“Just…” He stared into the corner for a moment, deep in thought, then resumed attacking the box with tape. “Let me focus on the fact that I’ve got six half siblings I’ve never met, and I’ll get over the age thing eventually.” He leaned over the box to pull it closed, then cut his eyes back to me. “But before I let this go…”
“Eight hundred and twelve, give or take.”
“Seriously?”
“We stop aging. Aiden, I…I know this must be terribly strange for you…”
He pulled a fresh strip of tape off the roll and sealed the carton. “What about me? I’m half fae, right? What does that mean, practically speaking?”
Toula made a face behind him, and I chose my words carefully. “Well…I’m only half, and you see the result. My—our,” I amended, “siblings are fully fae, and there’s no physical difference between us. The blood’s strong.”
“So I—”
I hurried to cut him off before his hopes could rise. “A wizard cross screws everything up, most of the time. Toula’s the one big exception.” She seemed almost sheepish when he turned to look up at her. “No one truly knows why everything falls apart for witch-bloods,” I said apologetically. “It just does. You can’t really use magic, you’re mortal…but on the positive side,” I continued, pointing to the boxes, “you obviously don’t have any problem with iron. Not judging by the tools in here, at least.”
“Doesn’t seem like a fair tradeoff,” he mumbled, moving to the next box.
“It’s not. Magic doesn’t make allowances for fairness.” I stood and held the carton together while he picked at the tape. “I’d fix things for you if I could, but I don’t have that kind of power. No one does. I’m sorry, but I don’t know—”
He ripped the end loose and began sealing. “You’re trying to help me,” he said, focusing on his work. “And you’re getting me out of here. So thanks anyway.” Aiden let Toula move the box onto a pile, then frowned at me again. “You said they’re fully fae, right? Our siblings?”
“That’s right.”
“What are they like?”
“Honestly? I think they’re assholes, but they’d probably say the same about me.”
Aiden nodded. “Figures.”
I opened a gate from Aiden’s room into one of the many vacant guest suites that littered my inherited palace, and his belongings flew along behind us and stacked themselves against a bare stone wall. As he blinked in the sudden brightness of midmorning, I touched his forehead. “One last thing,” I said, and willed what should have been his native tongue upon him.
Aiden jerked, startled, then cocked his head as I pulled away. “What was that about?”
“Do you understand me?” I asked in Fae.
“Sure, why wouldn’t…” He left the thought unfinished as he heard himself processing unfamiliar words. “What did—”
“A small mental manipulation. This is the common tongue around here—no sense in making you learn it the hard way, is there?”
“Huh.”
He scowled at the floor, and I offered, “You’ll adjust in a few minutes. Trust me on this.”
“This…you’ve done this before?”
“Mother did it to me, and I’ve picked up a few tongues along the way. That odd feeling, like you know you’re hearing nonsense but it makes sense? It passes.”
I wanted to be reassuring, non-threatening, but I hadn’t the faintest idea what I should say to put Aiden’s mind at ease. I’d had little recent experience with teenage boys, certainly none with boys cloistered for their own protection—hell, I barely remembered fifteen, but I suspected that even if I had, my fifteen and his would have little commonality. There were hormones, as I recalled, my voice played pranks on me, and I kept having to lengthen my clothing during a massive growth spurt, but other than that…
Aiden stepped cautiously over the flagstones and watched the shadows like a rabbit, preparing himself for attack even as he investigated the largely empty room. Good strategy if one were dropped into the middle of the Serengeti at midnight, I thought, but a poor way to fight through life. I had been there—I recognized his expression, watching for movement, listening for a breath out of place—but I had also been able to defend myself, even as a young man on the run from the Arcanum. Aiden had no such skill, and there was nothing I could do to improve the situation, not unless something in the realm got into his system.
I didn’t have the heart at that moment to tell my little brother that it might be decades before he could work a basic glamour.
“It’s utilitarian, I know,” I said, wincing as he jumped at my voice. “But there’s no point in spending time on design when most guests change their rooms on arrival.” I patted one of the bed’s thick mahogany posts and shrugged. “If you’ll tell me what to do, we can give this place a bit more personality.”
“It’s nice,” said Aiden noncommittally, running one hand over the brocade coverlet.
I snorted. “It looks like it belongs in a museum. Give me a starting point, or I’m going lacy.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in an uncertain smile. “That’s low.”
“Think of it as motivation. So.” I considered the bed for a moment, then watched as the posts melded into a low headboard and footboard and the frame widened. “Better? Worse?”
He joined me at the foot and drummed his fingers on his arm. “Could it be pine instead?”
The wood lightened to pale honey. “Like that?”
Aiden looked up at me in disbelief. “You don’t even need a wand.”
“It’s a glorified stick to me. Does absolutely nothing.” I squinted at the bedding—something of Mother’s design, I guessed—and ended up with navy cotton. “Yes? And as for wands, not all wizards use them. Greg keeps his around as a formality, you know.”
“Yeah,” Aiden pointed out, “but he’s really good at magic. My parents use them. Hel took hers to college with her. Told her roommate it was a Harry Potter replica,” he added, grinning.
“Conjurus homeworkus or something?”
“Maybe. She did get Dean’s List twice last year.” He tentatively patted the new blanket, then flopped onto the mattress. “Not bad.”
“Any changes?”
He tucked his hands behind his head. “What about a waterbed?”
“Unless you like midnight seasickness, I strongly discourage it.” I sat next to him, contemplated the rest of the room, and whipped up a dresser and wardrobe. “What do you need in terms of desk space?” I asked, throwing a thick rug on the floor.
Aiden sat up and glanced at his boxes. “Ideally or bare minimum?”
I had to choke back laughter, the question was so absurd, but composed myself before Aiden could become concerned. “Listen,” I said, gripping his shoulders, “I understand that there are certain limitations on what you can do when you’re living with the Mole People, but you’re out of the silo. This is Faerie. The laws of physics are more like defaults.” I nodded to the boxes and said, “If you need more room, I can always adjust the walls. Get it?”
“Really?”
His surprise threw me off. “You were serious when you said they taught you nothing about magic?”
Aiden’s cheeks colored, and I released him. “I mean, I’ve picked up a little,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but for most of it, why bother? It’s not like anyone was going to give me a wand.”
“It’s just a stick, Aiden.”
“I know,” he mumbled, staring at his fists. “Just a stick. Wouldn’t work for me, either.”
Before his misery could reassert itself, I wrapped the open wall with a seamless wooden bench, threw in a rolling chair for good measure, and slid off the bed. “That’s a start. You can give me your specs once you’ve unpacked. Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
He dutifully followed me across the room. “Sibling?”
“Better. Tell me,” I said, opening the door, “what are your thoughts on lizards?”
“They’re okay, I guess,” he replied, puzzled. “Why?”
“Got a baby dragon out back.”
Halfway down the hall, I realized that Aiden was no longer at my heels, and I turned to find him standing in the middle of the runner. “Something I said?” I called.
“You have a dragon.”
“Newborn, really. The guy who’s working with her probably wouldn’t mind if you wanted to hang out.”
“Dragon.”
“Just a little one, nothing to be too concerned about yet. Are you—”
“Man, you’ve got a friggin’ dragon?” he shouted, and ran toward me as the paralysis snapped.
“Before you say anything, my lord, he won’t let me help.”
Valerius loitered in the narrow doorway of the barn, watching Joey shovel what looked to be fifty-odd pounds of manure. “Where did he find the tools?” I asked.
“He let me do that much,” my guard replied, “but no more. Said he needed the exercise.” He slowly shook his head as Joey grunted in time with his scooping. “How long, do you suppose, before he gives in and lets someone dispose of the…soil…properly?”
A pair of sheep bleated behind me, and I surveyed the makeshift pasture, which was filling faster than Georgie could empty it. “He’s wary of my brilliant solutions. Give him time.”
Valerius began to protest but let it go when Aiden, who had lagged to gawk when we passed the barn’s open door, ran up and panted, “There’s something wrong with those sheep.”
“They’re budding, I’m aware of it,” I said with a sigh. “It’s under control.”
Aiden appeared unconvinced. “Council tried that once with our cattle. The herd grew exponentially, and then they had to cull. Ever eaten hamburger for a month straight?”
“There are worse fates, you know.” I looked back at Valerius, about to suggest that he dispose of the dragon’s waste and give Joey a set of weights, but he had taken a step away from the door and stared at Aiden as if he were seeing an apparition. “Something wrong?”
He swallowed hard, then pointed at the boy. “My lord…who…”
“This is, uh…my brother, Aiden,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “who has been Arcanum-reared to this point. Greg wanted to introduce us.”
I had expected that this would end the matter—Valerius had been around long enough to know what I meant without forcing me to say “witch-blood”—but his tanned face drained of color as I spoke. “I know, I know,” I hastened to add, “he looks like—”
The captain dropped to his knees in the mud. “Forgive me, my lord, I couldn’t do it,” he said in a rush. “She ordered me, but I couldn’t, he was so small, I left him, and I shouldn’t have, but I never thought—”
I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back to his feet, shocked to feel him quaking in my grip. “Calm down. What are you talking about?”
Valerius took a deep breath, avoiding Aiden’s questioning frown. “The queen ordered me to dispose of him,” he said quietly. “When it was obvious that he was a…an ordinary mongrel. She wanted him dead, but she was busy—Lady Moyna’s nurse had brought her to court, and the queen—”
My stomach very much wanted to liberate itself from the shackles of my body at that moment, and I forced myself not to look at Aiden. “Mother told you to kill him?”
He nodded as his jaw clenched. “I tried, my lord. But he was only two days old…” His eyes unfocused, as if he were watching something replay in the space behind me. “I killed hundreds for her without hesitation, but I…never a child, she’d always personally killed the ones she didn’t want. When she ordered…I couldn’t do it.”
“Captain—”
His expression was equal parts fear and desperation. “I knew how to find you—I thought of bringing him to you—but with the way the queen watched you, I knew she’d find out. So I brought him to…to his father. I’d seen where his father came from when he opened a gate here, and I backtracked. Left the boy asleep outside. I…didn’t know if anyone would find him in time.”
I finally gave in and turned to my brother. Aiden looked stricken, and Valerius had tensed for the abuse to come. I wasn’t sure which to address first, but I decided on the one less likely to require therapy. “Valerius,” I murmured, waiting until his eyes darted back to mine, “you did the right thing.”
His shoulders remained taut, but his wariness faded by a degree. “My lord?”
“She told you to kill him. You avoided infanticide. If I’m not mistaken, most would find that commendable.”
“She ordered—”
“I don’t care what she ordered. And should I order you to do something similarly asinine, I would hope you’d have the good sense to thwart me. Yes?”
He nodded, seemingly stunned to still be breathing. “You’re not…angry?”
I looked again at Aiden, who was fighting tears and trying not to show it. “You saved him from certain death. I believe we owe you thanks, Captain.”
Valerius’s face twitched. “But the shame…”
He let the thought hang, and I released him. “If there’s any shame to be felt, it’s Mother’s. Aiden isn’t responsible for his condition.”
“I fear your other siblings will disagree, my lord.” He hesitated, then said, “Two of Lord Doran’s have been mongrels. He…disposed of both. Quickly.”
Aiden’s jaw had begun to quiver, and he abruptly turned away to watch the sheep spawn.
“The boy is under my protection,” I told Valerius in a low voice. “Should you see Doran, and should he express any sentiments that strike you as alarming, I would ask that you convey to him my sincere promise that I will make him beg for death if he harms Aiden. This extends to harm by proxy. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” His breathing steadied, and with a glance, the mud cleaned itself from his soaked leggings. “Perhaps it would be wise to assign the boy a guard, should I not be present to convey your displeasure.”
“We’ll talk of this later,” I said, watching Aiden hunch over the fence. “If you would…”
He retreated into the barn without a word, and I joined Aiden by the yard, which was already showing signs of overgrazing. “I’m sorry,” I began. “I didn’t know. I’d have prepared you otherwise, but—”
“Please don’t make me go home,” he whispered, and looked up from the flock with watery eyes. “Anywhere else. Just don’t make me go back there, okay? I can’t take another five months underground.”
“No one’s making you go anywhere.”
“But he said—”
I squeezed his shoulder, staying well away from the recently knit bones. “What Doran did to his children was out of my control. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Aiden’s hands clenched and unclenched on the top rail as he mumbled, “I don’t want to be a problem.”
“Who said you were a problem?”
He cocked his head back toward the barn. “Something about shame? Look, it’s okay, it’s nothing new. I’ve been a dud all my life, remember?” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If I need to go, that’s fine, I understand—but I’d really appreciate it if you’d drop me a few states away from home.”
I climbed the rails and took a seat atop the fence, and after a trio of surprised sheep became six, Aiden joined me. “It’s no sin to be hurt,” I said, watching the new ewes turn to the grass with gusto. “Or scared…lonely…lost…” One sheep wandered close, and I nudged it away with my toe. “Aiden,” I said, tracking the redirected animal as it explored an untrampled bit of green, “I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know what you’re feeling. I could look,” I allowed, “but I’d rather not. You’re entitled to your privacy.”
The sheep chewed slowly, mindlessly, and stared at a fencepost.
“If you’re angry at Mother,” I continued, “I do know that feeling. Hated her for years. She murdered my surrogate mother to spite me, she killed the nephew I half-raised in front of my face, and then she imprisoned me fo
r an entirely justifiable homicide. Once she finally let me go, she sent me old changelings to deal with in order to torture me—most of those that didn’t want a mercy kill wanted to go back to Faerie, and I couldn’t send them here. She did that for centuries.” I hesitated, trying to read his inscrutable face. “And a few months before your time, she kidnapped the daughter I didn’t know I had, only to drop her at my feet last spring as part of a plan to drag me home. Backfired horribly, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that if you feel like punching something, I understand.”
Aiden gave no sign that he had heard me. I was on the cusp of looking into his thoughts, privacy be damned, when he muttered, “I just want to belong somewhere for once.”
“I know that feeling, too,” I replied, catching his look of skepticism. “Hey, you saw Toula’s little trick—I’m only half fae, remember? Didn’t always fit in here, and I had Arcanum hitmen on my back over there. There’s no good middle ground.”
He picked at a splinter in the rail. “At least you weren’t the biggest disappointment in your dad’s life, right?”
I laughed softly. “My dad was a monk, okay? I might not have been a disappointment, but I was one hell of a surprise.” Aiden snorted, and I threw up my hands. “Didn’t even like women. He had no idea he’d been with one until I wandered over.”
“Then how—”
“Glamour, wielded properly, is an amazing thing, and let’s leave that there. But no, the poor son of a bitch always thought he’d broken his vows with a man, and then, ‘Surprise! Hi, Dad!’” My brother smirked as I waved at thin air, and I shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t quite like that, but you see the picture. We met, had a chat, and he died shortly thereafter. At least you have a father.”
Aiden looked back at the flock, his mouth a tight line. “I’m pretty sure he hates me.”
The Faerie King Page 6