by Melissa Marr
The water faery nodded. “The terms are binding and accepted. I would have a token of faith to seal the vow.”
A wall of water rushed toward them.
“I do not want to drown today,” Keenan said.
“Just a little,” Innis suggested.
For a moment Keenan wondered at the possibility of not-living. It should not appeal to me. He’d stolen scores of girls’ mortality. He’d made them into faeries while everyone and everything they knew faded away; he’d convinced them to risk everything for him. To be my queen. To free me. He couldn’t have done anything differently. He’d had to find her, the mortal who would save them all from dying under the freezing anger of his mother. Now, he had to find a way to strengthen the court without pushing his queen further away, to make allies among faeries who had every reason to hate him, to find a way to love Donia without being with her, and once again try to do the impossible.
A second wave swept over them, and Innis’ form surrounded him. He knew that he would not choose to die here, but knowing didn’t negate the pain in his lungs. He didn’t fight the waves. It would be so much easier. As the water filled his lungs, he wondered—not for the first time or even the fifty-first time—if they’d all be better off without him.
He kicked toward the surface.
It is a pleasure to drown you, my ally. Innis’ voice filled the water around him. Call and we will come to you.
Chapter 3
Donia exhaled a gust of frigid air as she watched Aislinn approach. The Summer Queen’s guards had stopped at a safe distance, and the queen herself came forward cautiously. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of a heavy woolen coat, and her almost-black hair was hidden under her hood.
“Shall we walk?” Donia asked.
Aislinn gestured to a path that led away from the same fountain where they’d once sat and talked. Back then, Aislinn was a mortal hiding her Sight. Back then, Donia was weaker. Those things had changed in such a short time. What hadn’t changed was that the actions of one faery, Keenan, both drew them together and kept them at odds.
“I’d hoped he would . . .” Aislinn’s words faded, but she glanced at Donia.
“No. He’s not contacted me. Nor you, I see. If he were gone, you’d feel it, Ash.” Donia kept the sting of envy from her voice with effort. “The rest of the court’s strength would leave him if he . . . died.”
“But if he were hurt—”
“He’s not,” Donia snapped. “He’d let us know. He’s either sulking or staying where it’s warmer or . . . who can know with him.”
“You know. If you wanted to find him, I’m sure you could.”
Donia chose not to address that particular truth. She did know him, and she’d heard rumors of his activities from those eager to curry her favor. That did not mean, however, that she’d go chasing after him like a lovesick girl. He’d walked away on his own, and he’d return on his own.
Or not.
For several moments, they said nothing more as they walked. Icicles formed on the trees they passed. The ground whitened with a thin sheen of frost. It wasn’t anywhere near what the Winter Queen could do, but the earth had been frozen for too long during her predecessor’s reign.
If we are to survive, we need balance.
Summer was to be happy, but neither the Summer King nor the Summer Queen was happy. It weakened their court. Which should not bother me. It did, though: Donia wanted a true balance. She wanted them to be strong enough to stand against Bananach and her growing cadre of troops. To stand at my side. She broke the silence: “I will allow spring early this year. My court is strong enough to do otherwise, but I see no need to press yours to submission.”
“My court isn’t what it ought to be,” Aislinn admitted.
“I know.” Donia sighed. A plume of freezing air rolled out from her lips. “I cannot weaken my court overmuch, but I can try for a truer balance.”
The Summer Queen shivered. “And when he returns?”
“That changes nothing, Ash.” Donia kept her face expressionless. “He made his choice.”
“He loves you.”
“Please. Don’t.” Donia turned her back to the faery Keenan had chosen over her.
Even standing on the still snow-covered ground, the Summer Queen had her court’s impulsivity. She persisted, “He loves you. The only reason he wants me is because he was cursed. If not for that, he would’ve chosen you. You know that. We all do.”
Donia paused, but didn’t turn around.
“Donia?”
The Winter Queen glanced over her shoulder. “You make it difficult to hate you, Ash.”
Aislinn smiled. “Good . . . but that’s not why I said that. I mean it. He—”
“I know,” Donia interrupted before the Summer Queen could begin another passionate outburst. “I need to travel tonight. The slight snow I scatter here will determine what happens elsewhere. If there is nothing else?”
“There is, actually,” Aislinn started.
“No more talk of him.”
“No, not him.” Aislinn bit her lip, looking like the nervous mortal she had once been.
Donia looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
“I don’t know if your court has . . . lost anyone, but some of my faeries have left. Not many, but some.” Aislinn’s voice faltered a little. “I’m trying to do right, but I’m suddenly the only regent, and they’ve been weakened for nine centuries, so used to doing . . . whatever they want.”
Despite everything she felt toward Aislinn over the situation they were in, Donia softened at the worry obvious in the Summer Queen’s voice. She knew as well as Aislinn did that none of their issues were by their own choice. Or Keenan’s, truth be told. Donia sighed. “My court has lost faeries too. It’s not you, Ash.”
“Good. Well, not good, but . . . I thought maybe it was me.” The Summer Queen blushed. “I’m trying, but I’m not sure if I’m messing up sometimes. He promised to help me figure this out, but I don’t know where he is, and I’m not even sure they’re mine to lead.”
“They are yours.” Donia narrowed her gaze at the doubt in Aislinn’s voice. “You are the Summer Queen—with or without a king, this is your court, Ash. They don’t make as much sense to me as Winter or Dark . . . or even the High Court, but I do understand faeries. Don’t let them see your doubts. Frighten them if you must. Wear whatever mask you need to convince them you are sure—even when you’re not. . . . Actually, especially when you’re not. Bananach is luring our fey to her, and we can’t be weak.”
As Donia spoke, slivers of ice extended into small daggers in both of her hands. It was instinctual, but it proved her point all the more.
“Right.” Aislinn’s expression shifted into something more regal. “It gets easier sooner or later, doesn’t it?”
Donia snorted. “Not yet, but it had better . . . or maybe we just get used to it.”
“How did he do it without the strength we have?” Aislinn asked tentatively, bringing him back into the conversation.
And to that, the Winter Queen had no answer. She shook her head. It was a question she’d been asking for most of her life. She couldn’t imagine dealing with her court with her powers bound. “Advisors. Friends. Stubbornness.”
“People who believed in him,” Aislinn added with a bold stare. “You believed in him enough to die for him, Donia. Don’t think either of us will forget that. If not for you, I wouldn’t be their queen, and he wouldn’t be unbound.”
At that, Donia paused and asked the question she’d wondered in silence: “Do you regret it?”
“Some days,” Aislinn said. “When I think about fighting the embodiment of war? Yeah, I regret it a little. Life was a lot easier when I thought all faeries were ‘evil.’ Now I worry about keeping them from dying, ruling them, trying to be a queen, and dealing with the impulses that aren’t me but Summer. Sometimes it’s like being me and someone else all at once . . . if that makes any sense. I’m not impulsive, or, umm, so
concerned with pleasure, but Summer is—and I’m Summer. It’s like fitting parts of a season into me. You know?”
“I do.” Donia nodded as the ice in her hands retracted. “I thought the ice was going to kill me when I was the Winter Girl, so becoming a queen was a lot easier. I like the calm, the sense of quiet. Before, it wasn’t easy. I carried the pain of the cold without being at peace for decades, so being filled with winter and having the power to handle it . . . I don’t regret that—or the choices I made. Any of them.”
They stood silently for a moment, and then Aislinn nodded. “I can do this. We can . . . even with our mortal ‘taint.’”
Donia smiled. “Indeed. I will talk to Niall and Sorcha. Niall has a bit of sympathy for mortals—and for your court, however much he may try to deny it—so he’s been plagued by the same sort of unrest that Bananach has provoked in our courts. We can do this, Ash, without Keenan, without failing our courts or breaking under our natures.”
And in that minute, Donia believed it.
Chapter 4
Aislinn walked toward the edge of the park where her guards waited. She’d considered keeping them nearer to her, but she’d wanted to show Donia that they were rebuilding trust. Aislinn was still wary of the Winter Queen—and didn’t entirely understand why Donia had thought it was necessary to stab her last year—but she knew enough about the Winter Queen and Summer King’s love that she had resolved the stabbing as an act of passion. Aislinn understood passion. There were a lot of things she still didn’t grasp, but as the embodiment of the season of pleasure, she had no difficulty accepting that passion could make a faery impulsive, desperate, and sometimes utterly irrational.
She paused and looked at the trees that lined the sidewalk. They were still coated in snow, but spring was only a few weeks away, so she exhaled and melted the frozen branches. In these next two weeks, she’d continue to grow stronger, and as Donia wasn’t going to try to prolong winter, there was no reason not to begin warming the earth now. Her skin tingled with the realization that summer was in reach.
There was a strength in that if it was harnessed; she understood this now. These past six months that Keenan had been away—and Seth had been refusing her best efforts to be together—she’d learned a lot about being the Summer Queen. Accepting her nature was coming easier, and accepting that other faeries’ natures were foreign to her was becoming reflexive. In truth, she’d learned more in half a year without her king than she could’ve expected.
Unfortunately, she still didn’t have the confidence that echoed in Donia’s voice—yet. I will. Be assertive. Believe. She smiled to herself. Sometimes being a queen wasn’t that different from being a Sighted mortal: rules, reminders, pretending to feel differently than she did on the inside. And a horrible cost if I fail.
She had just stepped onto the sidewalk, not yet beside her guards, when a faery she did not know appeared seemingly from nowhere.
He asked, “Are you in need of escort?”
At first glance, she thought he was one of Donia’s fey, as he seemed as pale as the snow around them, but when she looked again, he seemed to be as dark as the sky at new moon. Light and dark shifted in and out of his skin, and his eyes flickered to the opposite of the hue his skin was in that instant. She furrowed her brow as she tried to study him.
Her gaze kept slipping to his garishly red shirt. It was hard to miss. Along with being an assaultingly bright shade of red, it clung to his chest and arms so much that it would look foolish on most people. On him, it looked natural. Despite the chill, he wore no coat over the thin shirt. She tried to lift her gaze to his eyes, and again, she had to glance away.
“You’ll get used to it in a moment,” he said.
“To what?”
“The shifts. I’ll settle into one or the other for our visit.” He shrugged, and as he spoke the words, he did just that: his skin became the dark of all colors combined, and his eyes blanched to a complete absence of color.
“Oh.” Somehow, she’d believed that she’d stopped being astounded by faeries, but she was at a loss. She tried to think of anything she knew that would explain him, but he was unlike any other faery she’d encountered—which wasn’t at all comforting. She offered a false expression, a surety she wished she felt, the confidence the Summer Queen should feel.
“You are safe. I came to your”—he gestured expansively—“village for other reasons than finding you, but I am intrigued.” The faery smiled at her then, as if she’d done something of which she should be proud. “I mean you no ill this day, Queen of Summer. If I had better manners, I would’ve said that first.”
No ill this day?
This far outside of her park, when it was not yet spring and she was standing in the cold, Aislinn wasn’t at her strongest, but she concentrated on summoning sunlight to her hand should she need to defend herself. “I’m afraid that you have me at a disadvantage. I’m not sure who you are or why you would be here.”
“Do you ask, Aislinn?” The faery caught her gaze. “Not many ask questions of me.”
“Is there a cost for asking?” Her nerves were increasingly unsettled. As a faery monarch, she was safe from most threats, but she’d been injured by two of the other regents—faeries she’d trusted—so she knew very well that she was not impervious to injury. Her first year of being a faery had made that truth very clear to her.
The second year isn’t going very well either.
The strange faery in front of her extended a hand as if to touch her face. “I would accept permission to caress your cheek.”
“For an answer?” Aislinn rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“The recently mortal are”—he shook his head—“so brash. Would you refuse my offer if you knew who I was?”
“No way of telling, is there?” Aislinn turned and resumed walking toward her guards. The skin at the back of her neck prickled, but she didn’t feel like playing guessing games.
And I am afraid.
“If you allow me to cradle your face in my hands, it will not injure you, and I will allow two questions or one gift for the privilege,” he called.
She stopped walking. One of the detriments of being so new to ruling was that she had no favors to call in, no years of bargains to rely on, and—of late—no king with such connections to help her. If we are to fight Bananach, I have no secret arsenal. She looked over her shoulder at him and asked, “Why?”
“Would that be one of your questions, Summer Queen?” His lips curved slightly so that he looked like he would begin laughing in another moment.
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You know, I’ve been fey for a while now, but faery word games still don’t amuse me. Later, I suspect I’ll understand this, but right now, I’m irritated.”
“And curious,” he added with a laugh. “I’ll allow one free answer. Why? Because the recently mortal fascinate me. Your king assured I had no business with the other girls when they became fey. You are here; he is not . . . and I am curious.”
“I’m not sure bargaining with you when you seem to want to so badly is wise.” Aislinn stayed where she was, admitting in action if not in word that she was willing to consider negotiation.
Don’t let this be a mistake. Please don’t be a mistake.
The faery walked several steps closer to her. “One question now, and one held in reserve. What if I know things you’ll want to know later? What if a question owed could be an asset to your court?”
“One question now, and one question or favor later, and”—she took one more step away—“your assurance that no harm will come to me by your touch . . . which can only last for less than a minute.”
He stopped a few feet from her. “I’ll allow the terms, if you allow me to escort you to your loft.”
“To the door, but not inside, and we walk there directly with no detours, and my guards will join us.”
“Done.” He came forward.
“Done,” she echoed.
Then he cradled her face in his hands, and the world became utterly silent around her. Neither sight nor sound remained. There was only darkness, complete and absolute. If she hadn’t secured a promise that no injury would come to her, Aislinn would have been convinced that she’d left her body and fallen into a void.
What have I done?
To her mind, it seemed as if days passed as they stood together. Then he leaned toward her. In the void where she somehow now was, she felt his movements. Nothing existed before or after him. His voice was of corn husks whispering in barren expanses as he told her, “My name is Far Dorcha. The Dark Man.”
Aislinn knew that it had been only a few moments that she’d been in the void, but when Far Dorcha pulled his hands away from her, she stumbled. The world was too harshly lit; the ice that hung from the trees in the distance glistened so brightly that she had to avert her gaze. Only he, the Dark Man, was painless to see.
“You’re . . . death-fey.” She’d met a couple of his kind, and while they weren’t a proper court, they were under his dominion. Death faeries had no need for a court: they had no enemies. Immortal creatures weren’t imprudent enough to tangle with those who could and would kill them with as much effort as they expended on breathing. Aislinn took several steps backward. She’d willingly consented to a caress from the faery equivalent of Death. What was I thinking? If not for the things Keenan and Niall had taught her about faery bargains, that could have gone very poorly.
It still might.
“They hadn’t told me you could’ve been so near my reach. Almost dead. Almost mine.” Far Dorcha frowned slightly as he peered into her face as if to read words written on her flesh. “Winter stabbed you.”
At that, Aislinn’s worries over the bargain were replaced. Near death? She had known she was injured, had felt doubt that she would survive, but she’d come to believe that it had simply hurt worse than it was. Before she could find words to reply, he exhaled his cloyingly sweet breath.