by Joey W. Hill
Catriona was shaking, and the Queen’s threat only made it worse. Her chin was firm though, her gray-green eyes bright with unshed tears. “I will do it if you will let him stay here. You can’t banish him. No one deserves that. Have you ever felt it, Queen Rhoswen? Have you ever suffered the fate you find it so easy to inflict on others? I hate you. I don’t care what you do to me. I’d rather tell you that you’re wrong, and mean and evil, than to cower and pretend all those things aren’t true just because I’m afraid. I’m sick of being afraid of you.”
Rhoswen lifted a hand and Keldwyn skidded to a halt in front of his ward, sword drawn and charged with enough energy to cut a swath of orange and red light before both of them. “No,” he said. “Whatever punishment she has incurred, I will take it.”
Rhoswen glanced toward the throne room entrance. The two guards there were no longer upright. Uthe stood in the doorway over them. He sketched a bow her way and her lips thinned. Sighing, she continued the motion she’d started, pushing a lock of her pale white hair back up beneath the intricate comb that looked like a bouquet of snowflakes. Glittering frost highlighted the strands.
“They will wish they were dead instead of merely unconscious when Cayden gets hold of them.” Turning her back on the three of them, she moved to her throne. “My lord Keldwyn, if you would sheathe your sword, you might greet Tabor and Lady Lyssa. We were discussing the upcoming Yule festivities when Catriona flitted over the heads of two armed guards like a deranged butterfly and interrupted our discussion.”
Kel’s gaze snapped left. King Tabor stood at a sidebar of prepared foods, pouring himself a glass of wine. Lyssa sat in a nearby chair, nibbling what looked like a sugar frosted flower petal. While there was some amusement in the Seelie King’s leonine face, suggesting the tone of this confrontation was less dire than Kel feared, there was an underlying tension there, too. He knew Rhoswen as Kel did, and knew her mood could turn on a dime. He saw it in Lyssa’s watchful expression also, even as she licked the sugar off her fingers delicately.
“Dayel coeurose…” Catriona beseeched him.
It was the Fae phrase for father of my heart. It made him think of Evan, calling Uthe something similar in the language of love they shared. Sheathing his sword, Kel turned and put his hands on Catriona’s shoulders. “I cherish you in more ways than I can express,” he said. “Your foolish championing of me only makes me love you more. But—”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “I won’t lose you like everyone else. I don’t care. I’ll go to the human world with you. I’ll die there. I’d rather die there tomorrow than stay here a thousand years, where everything is perfect and beautiful, but so heartless. So intolerant of everything that’s not Fae…”
“Ssshh…” Keldwyn laid his head on top of hers. “It’s all right. You should have spoken to me first. It’s all right.”
Still standing by the inert guards, Uthe watched Keldwyn comfort the nearly hysterical young woman. He was sure the Fae Lord hadn’t forgotten they stood before a royal audience, but the look exchanged between Lyssa and Tabor, and Rhoswen’s unexpectedly patient expression, said they understood the dryad was having an emotional breakdown that couldn’t be stemmed by threats or royal wrath, at least not until she calmed down.
Even the day in the meadow, for all her joy and exuberance, Uthe had sensed a fragility to her. She’d been locked in isolation for so long, and the trauma of that was still healing. As they waited on Kel, he glanced toward Lyssa and offered her a deep bow. He saw her assessing his physical and emotional wellbeing, and a faint smile touched her lips, revealing her pleasure at seeing him. The feeling was mutual. He didn’t see Jacob, so he assumed this was a royals-only audience, which suggested more than a simple Christmas party was being discussed. How had Jacob explained his absence? Lyssa didn’t seem out of sorts, so her servant had been returned to her in acceptable condition. Thank God. One angry queen was enough to handle.
Kel rubbed Catriona’s shoulders, then glanced at Uthe. Would you come stand with her, Varick? Reassure her.
Anything, my lord. As Uthe drew closer, Kel eased back, gripping Catriona’s shoulder and tipping up her chin to make her look at him. He took away her tears with gentle fingers, but his voice was firm, brooking no more histrionics.
“You will stand with Lord Uthe while I discuss this with Her Majesty. And you will be thinking of the apology you owe her, as well as King Tabor and Lady Lyssa.”
He met her pleading expression with a kind but implacable one, a clear order. Uthe closed a hand on her arm and drew her to the side, though how long she held onto the Fae Lord’s arm and shirt front, until she couldn’t any longer, twisted Uthe’s heart.
“It’s all right,” he said, low. “Let him do what he does so well.”
Catriona cast a look at him full of worry but the humor he’d injected into the words summoned a look of hope. He squeezed her arm, kept her close. When she leaned on him, drawing strength from his steadiness, her trust humbled him. It also gave him an inkling of why Keldwyn loved her so well.
Technically the Fae Queen hadn’t been directly responsible for the incarceration; the girl’s youthful impulsiveness had been. Yet the twenty years she’d been left in the tree without any one being allowed to retrieve her was Rhoswen’s decision, the spell unbreakable by any other Fae. The Queen had taught the Fae girl and others in her world an indelible lesson about the detrimental effects of the human world on Fae energy, particularly young Fae.
Uthe understood the difficulty of such decisions, making an example of one to dissuade many others from far worse decisions. It didn’t make it easier for the recipient, or the recipient’s family. Kel had been in the difficult position of having to do even more than bear the decision. He’d had to honor the ruling and still serve as an advisor to the monarch responsible for the sentence.
In another audience in this room, I observed that I've always watched over supremely frustrating children. I expect you’ve done the same, my lord.
Uthe managed not to look toward Lyssa, but felt Kel smirk. I will use that against you later, my lord. Uthe wanted Kel’s humor to reassure him as much as his own had Catriona, but he knew such sardonic comments were merely Kel’s way of sharpening the blade of his tongue before entering the fray of a political battle. In this case, the fate of someone he loved might hang in the balance.
“Let me bring my guests up to speed, and perhaps Catriona herself, since I don’t know how accurate the rumors are that brought her here so inadvisably.” Rhoswen spoke tartly, standing before her throne. “Lord Keldwyn has been feeding Lord Uthe blood to lessen the effects of his Ennui. He has allowed himself to be second marked and, for all I know, has desires for a full marking. Romantic bonds between Fae and vampire are strongly discouraged. Feeding a vampire with our blood is absolutely forbidden and indeed, considered so repellent by most of us we were not even certain a rule was necessary. Until now.”
Lyssa’s gaze moved from Keldwyn to Uthe and back again. As Uthe had expected, the news he had Ennui was clearly not news at all to her. Gratitude for both her confidence and discretion gripped him. The news Keldwyn was marked produced a flash of surprise, however. She was looking toward the Fae Lord.
“For the contempt you initially showed me as a half-breed, let alone for my vampire blood, I find your decision…curious, Lord Keldwyn.”
“Perhaps you could lay the blame at your own feet, my lady. You have persuaded me to view your kind with a different eye, first with your example and then through my liaison role with Council.”
“I would think sitting in Council meetings would merely have confirmed your low opinion of us,” Lyssa said. “In some of our meetings, I’ve almost agreed with you.”
Rhoswen sent a sharp look her way. “You jest, my sister, but vampires are no less purist than the Fae. Do you think they will accept this match?”
“I think the Council members already have.”
Uthe felt
Keldwyn’s surprise match his own. Lyssa met Uthe’s gaze. “We’ve noticed the bond growing between Lord Uthe and Lord Keldwyn for some time. Initially we thought of it as a useful friendship that would benefit our two worlds, and I’m sure it has. Uthe and Keldwyn’s chess games have resulted in some excellent ideas in Council. It is a good match, Your Majesty. I expect they can fight through many ideas in the bedchamber and save us endless debates.”
“Yet this is always the way it starts.” Rhoswen sighed. She moved up the steps to her throne, which was mounted on a domino-like arrangement of small waterfalls. She sat down on her hip, one leg tucked up underneath her, a casual pose that did not dilute the effect of her regal detachment or the coolness of her gaze. “First comes a relationship or two that seems advantageous to us. Then more rules are relaxed. That’s when the infractions start, where the rules are bent more and more. What we deal with on a case-by-case basis becomes an epidemic and then, once again, the gates between our worlds must be sealed for a century or more.”
King Tabor sat down at the table with Lyssa. Unlike most Fae, there was a lined, rugged quality to his face that only added to its strength. His golden hair, plaited back with earth-colored gemstones, added to his lionlike appearance and mannerisms. His expression was pensive, suggesting he was remembering the same issues that Rhoswen was.
“It is the nature of all humanoid species to explore beyond the boundaries of our world,” Lyssa said practically. “To seek new ways to learn, grow and progress. That will always bring growing pains, along with the potential for catastrophic consequences. Everyone in this room, with the exception of the lovely Catriona, has lived over a millennium. Even in our different worlds, the same pattern repeats itself, over and over. We stumble, we break, we remake ourselves. Yes, by opening up your world, even in a limited way, you may start the cycle once more. But what is the alternative?”
“Oh no. Do not raise the stagnation argument.” Rhoswen raised a hand. The Fae Queen, for all her beauty and the complexity of her wardrobe, did not wear any rings today, which increased the impact of her slim, unadorned hand, the expressive movements of her fingers. “There is plenty of opportunity for growth and change within our respective worlds, without ever having to cross the threshold of another. Plus, the Fae have a unique problem humans and vampires do not have.”
Keldwyn said nothing. He was listening until he saw the opening that would help him accomplish what he desired, or seeing if the others would come to the conclusion he thought best on their own. It was always the preferred option for an advisor. Uthe understood that was what Kel was doing without being in his mind, but seeing it directly in his head was intriguing. Given their odd power exchange dynamic, he was glad Kel hadn’t yet suggested Uthe block himself from being in the Fae Lord’s mind when he desired to be there, though Uthe would respect that request if ever it came. He liked mixing it up—reading things from Kel’s body language as he’d learned to do, but also having the new option of dipping into Kel’s mind to gain further scope. It was like walking side by side versus being in his embrace. Both had their advantages.
“This is not the first time we have debated the subject of free will and passage between our worlds,” Lyssa prompted. “But you have not isolated it to one primary concern before. What is this unique problem?”
Uthe could tell from Keldwyn’s impassive expression he already knew his Queen’s answer, but would prefer that she not share it. A personal preference Uthe understood when Rhoswen responded.
“You vampires have adapted in the human world, because you can. You are powerful and fast, but you are not intimately connected to what you call magic. Your connection to the earth is essential, as it is for all life, but you maintain a certain spiritual detachment, just as the humans do. You can indulge in the delights of progress and still have a decent lifespan and life quality, though it would be far enhanced—and the earth and its other life forms would suffer far less at your hands—if you could see and feel what we do.” When Rhoswen looked toward Tabor, the Seelie King picked up the thread, finishing the explanation for Lyssa.
“The difference between our species is that the Fae world could be ended utterly without that full spiritual connection. It was the lesson Rhoswen was trying to teach with Catriona.”
When the young Fae quivered, Uthe rubbed her shoulder, a reassurance and reminder of forbearance. But he also pinned Keldwyn with a glance.
So if you allow yourself to be banished, cut off from the Fae world, your life would be shortened.
You would not get rid of me that quickly. I would have a couple hundred years before I withered. Catriona managed for twenty years.
Thinking of Keldwyn’s exhaustion when he couldn’t nourish himself in the Shattered World, Uthe doubted that. And Catriona had been in a dormant, near comatose state. If he was understanding Rhoswen’s concern correctly, the earthly realm still had enough magic to sustain a Fae, but the Fae world had even deeper roots in that same energy flow.
He expected the Fae world provided the same thing to the Fae that an annual kill provided vampires. Without the full blood sacrifice of a human once a year, a vampire would weaken and starve, becoming catatonic. It would take a few years, just as Keldwyn described his own situation, but it was inevitable.
It was as Tabor and Lyssa had both implied. None of the humanoid species were as different as they thought themselves. The methods might differ, but the intent was the same.
However, Uthe knew that wasn’t what had Kel’s expression turning thoughtful now. He’d drawn the Fae Lord’s attention to the issue of the annual kill. For reasons even Lord Brian had yet to figure out, there were essential nutrients, a certain energy captured in the blood of that kill, a vampire had to have. Uthe had taken vampire and human lives in battle, but for a vampire of conscience, the annual kill was the hardest life to sacrifice. It had to be a human whose life had meaning and worth, whose heart was good. Perhaps it was easier for other vampires, who hadn’t had the beginnings he’d had, but he remembered all of his annual kills. Almost a thousand souls. He’d learned he could push it back, stretch a kill over two to three years without his weakness becoming obvious enough he’d be vulnerable to other vampires, but the years he’d been involved with the Templars or the Territory wars, he hadn’t had that luxury, full strength a vital necessity.
Keldwyn’s eyes were on him now, telling Uthe he was picking up on his thoughts. Uthe didn’t look away. The Fae Lord knew about the annual kill, but Uthe didn’t think he’d drawn a straight line from it to the male vampire he’d claimed as his own. A vampire is not only a predator. We are a predator that must take innocent lives, at least once a year. The words hurt, even as thoughts. Over the years, the bodies pile up.
Rhoswen was speaking again, so Keldwyn turned away. His lack of response created a burning in his chest, but Uthe kept his expression unreadable. Keldwyn might be able to feel his reaction, but Uthe wouldn’t show it to others. It touched on Uthe’s fears about their relationship, however. The pleasures they found with one another might not stand the test of time. Even if Keldwyn chose to absent himself from Uthe when he took his annual kill, when Uthe returned to him, would he see Keldwyn’s revulsion in his mind? He wouldn’t be able to bear it. He’d been strong for over a thousand years, and he could continue to be strong about most things, even the Ennui, but loving someone created an inescapable vulnerably. It could crack shields beyond repair.
“Your humans have scientists dedicated to discovering survival options if the sun stopped shining, if the water sources dried up,” Rhoswen said. “The Fae cannot survive such conditions physically, but beyond that, they would have no desire to continue living without a direct link to our elements. Humans and vampires see the elements as tools, resources for them to strip and use. They are scavengers. They always have been, adapting and destroying to survive, with no understanding what truly living means.”
She paused, visibly steadying herself, but her voice was flat, her eyes cool now. �
�They’re also a virus, because the more time our young Fae spend in that world, the more they are infected with that kind of thinking.”
“Lest we make ourselves sound so much more enlightened than other humanoid species,” Tabor interjected dryly, “I’d like to point out that our respect for the elements may be greater, but not our respect for one another. We have had several rather horrific wars, during and just before my lifespan. Perhaps, my lady, if we came up with a strategy to be more proactive in our interactions with the humans, as we have started to do with the vampires, we might exchange more of the best parts of ourselves, instead of the worst?”
“You ask for miracles. And demonstrate naivety that experience should have drummed out of you,” Rhoswen said shortly. “No offense, my lord.”
Tabor’s smile was tight. “Your cynicism can bias you as much as my optimism, my lady. Keep that in mind. With respect.”
“Perhaps the challenge is to make slight differences with every cycle,” Lyssa said. “It might still come full circle, but it could become more of an upward spiral.” She glanced at Rhoswen. “Together we could make this work better by building on the past and making adjustments for the future. Respond not by shutting down, but by changing the rules of engagement. We value the counsel of Lord Uthe and Lord Keldwyn. Perhaps their example can give us ways to achieve that. You’ve noted vampires have learned how to live compatibly in the human side of our world. We are like humans, yes, but we are also not entirely unlike Fae, because our long lives and enhanced capabilities do set us apart from humans. Your youthful Fae are curious about that world. How could they not be? Instead of denying them, making it a forbidden treasure, we teach them better how to navigate it and create a better outcome. And we don’t react to every stumble as if the sky is falling and all must be changed.”