by Melissa Marr
“Will you start the revelry…with me?” he asked. The question had become rote, a ritual that started a night of dance and drink, but the almost imperceptible pause was not routine.
“I can’t promise forever.” She took her king’s hand.
Keenan stood and pulled her into his arms. As they began to move across the ground, soil warm under their feet, he whispered, “You already gave me forever, Aislinn. I’m asking for a chance at right now.”
She shivered in her king’s arms, but she didn’t pull away. And this time, she welcomed it when he brought his lips to hers. Unlike that first time—at the faire that had changed everything—or the other two times he’d stolen kisses, she had no excuses: she was not drunk, angry, or caught off guard. She let herself enjoy the feel of his lips open against hers. It wasn’t the tenderness that she’d shared with Seth. It wasn’t the pressure Keenan had included in his earlier kisses. It was new and bittersweet.
She felt her hope and his joy spread like a tempest through their court. Flowers blossomed everywhere they touched the earth. This was what they’d lacked: the promise of happiness. It can be enough. It has to be. Then, the world spun away, or maybe they were the ones spinning. She wasn’t sure. Summer Girls twirled by, blurs of vibrant green against shades of copper and mahogany skin as their flowering vines slithered over their barely clad bodies, and for an unexpected moment, Aislinn didn’t like how close they were to Keenan.
I have no right.
He pulled back only for a breath and whispered, “Tell me when to let go.”
“Don’t let me fall.” She held tighter. “Save me.”
“You’ve never needed saving, Aislinn.” Keenan, her friend, her king, held on to her as the Summer Court danced dizzily around them, like spirals radiating out from their combined sunlight. “You still don’t.”
“It feels like I do.” She felt tears slipping down her cheeks; as they moved in ever-faster turns, she saw the violets spring from the soil where those tears splashed to the ground. “I feel like…I feel like I’m missing a part of me.”
“Would you feel that way if…” His words faded away.
“If it were you who left me?” Her voice was as soft as she could make it.
“It was selfish to ask. Forgive—”
“I would,” she whispered. She closed her eyes against the tears—or maybe against the confusing emotions on his face. They matched the tumultuous feelings inside her. Even with her eyes closed, she knew that she was safe as she moved at impossible speeds through the crowd. Keenan had her in his arms, and he wouldn’t let her fall.
If I’d met him before Seth… She hadn’t, though.
Aislinn kept her face against his chest and told him, “I want to be sorry that you’re apart from Donia, but I’m not.”
Keenan didn’t comment on bringing the subject up just then. “I’ve only truly loved a couple of times, Aislinn. I want to try loving you.”
“You shouldn’t lo—” Her words froze on her lips.
“That would be a lie, my Queen.” His voice was gentle, even as he rebuked her. “One hundred eighty days, Aislinn. Seth’s been gone for one hundred eighty days, and I’ve watched you try to pretend it doesn’t hurt for every one of them. Can’t I try to make you happy?”
“For the court.”
“No,” he corrected. “For you and for me. I miss your smiles. I waited for centuries to find my queen. Can we try this? Now that he’s…”
“…left me,” she finished. She caught his gaze, let herself forget that there was anyone else around, and stood still. The faeries spun around them. It was just them in the center of a maelstrom. “Yes. Make me forget everything but right now. That’s what the Summer Court is—not logic, not addiction, not war, not calm or cold. Make me warm. Make me not think. Make me anything but this.”
He didn’t answer; he just kissed her again. It was still like swallowing sunshine, and she didn’t resist. Her own skin began to glow until any faeries not of their court would’ve had to turn their faces away.
There was earth under their feet, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything but sunlight chasing away everything that hurt inside of her. They moved through the park, flowers blossoming at their feet. She could taste the sunlight like warm honey on Keenan’s lips.
Like every other revelry, she felt drunk on the dance and night. This time though, when morning came, her feet weren’t touching the ground. She was in Keenan’s arms, carried from the park and from their court to the side of the river where they’d been after the first faire. There was no picnic, no carefully planned seduction. It was just them along the riverbank.
When they had their monthly revels, they weren’t sensible, but they also weren’t vulnerable. Even War herself wouldn’t cross them tonight.
Aislinn stayed in his arms when he sat down alongside the river. The cool water rolled over her feet and calves, like tiny electric pulses on her skin. It balanced the warm earth that they sank into as their combined sunlight turned soil into slick mud. And she shivered—as much from the river’s touch as from Keenan’s.
Some stray thought whispered that she was on the ground in a formal dress, but she was Summer—frivolity, impulsivity, warmth. It’s what I am. With him now.
“Tell me when to let go,” Keenan reminded her again.
“Don’t let go,” Aislinn insisted. “Talk to me. Tell me what you feel. Tell me everything you don’t want to admit.”
He grinned. “No.”
“Treat me like a faery queen then.”
“How so?”
She sat up and knelt beside him.
He stayed where he was, resting on the muddy bank, watching her.
Aislinn thought about the day they stood in the street and he’d let sunlight fall onto her like raindrops. Like so many other things since becoming Summer Queen, she understood now how to do that, but she’d not been able to experiment before. “Like this.”
Every pleasure under the sun was hidden in the droplets of sunlight that fell from her skin to his. Faery magic was what she wanted to share with him. It was what she was now, and she didn’t have to worry that she would hurt him as she would a mortal.
If Seth weren’t human…
But if he hadn’t been human, she’d never have had his friendship or love. If she’d still been human, she wouldn’t have lost it either. But Keenan wasn’t human, and neither was she.
Not now, not ever again.
She caught Keenan’s gaze and gave him the words he’d given her: “I want to try loving you. Make me love you, Keenan. You’ve convinced so many others. Convince me. Seduce me so I don’t have to hurt anymore.”
She leaned toward him, but Keenan stopped her. He shook his head.
“This”—he gestured between them—“isn’t love. It’s something else.”
“So…”
“Slower. Falling into bed…or riverbanks…isn’t going to make you love me.” Keenan stood up and held out a hand. “You’re my queen. I’ve waited nine centuries to find you and almost a year more to reach this moment. I can wait a bit longer for the rest.”
“But…”
He leaned in and kissed her softly. “If you’re finally going to try to let yourself love me, we’re going to date.”
“We sort of have been.”
“No.” He caught her hands and pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been trying very hard not to date. Let me show you our world. Let me take you to dinner and whisper temptations. Let me take you to ridiculous carnival rides and symphonies and dances in the rain. I want you to laugh and smile and trust me first. I want it to be real love if you are in my bed.”
She paused. Sex seemed far easier than dating. They were friends; they had a spark. Sex isn’t love, though. Keenan wanted a real chance. That meant something more than sharing her body.
“My solution was easier,” she muttered, “and quicker.”
He laughed. “After nine centuries, I was willing to accept whateve
r terms you set, but if we’re going to try being together, I don’t want any doubts. If you don’t love me but still want to be…with me, I’ll settle for that, but I want a chance to have it all.”
“And if Seth…”
“Comes home?” Keenan pulled her closer and kissed her until the glow of sunlight shining from both of their bodies was blinding.
Then he promised, “That’s up to you. It always has been, hasn’t it?”
Chapter 31
Sorcha didn’t weep when she came to see him that last morning. Sorcha looked at the paintings he’d done for her, and she looked at him.
“They aren’t good enough,” Seth said. “None of them are, not really.”
“Would that I could lie to you,” she murmured. “But they are wrought of passion. I’d be selfish if I refused to let you leave.”
She walked around the room examining canvases she’d seen already.
“They aren’t good enough, but this is.” He opened his hand, and there in the center of his palm was a perfectly rendered cluster of silver jasmine blossoms. It was far more delicate than his other metalwork.
Sorcha’s eyes teared up. She stroked a fingertip over the silver petals. “It is. It’s exquisite.”
“I didn’t want to give you what you expected”—he pinned it to her dress with a shaking hand—“so I worked on it when you weren’t here.”
She laughed, and since there were no witnesses to her foolishness, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. She’d seen so many mothers do that, but the simple gesture had never quite made sense to her. Objectively, she’d understood—maternal affection was a biological imperative. It caused the mother to feel tenderness toward her progeny, keeping the smaller, precious creature safe. It was all very reasonable, but as she pressed her lips to her son’s cheek, she wasn’t feeling logical. It didn’t feel reasonable. It was impulsive. It was something she wanted to tell him but found that she didn’t have words for.
“It’s perfect.” She glanced down at the pin, and while the impulsiveness was riding her, she blurted out, “I don’t want you to leave. What if they harm you? What if you need me? What if—”
“Mother.” He smiled, peaceful and so very beautiful to her. “I’ll be a faery. Under the Dark Court’s protection, beloved by the Summer Queen, made strong by your gift. I’ll be safe.”
“But Bananach…and Winter…and…” She actually felt her heart beating uncomfortably fast. She’d known she’d feel something when he left, but this degree of worry and sadness was unexpected. “You could stay. We’ll send Devlin to fetch your Summer Queen to us and—”
“No. I’m not going to ask her to abandon her court for me.” He led her to the seat that looked out into the garden where they’d walked. She sat down, and he sat on the floor beside her feet.
“I need to go. I want to go. It’ll feel like a breath, and I’ll be back…home,” he assured her.
“I think I might hate your other queen right now.” She scowled.
Actual tears were building in her eyes. It was a simple physiological reaction; logic explained it away. The tears still fell.
“And I’m afraid. If my sister hurts you, I’ll…” She took a steadying breath. “Bananach is not to be trusted, Seth. Not ever. Never go with her anywhere again. Promise me you’ll stay away from her. She has only one goal—violence.”
“So why did she bring me to you?”
Sorcha shook her head. “In order to provoke someone. In order to get me to make a choice that would allow her to lay blame at my feet. I don’t truly know. I’ve spent eternity trying to guess her next move. It’s always about machinations for another war. I am left trying to make the right choices.”
“Did you make the right choice this time?”
“Yes.” She stroked his face. “Whatever happens next, this was the right choice.”
“Even if war comes…”
“The alternative was your death.” She swallowed a sob at the thought. “When you left with her there were two paths you could’ve ended up on—this one or left dead for your Summer Queen to find. Either Niall’s court or mine would have been thought responsible. Perhaps Winter. War would have had her wish.”
It felt strange to talk of such things to anyone other than Devlin, but her son would have a voice in her court when he was ready. He could be fully faery if she wanted it so, but that would free him to leave her. Their bargain made him need to stay with her. If he was fully faery, would he remain over there? That wasn’t something they needed to discuss. He wouldn’t ever be High King: she was eternal, the Unchanging Queen. He would, however, be an influence, a voice, a power. He would stand equal to Devlin. Sorcha wondered how well both her son and her brother would accept that.
Seth didn’t speak; he merely waited, patient as befit her son.
“If I keep you here, the likelihood of war is still strong. Sooner or later, Keenan would be unable to hide where you were. Aislinn would try to bend my will to her wishes. She is not strong enough to do that, and I would not”—Sorcha paused, weighing the words carefully—“react well. If your beloved came seeking retribution, I’d nullify the threat.”
“You’d kill her.”
“If discussion wasn’t effective, yes. I’ll eliminate anyone who threatens what I love. Or who I love. If Aislinn came against my court, I’d have to stop her…although I’d regret that you’d mourn.” She wondered, briefly, if this mortal change inside her would be for the betterment of her court or not. She felt emotions driving her actions; she felt tenderness for her son that was tinged with loss and fear. Such untidiness was not of the High Court. Will it change my court? It didn’t matter. She might have changed, but…the thought was one that had no completion. What does it mean when the Unchanging Queen changes? Sorcha shook her head. Pondering thusly was illogical. What was simply—was. She and her court would adjust. That was logical.
She spoke her next words with a finality that felt like a vow: “I won’t allow Aislinn or Bananach or anyone else to take you from me. I won’t allow them to endanger my court or my son.”
And she knew as she said it that her court would come second to her son should the choice be before her. Somewhere inside she wondered if this was precisely what Bananach had intended, but that too was immaterial. After centuries of small victories back and forth, Sorcha knew enough to realize that every choice would echo through the tapestries of time. Her choices would change her sister’s warmongering; Bananach’s actions would shift to counter those ripples; so it had been for centuries.
“Is it acceptable to say I’ll worry too?” He looked young as he asked her. “I don’t want what you gave me to make you vulnerable. I didn’t think…I want you safe. If Bananach is such a threat, she should be stopped. Some in the other courts are friends to me. If I can keep you safe—”
“Children aren’t to worry about their parents, Seth. I’m fine.” Sorcha affixed her court smile, giving him what reassurances she could offer. “I have been fighting her since I first existed. The only thing new is that I have a child to protect now. You are a gift. She just didn’t realize that when she brought you to me.”
He nodded, but worry was still plain in his eyes.
“Come,” she said. “Let us see what you need to pack.”
Aislinn sat in the study, curled into Keenan’s embrace with a discomfort she couldn’t quite erase. Tavish had given them approving glances as he’d shooed the Summer Girls away. The loft was peaceful, and she knew that her decisiveness was responsible for it. She dared a glance at him. This was it: her future. One way or another, they were bound together.
“…after lunch?”
“What?” She blushed.
He laughed. “Would you like to do something after lunch? A walk? A film? Shopping?”
“Yes?”
The look he gave her was new, or maybe just the openness of it was new. “Formal? Dine in? Picnic? Go to New York for pizza?” he added.
She scowled. “Now you’re
just being foolish.”
“Why?” He moved around so he was facing her. “You’re a faery queen, Aislinn. The world is yours. A few moments and we’d be there. I’m not a mortal. Neither are you.”
She paused. The words she wanted to say weren’t there. There were no reasons not to. I am not a mortal. She took a deep breath. “Can you figure out this dating thing? I’ve dated one person and…”
He brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “Be ready in an hour?”
She nodded, and Keenan left.
I can do this. The step from friendship to love isn’t that far. It hadn’t been with Seth. She forced thoughts of him away. He was gone, and she was moving on with her life.
Chapter 32
As Seth stepped through the moonlit veil, the world around him changed. It wasn’t as simple as going from the peace and perfection of his mother’s side to the harsh and jarring mortal world. In that single step, he was changed. The bargain he’d made was manifest. Seth was not mortal on this side of the veil: he was fey.
The world shifted under his feet. He felt it, the thrum of life that burrowed and nested in the soil. Wings from a far-off egret sent gusts of air that swirled into the currents in the sky.
Sorcha took his hand in hers. “It’s strange at first. I’ve watched the mortals in the Summer Court change. Let the difference find its place inside you.”
He couldn’t speak. His senses—and not just the same five he’d had before—were flooded. As a mortal, his understanding of the world was restricted to a basic comprehension. Now, he knew things that had no physical sensory source. He could feel what was in order. He could feel the rightness of what was and what should be.
“Do they—we—all feel like this?” His words felt too melodic, like his voice was reflected back through some filter that was softening sound.
She paused, her hand still holding his. “No. Not so fully, but they aren’t my children. You’re the only one who is that.”