by Ron C. Nieto
“Councilors,” she continued after a brief pause, “the question We pose before you is this: should the Wild Horn be used to press Unseelie advantage over Our Seelie counterpart, thus putting an end to the balance of power? Or should the Wild Horn be used to end the curse that fell on King Herla’s head and damned him to lead his men under the banner of the Wild Hunt until the end of time, putting an end to the struggle for unbalance?”
There was a heartbeat of absolute silence.
Then, all Hell broke loose.
C H A P T E R XVII
At some point, the meeting adjourned. No decision had been made—they hadn’t even voted yet. Everyone had been talking about technicalities and consequences, and tradition, and a thousand other details, and they had been at it for hours. All in all, it had been a great loss of time and nothing else, but still Lily felt a sense of triumph and accomplishment when it adjourned.
“That was probably the politest form of torture, ever,” she muttered as soon as the Council Chamber fell behind.
“In the old days, there were chairs for the councilors and refreshments to be served.” They reached a set of stairs and Troy placed a steadying hand on the small of her back.
It was welcomed. Her knees did feel a bit wobbly after standing at attention forever, and his cool touch eased the dull muscle ache of keeping her back ramrod straight for just as long.
“Must’ve been nice,” she said, sighing.
Troy smirked. “With so much comfort at their fingertips, the Council did not need recess periods and could remain in session until agreement.”
“Good God.”
“Indeed.” The stairs fell behind, but Troy’s hand remained on her, his easy strides adjusting to her tired steps. “The decision to dispose of seats and attending service was made after a particularly controversial issue that required unanimous consent, if I recall correctly.”
“When did this happen?”
“1664, by mortal reckoning.”
Lily put up a dam against the deluge of questions. Were you around back then? How old are you? Are you the only kelpie? She couldn’t afford more distractions, and if she stopped to consider the implications of Troy’s immortality, she would second-guess herself and make a mess of things.
“That’s almost the time of the Great Fire of London,” she said instead.
“A Great Fire to end the Great Plague that started two years prior, yes.”
She stopped, her brow furrowing while her brain churned around his words. “Are you telling me faeries caused the Great Fire?”
“No.”
“But?”
Gently, Troy steered her down another corridor, coaxing her to keep walking. “The plague was a mortal affair, and mortals settled it. However, the Courts might have been able to control the spread of the disease, minimize its impact. The Council gathered to decide whether fay should become involved.”
“What did they decide?”
“Nothing.” Troy opened the door to Lily’s guest room and ushered her inside. “The meeting lasted so long, the decision became moot.”
A meeting that lasted two years. How long did today’s meeting last? If I left right now, what time would it be in the mortal realm? A thought occurred. Has someone reported Grandma and me as missing? Is Mom looking for us? Blaming Grandma and cursing her seeming madness?
Lily was tired. Too many days high-strung and stressed, too many nights without real sleep. The time at court had been particularly trying, physically and mentally, and she felt ready to break. But the thoughts wouldn’t stop circling, like vultures waiting for her to relax so they could swoop in.
“Troy. Stay, please.”
“You need to sleep.”
“I know.”
Troy nodded without comment and locked the door behind him. Lily let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding and walked over to the vanity, fumbling at her belt. Her fingers were unusually slow, but eventually she managed to lay the Wild Horn on top of it, along with her borrowed belt.
Such a tiny piece of iron adorning it, only the mouthpiece, and still it prevented faeries from so much as touching it.
“You walked by my side,” she realized while staring at the Horn, dumbfounded. “Despite the iron.”
She heard him move, felt him stand close behind her. “It hung at your other hip,” he said, punctuating his words with a light touch of his fingertips from the curve of her waist to the top of her thigh.
Lily raised her eyes to meet his through the mirror.
Out of one game and into another.
“Still, you didn’t have to.”
“A collapsed Herald would make a poor impression.” Which didn’t deny her comment, which made it true.
Lily let it slide, because those were the rules if she wanted to play.
“And an unimpressive Herald would be very useless.” She smiled, and he answered with a smirk.
“Only slightly better than a dead Herald.”
Slipping away, Lily climbed on the bed, fighting to keep the protests of her body to a minimum and her mind clear. “Since we have a living, useful Herald,” she said, patting the bed by her side, “what should I say? When they actually start voting and giving opinions instead of bickering.”
Instead of answering, Troy raised an eyebrow and pointedly glanced at the seating area. Even knowing him as she did, Lily couldn’t tell if it was truly a challenging gesture, or if he was buying time to hide his surprise at her invitation. Either way, there was only one answer.
“You said I needed to sleep, so chairs aren’t an option.”
“And you require me to share your bed for that?”
“We’re talking now, and I don’t want to raise my voice.”
“You either talk or sleep, Lily. You may not have it both ways.”
“We can talk until I’m sleepy enough,” she said. “Besides, I asked you to stay. What’s the point, if you’re on the other side of the rooms and I can’t tell you’re around?”
“It does not look like you will require much encouragement to close your eyes.” Which was the truth, but he sat on the spot she’d pointed to, long legs stretched before him, boots crossed at the ankle, back resting against the headboard.
And that counts as a victory.
“You should express whatever opinion you have on the matter,” Troy continued once he was comfortable. Almost as an afterthought, he opened one arm, offering his shoulder for Lily to lean against. She obliged, and the posture threw her back to another moment of exhaustion, right before crossing from the mortal realm into the Seelie Court. He had stopped for her and had offered his shoulder as a pillow then as well.
She had started to see him as a person by that point, even when she hadn’t thought of him as a man until they could stop running for a moment, in the guard room the Seelie Court had offered them.
Being faerie guests does wonders.
“That’s odd advice,” she said, shaking off the memories. “You usually tell me I mess up when I speak my mind.”
Troy sighed, and Lily felt his chest rising and falling by her side. “You have a fine mind, Lily. You need only improve the way you shape those thoughts of yours into words.”
“I’d usually discount that as a passing compliment, but coming from you . . .” From you, I know it’s true. “I shouldn’t act like it’s such a big deal, but it kind of is.”
“And yet I heard no gratefulness. I am proud.”
Lily considered punching Troy’s arm, partly because he could be a bit of an arse at times and partly because it’d help ease her nerves.
She held back. It wasn’t time yet.
“So what’s the real reason you’re not telling me what to say?” she asked.
Troy laughed. “So you have learned. Not a single slip tonight, well done.”
“You’re evading.”
“Successfully, might I add.”
And that was too much, and Lily laughed, tiredness and nerves and heavy feelings and all.
She went and guffawed, and then had to cover her mouth in embarrassment, and the whole thing made her laugh even more, and all the while Troy smiled without his mask, content and beautiful.
Now. Now or never.
Turning slightly to the side, she sneaked a hand out and slipped it under the damp fabric of Troy’s shirt, her fingertips skimming the skin for a heartbeat before she flattened her palm over his stomach.
Lithe muscles quivered under her touch, his arm jerked around her shoulders, and she heard his sharp intake of breath as his whole body went rigid.
“Is this okay?” She couldn’t look at him. Her cheeks were burning, but she refused to withdraw her hand. It’d been a bold move, especially for a lowly human who was, at best, regarded as a pet, but it was a necessary risk.
“Why?” Troy didn’t push her off, and he didn’t say no. That had to be a good sign, even when his voice was so carefully mild and blank.
“I wanted to.” And the worst part was knowing that the same tiny part of her that had wanted to trust him did want to. That part was thrilled at the feel of smooth, cool skin and wondered what would happen if she dared to move that hand, trail it up to his chest. “I—” she tried to formulate a logical, believable reason and came up empty. “I wanted to,” she repeated, quietly.
For a while, nothing happened. Then, Troy exhaled, slow and steady—and Lily felt the movement of his abdomen, the way he relaxed by fractions, like a skittish horse who had decided not to bolt for the moment. His arm shifted, cradling her closer and more comfortably, and his other hand came up, touching the back of hers under his shirt.
“If I instruct you on your vote, Her Majesty will take note,” he told the top of her head. Lily wondered when she had tucked herself so thoroughly into his side. “A Herald must defend their own agenda, not be easily led. Worry not, by the time the exposition time comes, you shall have a clear idea of which option to defend.” Lily felt his lips curl into a smirk against her hair. “After all, you are nothing if not opinionated.”
“How many more sessions until then?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
“Impossible to know, and needless to worry about at the moment. Sleep now, Lily. Rest well.”
It wasn’t a command, but Lily’s eyes fell closed as if Troy had used her True Name. Everything caught up to her, and slumber dragged her under.
“You are an impossible creature indeed,” she thought she heard Troy whisper before the world went dark.
C H A P T E R XVIII
There wasn’t a morning in a world where time held no meaning, there was no dawn to break the day, but still the quality of light changed, became more intense as it teased Lily’s closed eyelids as softly as velvet.
With a quite murmur, she stretched and burrowed into her pillow, unable to retain her dreamless sleep but trying anyway. Her legs tangled in another set, longer and lither. Her pillow breathed deep, and the steady thump of a heart under her cheek lulled her.
She hadn’t moved an inch in her sleep, and neither had he.
“What do you say instead of ‘good morning?’” she asked, her voice hoarse and disused.
“Hello,” Troy said, a smirk hidden in his tone that served to dissipate any awkwardness that might have lingered from the sleeping arrangements.
“Hello.” Lily smiled and curled tighter into his side, daring to move the hand she had on him over his side, around to his back in a lazy hug. “Do we need to get up yet?”
“The Council does not require our presence, and it is likely it shall not for a while yet.” Troy didn’t comment on her wandering hand or sudden cuddliness, and Lily decided that was best. “I should advise you to waken regardless.”
“Why?” Catching herself, Lily clarified. “Why not for a while, and why should I start the day?”
“The other councilors were . . . surprised, shall we say? They should require some time to readjust their agendas, and an even longer while if they aim to discover and damage their opponents’. As for you, I should think you would want to invest the time in the library, since you were so loath to leave it last time.”
The library, where she could check books on faerie lore impossible to find anywhere in the mortal world, where there was true knowledge waiting for her, and where she might be able to figure out the next step of her plan.
No, that’s not true. I know what the next step is. Which didn’t make her look forward to it any more than if she were clueless.
Perhaps I’ll find an alternative. She caught her fingertips pressing into his back and forced her hand to relax. No alternative. Too late for that. Besides, why would I even want it? This plan is working, and it’s solid enough.
“You have convinced me,” she said, pushing against his chest and straightening up. “The books won’t get read by themselves, and I do need them.”
Disentangling herself from Troy, she slid—or stumbled, she guessed—off the bed and toward the vanity and its mirror. She still had on the silvery green dress. It had been rumpled, but once she readjusted it on her shoulders, making sure the cleavage was in its proper place, the rest of the gown managed to fall off her with the same dignity and elegance it had given her the first night. The glamour Hevana had added had disappeared, but it still smelled fresh and it still was unwrinkled.
Also, it still was her only garment.
Her hair was a different matter. While the elegant knot from the first night had survived easily enough, the already wild tumble Hevana had arranged the previous time had become a rat’s nest.
And I had been putting that under Troy’s nose, all night long.
Grimacing, she searched for a comb. She found one with an ivory handle and horsehair bristles that refused to untangle the mess on her head.
Too queenly for my gnarls.
“I look like a madwoman,” she muttered when the brush remained stuck in a display of inanimate stubbornness.
“Wild and untamed, perhaps.” Troy took the brush from her hands, laid it back on the vanity, and worked his fingers through her locks, undoing the mess with surprisingly gentle fingers.
Lily fought to hide a shiver, but judging from the wolfish look she caught in his eye through the mirror, she failed.
And he seemed to enjoy it because he took his time massaging her scalp and the back of her neck, prolonging his ministrations for a few moments after he was done.
“Was that revenge?” she asked when he finally stepped back.
“Whatever for?” With a grin, he moved to the washbowl standing to the side and splashed his face.
He hasn’t denied it, and that’s as good as saying yes.
It’s the kind of revenge one could get used to, though. The knowledge sucker-punched her, and she forced her lips to keep up the smile.
She couldn’t get used to his playfulness. She couldn’t enjoy his teasing, even when it had felt natural and easy.
God help her, she couldn’t want to wake up to this routine once her life went back to normal.
Besides, she couldn’t think about life going back to normal until she found her grandmother.
“Where can one get breakfast here?” she asked, struggling to regain control of the situation.
“Several choices,” said Troy, running his hands through his hair to wet the strands. “Since we are not absolutely positive about when the Council shall resume its session, I would advise us to have it delivered to the library to maximize time.”
She was going to reply, some quip about eating under the Librarian’s disapproving stare, but she stood transfixed by the drops of water clinging to his eyelashes, running down his temple.
He was dry. He was dry and warm when we woke up.
Biting her lip to swallow the question—a question she knew would go without an answer—Lily nodded.
“All right,” she said. “Best we get an early start.” And hopefully I can find more answers about you.
Unseen and unheard, the faerie servants left sweet bread rolls, butter, milk, and honey for them to eat. T
he aroma wafted all over the Library, mixing with the smell of dry parchment, old ink, and aged leather.
Lily’s mouth watered.
“I hope you do not intend to salivate all over my collection.”
Nearly jumping out of her skin, Lily twisted around and found the Librarian’s face so close she had to take a step back.
“I thought it was okay to eat here,” she said, fighting the urge to feel like a kid caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.
“Precisely. Eating is allowed, slobbering is not.” The Librarian twisted his lips in a wry smile and Lily realized, with another jolt, that he was joking.
Faeries are capable of jest. Who would’ve thought?
“I’ll restrain myself,” she said, even when the food called her name in a heavenly choir. “But say, where are the books I was reading the other day?”
“Other day?”
“Other time,” she corrected, sheepishly.
The Librarian nodded to the nook where she had been camped the other time, and sure enough, there they were—three tomes in a neat pile, the corners aligned with the table as they waited for her.
“How long would you have left them out of place, waiting for my return?” she wondered.
“A sufficient time,” the Librarian said, with a shrug.
“This is his domain,” Troy said, picking up one of the fresh rolls. “It responds to him in ways your mind cannot fully comprehend. He knows when you intend to come back to continue reading.”
“And that,” the Librarian said with a sniff, “is a rude way of discussing too much information about a present party.”
“I recall someone pointing out sharing information was the purpose of a library.” Troy smirked, his faerie mask in place but his eyes softer behind it, truly amused and not only mischievous.
“I believe I have also said that fulfilling the purpose of a library is a librarian’s role. Are you a librarian, or are you still an obnoxious rural fay with little respect for tradition and form? Because if you have changed at all since the last time you pestered my halls, I must report you still look like the latter.”