“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?”
“I made a choice.”
“To challenge me? To prove your court is stronger? What?”
Ice extended from her fingers. He glanced at them—and exhaled. It melted.
He took her hand in his. “You stabbed Ash. What am I to do about that?”
“What do you want to do?” She curled her hand around his, holding on to him as tightly as she dared.
“Forgive you. Strike you. Beg you not to do this.” His smile was sad. “My court…my queen…they are almost everything to me.”
“Tell me you don’t love her.”
“I don’t love Aislinn. I—”
“Tell me you won’t try to convince her to share your bed.”
“I can’t say that, and you know it.” With his free hand, Keenan absently reached out to the tree behind her and ran a hand over it. Tiny buds appeared under the ice. “One day, when Seth is gone—”
“Then you need to stay away from me.” Donia could barely see him through the snow that was falling around her. “I don’t regret stabbing her. If your court continues to disregard my dominion, she will only be the first of many I’ll strike. Most of them aren’t strong enough to survive that.”
“I’ll try to convince her one day…but ‘one day’ is not right now.” He eased even closer to her, mindless of the snowfall, melting the flakes and nearly blinding her with the sunlight that shined from his skin. The soil at her feet had become swampy as the heat from his body melted the thick crust of ice. It refroze under her feet, but in that moment it was the Summer King who was stronger. His rage gave him an edge over her. “Listen to me for a minute. You’re the only one I’ve ever cared for like this. I dream of you when I’m not with you. I wake with your name on my lips. I don’t need to stay away. She wants him, and I want you. When she told me that you stabbed her, it broke something in me. I don’t ever want to be at war with you. The idea of striking you terrifies me.”
Donia stood motionless. The tree bark pressed into her skin. Keenan’s hand was gripped in hers.
“But if you touch my queen again, I’ll set that all aside. It’ll kill me inside, but she’s mine to keep safe. Don’t make us have to go there.” He pulled his hand from hers and ran his fingers through her hair, and just as quickly as his temper had flared, it faded. He cupped her face. “Please?”
“It’s not just about her. You insult my sovereignty whenever you march in here making demands. No one does that. No other ruler. Not a one of the strong solitaries.” She put her hands on his chest and let the ice in her hands extend just far enough to break his skin. “You have used up every mercy I had.”
He leaned closer, and she couldn’t stop the instinct to retract the ice before it seriously wounded him. He smiled as she did so and said, “After all we’ve overcome to get this close, are you giving up on us now?”
She brushed her lips over his, briefly enough that it couldn’t really be called a kiss. Then she exhaled until ice clung to his face and clothes. She couldn’t stab him, not yet at least, but she could strike him.
“I love you, Don,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you years ago.”
Hearing it finally was a bittersweet thing, but that’s what it was to love him—painful and beautiful all at once. It had always been that way. Her heart sped and felt like it would break at the same time. She sighed and gave him the words back: “I love you too…. That’s why we need these things resolved. I’ll slaughter your court if we keep going this way.”
He grinned. “Don’t bank on that.”
Then he kissed her, not just a brush of lips as she’d done, but a kiss that scalded her tongue. The tree burst into full bloom. The garden flooded around her. A riot of flowers shot out of the earth.
She was mud-covered as he pulled back.
“I’ve had centuries to fight Winter with next to no power. I’m unbound now with all of that experience. If we are to be at odds, you might want to remember that.” He held her as close as he had during the few nights they’d had together. It was controlled, a show of power; none of his heat touched her. “But I don’t want to be at odds. As long as he’s in her life, I’ll stop. I tried. I had to. It’s what’s best for the court—but she’s not mine to have yet.”
Her breath and his mingled into a hiss of steam. “I don’t want only part of you during the few years I have you.”
He tucked an orchid in her hair. It shouldn’t thrive here, but it did. “I’m not giving up on us or on peace between our courts. I love you. I’m done pushing Aislinn. The strength of Summer’s made me stupid. She wants to be with Seth, and as long as she is, I can have more time with you. I’d have forever with you if it we
re my choice.” He kissed her gently. “I don’t love her. She and I talked already.”
Donia looked away. “I pushed her toward you. I just made a mistake when I let myself think that you’d be mine for a few years…she’s your match. I’m not.”
“Maybe someday, but right now…I was carried away by the first summer. It’s a heady thing, but I can redirect that energy. Let me have the dream of us for as long as we can. That’s what the court needs—a happy king, a king who can’t stop dreaming of being lost in someone who wants to be just as lost. Tell me you’ll let me get lost in you.”
She gave in. I always do.
“I will.” She pulled him closer. They were mud-caked and as tangled up as they could be without hurting each other. “But that means that until he’s gone, you’re mine only. I don’t want to see you here with her.”
“Or meddling in your court. I know. Your court, your rules. No meddling or manipulation.” He gave a wry grin at the surprised expression she wore. “I was listening, Don. I’ll apologize to Evan, follow your rules—and you’ll stop stabbing members of my court?”
She smiled. “For now.”
“I’ll settle for it,” he whispered against her lips. “For now.”
“Even if you are mine, even if this thing with Ash is not between us, I still need you to understand that I am not your subject. You cannot try to influence my court.” She needed that made clear. It wasn’t simply his relationship with his queen that was the problem. There were two issues before them.
“I loved you when you were a mortal. I loved you when you were the Winter Girl who existed to oppose me, telling tales of how awful it was to trust me.” He sprinkled kisses over her throat and collarbone between words. “I’m not here now because you are the Winter Queen, but despite that, I’ll do my best. And when I slip…”
“I won’t show you any mercy just because I love you.” She meant it and was grateful that faeries couldn’t lie because for the first time in longer than she wanted to recall, they were being completely open with each other. “But I will try to keep my heartbreak from making me vengeful when Seth dies and you—”
He stopped her with a kiss, and then whispered, “Can we not talk about the end of us? We’re at the beginning today. I’m yours. Wholly without reservation. I won’t try to interfere with your court. Can you kiss me now?”
She smiled. “I can do that.”
It wasn’t like any other kiss they’d shared. It wasn’t about trying to consume each other, or comfort, or tinged with sorrow. It was slow and careful—and over far too soon.
He leaned against the tree and stared at her with the love she’d dreamed of forever written plainly on his face. “In a few months, I’ll be able to spend several days in your arms, but right now”—he carefully stepped farther away—“I’ve reached the edge of my self-control…which I’m admitting. You see? We can do this. We can be together.”
“On Solstice”—she let a tiny shower of snow fall over them—“there won’t be any stepping away.”
“Solstice can’t come soon enough.” He darted forward and kissed a snowflake from her lips, and then he was gone.
He’s a fool. She smiled to herself. He’s my fool, though. For now. Eventually, he’d be in Aislinn’s arms—that, Donia was near certain of. When Seth was gone, Donia would need to let go of Keenan. It might mean moving away from Huntsdale for a few decades when that happened, but until then, she had reason to hope.
Maybe Bananach’s visions of war were wrong. She and Keenan had only needed to move forward. War’s visions—like Sorcha’s reputed far-seeing—were about probabilities, not certainties.
And those probabilities just changed.
CHAPTER 17
Aislinn woke by midday. She was alone in Keenan’s room. Her clothes were laid out on an ottoman that someone had brought to sit beside the bed. A tray with breakfast foods sat on the bedside table. Before she dealt with food or dressing, though, she called Seth—twice—but he didn’t pick up.
She called Keenan.
“How are you?” were his first words. He sounded calm, friendly, like nothing had happened.
She sighed in relief. “Better. I’m better.”
“There’s food”—his voice was tentative then—“beside the bed. I had them bring new trays every half hour so it’d be warm for you.”
“I could warm it. Sunlight, remember?” She felt relieved that they were able to talk, that they could feel comfortable with each other. “Where are you?”
“The orchards outside the city. It’s beautiful here. They’re healthy now.”
“So you’re there because…?”
“I just wanted to give them a little extra attention. Check on them.” Warm currents thrummed in his voice. He rarely sounded so at peace.
The depth of his joy at seeing the earth thrive again wasn’t something she could quite reach, but she shared it to a lesser degree. She’d known less than two decades of bitter cold; he’d known centuries of it—and had felt responsible for not being able to end it. The truth of that was epiphanic. “That’s where you go when I’m in school, isn’t it?”
“To the orchard? Not always.” His tone grew evasive.
“But other places like it.” She uncovered her plate. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t steaming hot either. She let a little heat into her fingertips and warmed the plate and its contents.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She took a bite of the omelet—spinach, cheese, and tomato—one of her favorites.
“It’s something I’d rather do on my own. I didn’t want to offend you by telling you that you weren’t welcome.”
She paused, unable to say she wasn’t a little hurt. “Why?”
He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his voice was hesitant. “When I was bound, I used to see these places, the struggling trees and fields fighting to produce food for the mortals and the animals. I’d try. Little trickles of sunlight. That was all I had. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I have more now.”
“I could help someday.”
“Maybe. Right now, I don’t…it’s private. I’ve only ever shared it with one person.”
“Donia.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “She was mortal the first time. Afterward, I took her to some of the places over the years when I needed to talk to her, but I didn’t tell her why I went there…. I went to her today. We talked.”
“And?”
“We’re going to sort it all out. We’ll work around the pull between us. It’ll all be manageable. We just can’t let ourselves forget.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Whatever we do, it’s going to be something we both agree on. I held hope that our friendship would grow, that you’d choose to be with me, but…”
She took a deep breath and asked again, “Will you help me find a way to change Seth?”
“No.” Keenan paused. “We’re still learning, Aislinn. The approach of full summer for the first time in either of our lifetimes is intoxicating. It’ll get easier for you and for him.”
“Promise?” She worried her lip.
“And we’ll get stronger.”
“Go tend your orchard. I’m going to go try to reach Seth again.”
“Tell him I’m sorry too…for what it’s worth. I’m done pushing you,” Keenan added. “Summer’s about passion, Aislinn. It’s what we are. Take yours with him, and I’ll enjoy my time with Don.”
After he disconnected, Aislinn smiled. Even with the pressure of summer, they could all find a way to make this work now that she and Keenan were in accord.
Aislinn ate, dressed, and left the loft. She needed to go find Seth so things could get set right, but when she crossed into the park, she stopped in horror.
The Summer Girls were all bleeding or moving with broken limbs. Their own vines choked them. Rowan guards were set afire. Aobheall in her fountain was solidified into a sculpture. Her mouth was open in a soundless shriek. Smoke
lay low in the air, twisting up from the decimated trees and from the bodies of the rowan. Aislinn could taste it. Ashes rained down like gray snow.
One woman, a raven-haired faery, walked through the destruction. A carved bone knife was strapped to her thigh, the white of it standing out starkly against gray camouflage pants. A tattered black cloak, damp with fresh blood, fluttered as she moved. Aislinn was struck by the oddity of a cape over military fatigues until she realized that it wasn’t a cloak at all: the woman had feather-hair that fell down her back and seemed to thicken to form dense wings as Aislinn watched her.
“Pretty pictures all for you,” the faery said. She made a sweeping gesture across the air in front of her. Unfamiliar patterns were painted on her arms with woad, ash, and blood.
Aislinn looked at her faeries. She’d thought she hated them just a few months ago; she still feared them sometimes. It wasn’t hate or fear of them she felt just now though: it was terror and heartbreak.
The faery slid an arm around Aislinn’s waist. “It’s for all of us, really.”
“What have you done?” Aislinn whispered.
Tracey was dancing, but one arm hung at an unnatural angle as if it’d been torn from the socket.
Aislinn shoved the raven-haired faery away. “What have you done to my faeries?”
“Nothing.” She waved her hand again and the park looked as it should: the Summer Girls and the rowan and Aobheall were all fine. A fire burned in the clearing, though, flames wavered in the center of the circle where the Summer Court typically held its revels. It wasn’t a small campfire but a raging blaze.
“Shall I tell you a story, my little queen?” The faery had eyes like Irial and Niall—eternal black—but hers shimmered with a hint of madness. “Shall I tell about what-ifs and what-nows?”
“Who are you?” Aislinn backed away from her as she asked, but she was near certain who she was—Bananach, the essence of war and bloodshed. It couldn’t be anyone else.
“Once upon a time, the world was mine. It was a lovely place. Chaos danced with me, and our children ate the living. Far-Dorcha himself dined at my table.” Bananach squatted down in front of the fire. It was midday, but the sky was dark with ash and smoke.