by Melissa Marr
Here, in the Summer Court’s park, the world of Faerie looked beautiful.
“You don’t need to follow me. I’m perfectly safe in the park,” Seth said without looking over his shoulder at Quinn.
“Will you stay in the park?”
“Not forever.” Seth sat on a bench that was made from a twist of vines. Some faery artisan had shaped the vines into a braid as they grew. Now, they were a flowering seat. It was one of the myriad amazing things he could see with the benefit of faery Sight.
See illusions. Or maybe see truths. He didn’t know. At the edge of the park, a group of six ravens settled in an oak tree. The sight of them gave him pause, but Tracey, one of the gentlest of the Summer Girls, took Seth’s hands in hers. “Dance?”
She was already swaying with his hands in her grasp. She was reed thin, but she was still a faery—which meant that she could pull him to her even if he resisted. Tendrils of vines snaked out to draw him closer.
“I’m not really in the mood, Trace.” He tried to extricate his hands from hers.
“That’s why you should.” She smiled as she tugged him to his feet. “It helps you be not sad.”
“I just need to think.” He had enjoyed the few times he’d spent empty hours dancing with the Summer Girls or listening to them talk. It was like the parties he’d lost himself in. Before-Ash. That’s how life was divided: Before-Ash and With-Ash.
“You can think on your feet too.” She pulled him away from the bench, inside the ring, and once his feet touched that soil, he was lost.
He could see the stone sculptures and the fountain as she led him into the circle. He could see the knowing grins on the cubs’ faces as the tempo of the music changed. Seeing didn’t change anything, though. He saw all sorts of things in his life, but he was powerless to remake them as he wanted them to be.
Vines entwined his waist as Tracey came closer to him; fleeting touches of her hands and hair made her seem all the more ethereal. There was nothing he could grasp and hold; nothing was solid.
“You need to let me leave.” He said the words although his feet were moving still. “I need to go, Trace.”
“Why?” Her wide-eyed expression seemed guileless, but he knew better. The Summer Girls weren’t as unaware as they appeared. Frivolous? Prone to random bursts of glee? Amorous? Definitely. But they also had agendas. They’d lived centuries, waiting for their queen, watching their faery king struggle. You don’t live that long under adverse circumstances without developing agendas of your own—or learning how to use people’s perceptions to support your illusions.
“Tracey”—he backed away from her—“I’m upset.”
She followed, twirling to him, and the music switched to a samba beat. “Stay.”
“I need to—”
“Stay.” She reached up and tore away his charm, leaving him vulnerable to her glamour.
The chain slithered like a living thing as she dropped the stone into her top. He stared at the flower petals that were raining around them.
“Stay with us. It’s where you belong.” Tracey tugged him into her arms.
Some brief awareness pressed on him: he needed that stone. This wasn’t right, but the thought was no more lasting than the brush of butterfly wings. The world shifted. All he felt was joy. This was where he wanted to be. Somewhere inside he knew that he shouldn’t stay here, but the Summer Girls had taken such pains to teach him to dance the ways they liked, and the cubs were playing so beautifully, and the earth was humming under his feet.
“Yes. Let’s dance,” he said, but they already were.
Too soon, Tracey kissed his cheek and twirled away, and then Eliza was in his arms. “Rumba?” she asked.
The music switched, and his body moved in time with the beat that reverberated through the soil. He could barely pause long enough, but he did, pulling off his boots so his skin could feel the rhythm.
The moon was high overhead. A girl undulated in the fountain.
Not a girl. A faery. Like Ash.
“Come dance with me, Seth,” she beckoned.
Siobhan let go of his hands. When did Eliza become Siobhan? He stepped into the fountain. The water soaked his jeans, soothing his sore feet as he reached out for her. The contact was shiveringly good. I could drown in her. Logic pushed at him, warning, reminding him that she was made of water. He really could drown in her.
“Are you going to hurt me, Aobheall?”
She pressed her lips to his ear. “Get free of this place, mortal. Their plan doesn’t bode well for you tonight.”
The fountain spray was a thick curtain around them, blocking clear vision from the others. The sound of the cubs’ drumming filtered through the crash of water.
“Call for help,” she said.
“Call?”
“Who would come for you, Seth? If you needed rescue, who would save you?” She pressed her body to his as she spoke. “I can’t. The girls? The cubs? Our king? Who would make you safe from the whims of Faerie?”
“Niall. Like a brother.” He pushed a button on his phone. The water didn’t touch him as he did so, only her, Aobheall. He held the phone in his hand but didn’t lift it to his ear.
“Where are we, mortal?” Aobheall murmured.
“Fountain.” He felt stoned, drifting further into some reality that would keep him untethered.
“And how long have you been in our arms?”
“Forever.”
“Damn it, Seth.” The voice was from the phone.
“Would you stay here, Seth? Or would you walk out of the park?”
“Stay forever.” He couldn’t pull away from Aobheall. With her, with them. He could see them beyond the veil of water. Ash’s Summer Girls. They’d take care of him. He remembered being sad before he was in Tracey’s arms. He wasn’t sad now. “With you.”
Seth was still in the fountain when Niall arrived.
The Dark King stepped into the water, and for a moment, Seth was struck by a wave of emotions completely at odds with his true feelings. Niall was a god. Seth looked at him and couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone quite so intensely.
Then Niall lifted Seth’s hand and pressed something into it. “You seem to have misplaced yours.”
The touch of the charm to his skin cleared Seth’s head. He realized he was soaking wet and standing in the fountain with Aobheall—and lusting on his best friend.
“You”—he took Aobheall’s hand—“are kind.”
Her laughter was the sound of crashing water. “Not truly, Seth. If I were kind, I would’ve suggested you call Niall before I had my chance to dance with you.”
“For a faery, you are kind,” Seth amended.
“Come dance with me if you need to forget. I’ll hold that charm for you, not forever, but for as long as we negotiate in advance.” Aobheall turned away and slid her hand down Niall’s face. “And you are still always welcome in my fountain.”
Niall smiled. “I am in your debt.”
She laughed again. “And when haven’t you been? I like keeping you there.”
The Dark King kissed her. Shadows shifted into the water droplets. Instead of multicolor rainbows, the arc that formed was shimmering bands of gray and silver studded with bursts of light. As Niall kissed Aobheall, her form dissipated, and she became a part of the water falling in her fountain. The sound of her final sigh lingered for a brief moment.
Niall stepped out of the fountain and into the park. “Seth?”
Silently, Seth followed him. The Summer Girls weren’t dancing; the cubs had stopped playing; the rowan were motionless. None of the Summer Court denizens were eager to have conflict with Niall. Well, maybe a few of them were, if the looks on their faces—especially Siobhan’s—were honest. In truth, Seth suspected that more than a couple of the Summer Girls still sought Niall out, but that wasn’t something Seth wanted to know.
“Tracey?” Niall called.
She spun to him and held out her hands. The vines on her skin shrunk away f
rom Niall, but she didn’t. Niall took both of her hands in his.
“You really oughtn’t do this again.” Niall stepped on the tendril of a vine snaking from her ankle toward Seth. He ground it under his boot. “Seth is my brother now.”
“We like Seth. He was sad and leaving us…” Tracey reached a hand toward Seth.
Niall caught her wrist, stopping her from touching Seth. “So you took his charm to make him feel better?”
Tracey nodded. Several others, including Siobhan and Eliza, came to stand beside Tracey.
“He was happier,” Eliza said. “What does it matter why?”
“You could be happy with us. Stay with us, and you’d be near Aislinn too,” Tracey murmured to Seth. “We don’t want you to leave us too.”
“The queen is just struggling.” Siobhan’s words were to Seth, but she stared at Niall as she spoke. “That happens sometimes when people want things that confuse them. You shouldn’t leave her behind.”
“I wasn’t leaving. I was…I just need some space.” Seth glanced across the street. The windows of the loft were open. Plants from inside and outside crowded into them. Wanting closer to her. To them. He didn’t want to explain his feeling to anyone, not his friend, not the Summer Girls. Somehow his business had become public; too many people knew things that should be private. A burst of anger filled him at the thought. “I’m not…I’m just done with dealing with this right now.”
He turned and started walking. Either Niall would come with him, a rowan guard would follow, or one of the glaistigs would take the task. No leaving me un-watched. He didn’t choose to be a subject of Faerie, but he was. Court affiliation or not, he was under their control. I did choose it when I chose her. Right now though, with the image in his head of Aislinn resting in Keenan’s bed, that realization wasn’t much comfort.
Niall was silent as they walked to Seth’s train. He was silent as Seth filled the kettle and measured the tea. He was even silent as Seth fed Boomer. Faeries could do patience far better than Seth could; even with years of practicing meditation, Seth’s calm felt too easily rattled.
He poured the boiling water from the kettle into the small teapot Aislinn had found for him in some shop. When she was a mortal. Seth pushed that thought away. She wasn’t mortal. She wasn’t going to be ever again. Waiting for things to get better wasn’t good enough. Things could stay as they were, or they could move forward.
Seth sat down across from his friend. “Even Tracey is stronger than I am.”
“You’re a mortal.” Niall held his still empty cup. “If you hadn’t lost your charm—”
“I didn’t lose it.”
“Point.” Niall took the teapot and poured their cups. “It’s difficult I’m sure…”
“You have no idea.” Seth’s snort of laughter even sounded bitter to him. “You’ve never been human. You’re all so damn perfect, so strong, so…everything. That’s what Ash needs.”
“Don’t go there,” Niall cautioned. “Nothing you could follow that with is wise.”
“What would have happened if Aobheall was in a different mood?”
“The girls didn’t mean you harm. Not really. If Ash wasn’t so distracted right now—” Niall stopped himself. “If you need out of our world, I will help you. Maybe you should consider going.”
“That isn’t what I want.” Seth sipped his tea. He felt like Aislinn was slipping away, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stay in her world as a mortal. She didn’t call him when she was hurt because he was too vulnerable. The conflict between the courts was growing. It felt like he needed out or in; being halfway between worlds wasn’t a viable plan.
Seth sat his cup down and told Niall, “I want to be a faery.”
Niall looked appalled. “No, you don’t.”
Seth poured another cup of tea. “I’m not interested in dying or in leaving her. I’m not strong enough to stand against the weakest faeries. I can’t resist a glamour…I need to be a faery.”
Niall stared at him. “This is a bad plan, my friend. Trust me.”
Seth paused then. My friend. A faery’s use of such terms was a gift, not done lightly, not to be ignored. “I value your friendship, Niall, and I trust you completely. That’s not at question.”
Niall’s tense expression relaxed a bit.
Then Seth continued, “But I won’t change my mind just because you disagree. You know me better than that. Help me?”
Niall got up and paced. “I’m tempted. Despite knowing it would be selfish of me, despite knowing it would destroy you if I helped you do this thing, despite how much I care for you…I’m still tempted.”
“You’re losing me.” Seth dumped the ashtray he’d set out for Niall. He might accept his friend’s smoking, but the stench of cigarette butts disgusted him. “Explain.”
“Two courts can work together to create a curse like Irial and Beira did—but I won’t curse you. The only other choice is going through Sorcha, and there would be a cost there as well.”
“What kind of cost?”
“With Sorcha? Probably my becoming a bit mortal, you becoming a bit twisted…Balance. Exchange. That’s her deal.” Niall paused; his stillness seemed almost as jarring as his pacing had been. “She could shift essences. I would assume some of your mortality, making me unfit to be Dark King. I would be done with the burden that Irial foisted off onto me, and you would assume some of my…nature.”
“So you win. You get out of here, and I get to—”
“No.” Niall walked to the sink and rinsed his cup.
“It’s my choice,” Seth said.
“History is filled with people rushing into disaster for love of one sort or another. My history is filled with the results of such deplorable choices.” Niall walked to the door. He looked haunted and strangely afraid of Seth.
“So you made mistakes; that doesn’t mean I would.”
“Not me, Seth. The people whose lives I ruined.” Niall opened the door. “I won’t be a part of your mistake. Enjoy the time you have with Ash, or move on. Those are your only choices.”
Seth sat staring at the door after Niall left. My only choices. Neither of those choices was good enough—but Niall had given Seth another choice.
Sorcha. The High Queen is the answer.
Now Seth just needed to find her.
Chapter 16
The commotion at the door was to be expected. Donia felt the waves of heat pulsing against her from the pew where she sat just inside the entryway. Across from her, on the seats and backs of other church pews, faeries waited attentively. It wasn’t quite popcorn-at-the-movies, but it wasn’t far from it. Sasha wasn’t there; such amusements were befuddling to the wolf. The faeries, however, were rapt.
“I will come in,” Keenan repeated for the third time.
“Unless my queen consents, you will not.” The rowan stood before the door, as imposing and resolute as he had been when he guarded Donia under Keenan’s command. None of them had forgotten that he had once pledged his fealty to the same Summer King to whom he was denying entry.
“Don’t force me to do this, Evan.”
Evan didn’t flinch, although Donia did. The idea of Evan being hurt filled her with fear. If it wouldn’t undermine Evan’s authority, if it wouldn’t undermine her own, she’d tell him to stand down, but letting Keenan walk in freely when she’d ordered otherwise was unacceptable. If she didn’t intend to speak to him, she would call reinforcements, but that too was unacceptable. She needed to talk to him, but he needed to grasp that her door was not open to him. The implied statement of only token resistance, the insult of having only one guard—of that guard especially—at the door would not be lost on Keenan.
It was, like so much in Faerie politics, a game of sorts.
Once more Evan objected, “She has been clear that you are to be stop—”
The thud and hiss of burned wood was startling, albeit also inevitable. The door was completely incinerated. Evan was charred, but
not fatally so. It could’ve been much worse. The Summer King could’ve started with violence instead of giving Evan the chance to back down. He could’ve killed Evan. He hadn’t. His restraint was a gift of sorts to her.
Keenan stepped over Evan’s prone body and stared at Donia. “I’ve come to speak to the Winter Queen.”
Behind him, one of the kitsune, Rin, darted out to check on Evan. The fox-faery glared at Keenan from behind a spill of stark blue hair, but Rin’s animosity faded the moment Evan gripped her hand. Several other kitsune and a number of lupine faeries watched. They were standing and sitting and crouching expectantly. They’d make a stand against the Summer King, but Donia wasn’t willing to see any of them injured to prove a point. She’d trusted Evan—agreed with him even—that he needed to deny Keenan admission. That was as far as she felt like going.
“I don’t recall you having an appointment,” she said as she turned and walked away, knowing that he’d follow. She wasn’t airing their quarrel in front of her faeries or going to allow them to feel the pain of his temper.
Keenan waited until they were outside in the garden. Then, he grabbed her arm and spun her around so she had to look at him. All he said was, “Why?”
“She upset me.” Donia pulled free of his grasp.
“She upset you?” His expression of confused outrage was one she’d seen innumerable times over the years. That didn’t make it any easier. “You stabbed my queen, attacked my court because she upset you.”
“Actually you upset me. She simply added to it.” There was no inflection in her words. She kept her face free of emotions as well. Those dangerous feelings were sunk into the well of cold within her.
“Do you want war between our courts?”
“Most days, no.” She took another step to the side, looking at the snow around her feet as if the whole conversation was of little interest to her. For a moment, she thought the ruse would work—on one of them at least. “I just want you to stay away from me.”
Then he slipped close enough that her resolve faltered. “What happened, Don?”