reflection in the glass. As always, I looked tired and… scared. God, I was scared all the fucking time. I dropped my gaze and stepped back as Mercy started her car. Her headlights shone at the garage door. The beams of light revealed flecks of snow rushing past. At some point during our conversation, it had started coming down from the sky.
Once Mercy’s taillights had disappeared from sight, I ducked my head and ran inside. Snowflakes rushed past the window like flour being poured from a bag. For a moment, I just stood on the other side of the door, staring out at winter’s tears. But my thoughts inevitably returned to the faerie king waiting for me. For the first time since our bond tore in two, it felt like we were connected by a string again, the other end tugging me toward him. I put my back to the pretty snow and padded down the hall.
I stopped in Collith’s bedroom doorway and found him immediately. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, hands resting limply in his lap. He wasn’t wearing a shirt again. I leaned my hip against the wall and watched him. Enjoyed the grace of his simple movements. Admired the curve of his jaw and how a lock of hair fell over one pointed ear. Then, without warning, I thought of Mercy’s vision. My heart trembled when I remembered how Collith had looked at our daughter.
“I can feel you staring at me,” the Unseelie King said without opening his eyes. “It’s very distracting.”
“Sorry,” I said, sounding entirely unrepentant.
Collith unfolded his long legs and stood. He retrieved his shirt from the floor and faced me as he shrugged it on. I dragged my attention away from his hard stomach. “I want to show you something, anyway. Will you come outside with me?” he asked.
I smiled into Collith’s eyes. “Sure.”
He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me out of the room. We approached the front door and put on our coats and boots. I caught sight of Finn’s glowing eyes from the hallway, but he retreated a moment later, probably reassured of my safety when he saw I was with Collith.
Once we were ready, the faerie took my hand again, and we exchanged light and warmth for darkness and cold. He led me across the yard. I frowned when he stopped to pull the barn door open—whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. Collith held the door open for me, and I hurried inside to escape the wind.
My senses were immediately assailed by the scents of wood and paint. I raised my gaze, expecting to see the blackened remains again. Instead, it was a garage. The walls were white and pristine, the floor sealed concrete. Along one wall, rows of new tools gleamed. “But… but I was just in here, and it didn’t look like this,” I said, frowning as I looked around.
“An illusion,” Collith admitted. “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
His answer only made my frown deepen. “Wait, how did you—”
“Not that way, Fortuna.” Collith radiated tension as he latched the door shut and walked toward a flight of stairs, tucked in a space that probably once held horse tack. He waited for me at the bottom, holding out his hand, and I felt an inexplicable twinge of apprehension. But I still curled my fingers around Collith’s and followed him upward.
At the top, he touched a switch, and the entire space lit up. I froze in the doorway. I could feel Collith’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t reassure him. Not yet—I was still taking it in.
“Happy birthday,” I heard Collith say. “This was supposed to be your gift, but I wasn’t able to finish in time. Hopefully it’s worth the wait.”
The loft had been utterly transformed. The floors and trim were the same rich, knotty wood, and the walls were a neutral shade similar to how I drank my coffee. To our left, there was a state-of-the-art kitchen, the silver appliances and marble countertops gleaming. To our right, Collith had set up a living room similar to Cyrus’s, but the leather sectional and matching tables were obviously new. An enormous flatscreen television hung over a mantel, and below this, a wood burning fireplace awaited. There were also accents everywhere I looked—bookshelves, plants, framed images that Collith must’ve gotten off my phone—which effectively made the space look like a home, instead of a vacation rental.
Slowly, I left my place near the stairs and began to wander. After a moment, Collith followed. “I might’ve overcompensated with the bathrooms,” I heard him say. “There’s one at each end of the hall, and the master bedroom has one, too. Damon takes longer showers than anyone I’ve ever met—frankly, it gets very annoying when others needs to use the facilities.”
His tone made my mouth twitch. I soon discovered there were four bedrooms total. In the last one, which was bigger than the rest, I finally refocused on Collith. My eyes were wide with wonder. “You did this? All by yourself?” I asked. It was the first thing I’d said since he turned the light on.
Collith’s eyes were fastened to my face, as though to reassure himself that my reaction was genuine. “Well, not entirely by myself. A contractor helped me install the appliances, and the furniture delivery guys carried everything in.”
“How did I miss all that happening?”
“Believe it or not, you’re not around much, Miss Sworn,” Collith said dryly. I made a face at him and turned away again, wanting to see the bathroom. It matched the rest of the loft—elegant and warm. There were two sinks that looked like hammered copper. Behind a wide glass door, there was a shower made of gray stone. Beside this was a free standing bathtub, its faucets shining like something that had never been touched. Collith’s voice floated from the bedroom. “Cyrus sold me the land this barn is standing on. There are enough rooms for all of us. Damon and Matthew won’t have to share anymore. Well, unless…”
“Unless what?” I prompted.
Collith pursed his lips. Standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, there was something vulnerable about him. But there was nothing fragile in the way his eyes met mine and he said, “Unless you’d prefer we didn’t share a room.”
Share a room? I thought, nonplussed. A few seconds later, comprehension shocked me like a punch to the face. At last, I understood Collith’s trepidation. He’d meant this gift, this home he had spent so much time building, to be the start of something new. The start of us.
It felt like there was a bird trapped in my stomach, anxiously fluttering its wings. As Collith waited for my response, I reassessed the room we stood in. It was obviously the master, judging from its size. One of the walls was covered entirely in bookshelves. I moved closer and saw a row of mystery novels. But, just like his house in the mountains, there were also selections meant for me. More veterinarian textbooks and history books on the fae. He’d been paying attention to my nightly reading.
I knew Collith was still waiting for an answer, but even now I didn’t say anything. Instead, I left the room and drifted down the hallway. Once again, his footsteps sounded behind me, soft and uncertain. With every doorway I passed, a scene filled my mind. There was Damon and Matthew, pla
ying with some toys on the floor. There was Emma, tucked into her bed with a book in one hand and reading glasses perched on her nose. There was the living room, where we all gathered around a Christmas tree, exchanging gifts wrapped in bright paper. We were a family. We were everything I’d dreamed of since arriving at my first foster home and those lonely, empty walls had stared back at me.
And next to the imaginary tree, those colorful lights dancing over our skin, Collith and I sat next to each other. My head rested on his shoulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world. For the first time since I could remember, I looked… happy.
When I reached the kitchen, I finally stopped. There was a blueprint on the island, its edges curled and faded, as though someone had handled this piece of paper every single day. I touched the place where it said Collith and Fortuna within one of the squares.
“What about your other house?” I asked, finally glancing up at the person standing across from me. The person who had been silent all this time, but whose presence I felt at every moment, no matter how much pain and distance I put between us. “The one you showed me in a dream? Between living here and the Unseelie Court, you’d never get to spend time there.”
Collith searched my expression. I didn’t need to share a bond with him to sense his hesitation. “My home is wherever you are. If you’ll have me,” he added softly.
Why did those words strike such a chord of fear in my heart? Why did it feel like I was being torn in half by the urge to run and the urge to press myself against him? Silence swelled, filling the air like water. It was difficult to breathe as my mind raced. It came to a jarring halt when I thought of the biggest factor of all.
“What about them?” I asked, my voice tainted with a desperation I didn’t fully understand. “Your people, I mean. You can’t have both.”
Collith was standing very, very still, as if any sudden movements would send me running. “Why not? Why can’t we have both?”
A dozen arguments rose to my lips, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. I’d forgotten that the Unseelie King was a dreamer. Above all else, Collith hoped, and not even Hell had taken that from him. He looked at corruption and saw potential. He looked at me and saw a future. Being near him, seeing the world through his eyes, made me want to hope, too. After all, every nightmare had an ending. Every bad dream had the potential to become more. Why couldn’t the same be said for us?