“Anything with mango,” Erik told the girl.
“We have a Mango Magic with açai and extra boosters,” she started. “There’s also the Fruit Fix with—”
“I trust your choice,” Erik interrupted. He offered the girl a smile that made her all but sigh.
Will was amused. He’d watched Zephyr and Creed both do the same thing for years. They exuded charm to get their way too.
Once the waitress was gone, Erik looked at him and asked, “What?”
“You are more like Creed and Zephyr than I realized.” Will glanced at the counter where the waitress was still smiling. “You are all human, but”—he shrugged—“you have charm.”
Erik gave him a disdainful look. “Charm isn’t non-human.”
“Historically, as far as I understand it at least, the very word comes from non-human sources. It’s sort of euphemistically connected to certain affinities, in particular persuasion and truth-evocation.” Will sipped his drink, expecting Erik to interrupt him. When he didn’t, Will was pleasantly surprised. “There are other words that derive from similar sources.”
“Lily must be fond of you,” Erik said musingly. “She doesn’t seem the sort to fall for someone like the rock singer. You, on the other hand—”
“I’m gay,” Will interrupted.
“Ah.” Erik nodded. “Well, I guess she had to settle for the singer then.”
Will laughed, as much from relief as in response to Erik’s words. The thought of anyone finding Creed someone to “settle for” was oddly funny. He was splashed all over magazines and was quite the sensation on stage. Will was . . . just Will. He’d spent his life muting everything about himself. He’d been hiding in so many ways.
That was the main reason he’d pondered the possibility of a life in the Hidden Lands. This world, while not as rife with prejudice as it had been throughout more recent history, held enough pockets of hostility that he could understand his mother’s concerns. More to the point, the same people who were homophobic were also, more often than not, racists. Being fae-blood and gay would make him a giant target. He knew that.
The waitress had returned and dropped off Erik’s drink. “I made a Mango Magic, but with a little extra zest,” she announced. “You let me know if you need anything else. I’m Liz, by the way.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Erik gave her a slightly less than simmering smile that had her beaming at him before she left.
“Violet isn’t going to put up with you flirting all the time. You know that, right?” Will watched Erik until he was sure he had the other boy’s attention. “Also I’d threaten you, but I assume you already understand that we’d all kill for her.”
Erik pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table. “Reasonable.”
Will tucked it into his book.
For a moment, they were quiet. There was a familiarity to it that made Will wonder how many other humans he could’ve found comfortable if he’d truly talked to them. He’d certainly never bothered to really get to know any of the assorted people that Creed or Violet had dated. It occurred to him that in that way, he was as prejudiced as some others.
Will looked directly at Erik. “I shouldn’t judge you for being what you are. I’m sorry.”
“A criminal?”
“Human,” Will clarified in a low voice.
Erik laughed. “How about you help me figure out how to romance Miss Lamb, and we’ll call it even?”
This time, it was Will who laughed. “We’ll see.”
“I’m staying downtown.” Erik glanced at the book. “You have my new contact information.”
Will stood, took his book in hand, and left.
There was something comforting in the walk back to campus. If his mother knew how often he’d taken that walk, she’d have fits. Luckily, he wasn’t hounded by photographers, so there was little chance of her knowing that he was accustomed to being on his own and outside the safety of campus.
Since he had privacy to do so, he opened the envelope from Erik. Inside were pictures of several of the scenes of attacks. Fire seemed to be the dominant method, as it had been at the Row House. There were police reports, coroner’s reports, and then a scrawled note—presumably from Erik—that simply said, “No suspects. More than one attacker, though, since the timeline and distance makes one person unlikely.”
Will saw the logic in that theory, but if the fae-blood knew how to access the Hidden Lands, he could conceivably enter and exit in different places. That, of course, would mean he had a fae accomplice. Maybe Princess Eilidh would have a theory as to whom. Once Will had shared what he learned with Roan, they’d decide whether to tell the princess first or share with Lily first.
When Will reached campus, he walked through the main building with the sort of ease that a lot of the students had.
“Mr. Parrish,” one of the secretaries said, stopping him. It wasn’t a rebuke though. She smiled. “How is the senator? Her interview last month about the new Clean Water Act was wonderful.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her.” Will flashed his political smile. The truth was that he was proud of his mother’s work, and he was quite aware that her eco-platform was because of him. That was the part that the diamonds didn’t get: his mother cared about the same things they did. She simply tackled it differently.
“You might mention to your friends that they ought to consider going to a few more of their classes,” the secretary said. “Exams tend to be easier if one learns the material first.”
Will nodded. He couldn’t tell her that they would likely all be gone from the school soon, either in hiding or in the Hidden Lands. He wasn’t optimistic that the pending declaration of peace would go well. All he said was, “I’ll pass on the reminder.”
That was enough though. At St. Columba’s there was a tradition of looking the other way—unless one’s parents paid for strict security. His mother didn’t. Senator Parrish was very much a by-the-rules person. Aside from the one exceptionally massive rule she’d broken, having a child with a full-blooded fae, Will’s mother’s record was without the slightest smudge. That smudge, of course, was why he was entangled in guerrilla warfare. His mother had wanted a child—had wanted him—no matter who he was. It was hard to be angry for acts done in love, but sometimes Will still was.
For now, though, he needed to figure out what to do with the information Erik had delivered—and to whom to deliver it.
nineteen
EILIDH
When morning came, Eilidh was almost startled to find Torquil still injured. The transition to the waking world was never easy. She frequently hated leaving their shared dreams behind. They were incredibly real, but they were still burned away by the daylight.
This world carried the parts that were harder to face, injuries and secrets and fears.
“I forget sometimes,” she said, staring at his bandages.
“Forget?”
“That the dreams aren’t the real world.” She carefully touched his chest, aware that here they were always being watched.
“They’re real, Eilidh, just not as complete as this world.” He laced his fingers with hers and lifted her hand so he could kiss her knuckles. “I know your body here because I’ve touched you there. That’s real.”
“But . . . yours is injured here.”
Torquil’s smile was wicked. “Not so injured that I wouldn’t take the same liberties here that I do when we sleep. If it wouldn’t injure you, I would—”
“Hush!” Eilidh looked toward the window where she could see the already-watching fae. They couldn’t hear her, but that didn’t matter. She felt self-conscious speaking so when there were witnesses.
Torquil sighed. “I suppose I’m still banned from exercise?”
Tentatively she offered, “We could spar in dreams. . . .”
Her betrothed smiled again. “Then I should come watch what you are like with Rhys. I’ve seen you spar, but not often with him. He’s a harsh fighter . . . unless he’ll g
o easier on you.”
“He’d better not.” Eilidh scowled at the mere thought of being coddled, but then she realized that Torquil was teasing her. Rhys would consider it a waste of training if he didn’t push her, and it would put her at a disadvantage when she fought an opponent intent on her injury.
She helped Torquil as much as his pride and their audience could permit, and in not too long they were in the courtyard where Rhys was fighting three fae fighters, one of whom was Seelie-born. The others were both Unseelie-born. Her brother was something beyond beautiful when he lost himself in the clash of steel. She’d seen human theater where the art of the blade was portrayed as if it were a crude hacking and slashing. In truth, it was akin to a dance—one that could end with bleeding, but if both parties were well matched it was more of an exercise than conflict.
There were occasions in which dancers and acrobats entertained the regents. It had always seemed as much a combat as an art. So too did Rhys’ bouts seem as much an art as combat. There was something elegant and conversational to fighting, and something of the fight in the way the dancers or acrobats moved. She wanted to reach a point where she could fight with Torquil. Now that he shared her bed in their dreams, she thought they might be better matched with weapons too.
Torquil found a comfortable spot from which to watch her. The area where Rhys preferred to practice had no shortage of seats. Fae born of both courts regularly watched him fight. He might not be a future king, but Rhys was the queen’s son, often considered second only to her in skill, and thought quite beautiful by many fae. He acted as if he didn’t notice his constant audience, but now that she’d seen him relaxed, Eilidh knew better. Rhys was always aware of how he was presenting himself. He didn’t have a glass tower as his home, but he was as on display as she was.
At the sight of her, Rhys dispatched his three dueling opponents within moments. He moved with speed akin to the great sharks that cut through the sea, but somehow with less aggression, despite the sharp-edged blade that clanged and slid time and again as it was used to beat back three attackers at once. He was barely visible at the speed he twisted and moved.
When all three defenders stood down, her brother dipped his head to them respectfully. It was the sort of courtly behavior that set him apart from her Seelie brothers. All three of the princes were of equal rank, but it was the Unseelie prince who was most courteous. Nacton and Calder, on the other hand, were known to stride away from a victory, as if winning were their birthright.
Of late, they weren’t trained as stringently. The unification of the courts and the retreat from humanity meant that most of the fae had no need to draw a weapon. Eilidh, however, was raised not to forget the tenuousness of their safety or the need to defend it. She would be prepared.
“Brother,” she said softly as she lifted the blunt longsword that she’d use for practice.
“Sister,” he greeted, turning his back to the three fae he’d just defeated. Doing so was a testament to his regard for her. He was stating that he knew that she was watching his back. It was one of the many ways that he silently told anyone who saw them that he trusted her.
And Eilidh desperately wanted to be worthy of that level of respect.
Rhys set aside his sharp sword. He typically practiced with the same weapon he’d use to dispatch a threat, but he’d agreed to spar with her only if he didn’t use sharps of any weapon. It was the one concession she’d had to make. Training with the second highest ranked fighter in the Hidden Lands was worth it.
Training with her eldest brother was even more worth it.
Silently, he took up the sword he used with her and waited for her approach. Unlike when he fought with their mother, Rhys believed in civility when he and Eilidh crossed blades.
She bowed and then lifted her sword into a high guard position and shifted through several other positions as if in a drill.
For a sliver of a moment, Rhys smiled at her, but then he moved to attack. “Never allow yourself to be on the defensive,” he reminded her.
“Know your opponent,” she countered as she parried his attack.
If she went on the offensive first, he tended to work her through every guard almost reflexively, as if assuring himself that she knew them all before he was willing to attack. He had more of a likelihood of relaxing out of his purely teaching attitude toward her if she could remind him she was safe to genuinely attack.
He smiled for real as he attacked again and then said, “So you remembered to study the enemy’s habits.”
“Never my enemy.”
They continued sparring for almost half an hour before their peaceful combat was interrupted by a true enemy—the former Seelie heir, Nacton. He strode into the courtyard with his sword unsheathed and upraised. “Which of you did it?”
Torquil pushed to his feet and started toward them, but Eilidh darted forward to prevent him from reaching Nacton. She didn’t need the clarification of words to know what had angered him so severely.
Neither did Rhys.
Her rightful punishment of Calder had been exposed.
The Unseelie prince looked at her, silently asking for her decision. He lowered his arm so his sword hung at his side. He’d take this fight if she wanted. Whether or not she was the heir, Rhys was at her disposal, still.
“Did what?” she prompted, wanting to hear the words said.
“Tortured my brother,” Nacton said.
“There’s no way that anyone here—”
“I did,” Eilidh said firmly, cutting off Torquil’s words. She met Nacton’s gaze. “I broke no law. I held him three days, no longer, and I’ve left no debilitating injury. He’ll recover.”
“Scarred.”
Eilidh shrugged. “So be it. He left a scar on my betrothed. He nearly killed what is mine, the fae who will one day make me a mother.”
Laughter greeted her words. “You don’t truly expect that you’ll be allowed to breed. The mongrel might be their new heir, but you—”
“Mind your words about LilyDark.” Rhys stepped forward, no longer simply holding a blunt sword. “To defame the heir is treasonous.”
“You tortured your brother?” Torquil asked quietly from behind her.
Eilidh turned to face him. Typically, she wouldn’t turn her back to Nacton, but Rhys was there. She was safe.
“I took the blood rights owed to me,” she said as calmly as she could in the face of the disappointment in his eyes. “The land supported my rights. Soil held him, and sea removed him when I was done. There was no doubt of my right to vengeance.”
For the space of several heartbeats, Torquil merely stared at her, and then he said, “Sometimes I forget that you are her daughter.”
And then he limped away, not toward the tower where he had been staying with her, but in the opposite direction. It hurt like a fist to the face when he left her there, and for a blink, she felt her knees tremble. Had he gone for good? Had he finally seen her ugliness and left her? These were the fears that woke her far too often. There weren’t words she knew to ask, not in any way that was true enough, so she watched him leave and clamped down on the cries that wanted to rise.
Schooling her emotions so she seemed in control, Eilidh turned back to Nacton. “Calder will recover. If you have issue with the actions I took, take it to the regents. Our father or the qu—”
“I have no need of her aid,” Nacton interrupted.
Rhys neither spoke nor moved.
“The king will hear about what you’ve done,” Nacton said before he, too, turned and left.
“I didn’t hide it,” Eilidh said in a soft but mostly steady voice.
As they watched him go, Rhys’ hand came down gently on her shoulder. For him it was a very obvious sign of affection. “Not that I take death lightly, sister, but in this case it might’ve been wiser not to leave Calder alive.”
“I did as needed done. No more. No less.” She’d known that there would be repercussions, but there would’ve been other conseque
nces of failing to act too. Weakness made one prey. Eilidh couldn’t allow that. Her family was complicated. All of them were able to fight—including Lily and Zephyr—but they all deserved her support. If she’d let Calder and Nacton’s actions go unanswered, they would think her too weak to be intimidating.
And under it all was the undeniable truth that because she was no longer the heir, she was no longer protected.
There had been too many reasons to strike Calder, and too few to spare him. More to the point of it all, Eilidh was doing what she must for those she protected and for herself. The Queen of Blood and Rage had taught her well.
twenty
LILYDARK
Lily kept her eyes closed even though she was awake. These few silent moments in the morning were hers. She wasn’t Nicolas Abernathy’s daughter or the Unseelie Queen’s granddaughter or even one of the Black Diamonds. She was just a girl . . . who was snuggled up to a rock star. That thought made Lily fight back a laugh.
For some people, the thought that her roommate was poisoned or a club had burned around her would be shocking. Lily was used to violence. Truth be told, having a boy sleeping next to her was far more intimidating than her recent brushes with death.
That was the way for all people to some degree though. What any one person thought of as “normal” was someone else’s strange. Every truth was relative, which was a fact that anyone with fae blood had to accept. The fae inability to lie easily—or in some cases, at all—meant that having any fae blood tied one intrinsically to the concept of “truth.” It was far muddier than most people realized.
For instance, Alkamy wasn’t angry about her near-death experience. She was simply healing from the poison in the place she felt safest—Zephyr’s suite. The fact that she’d been poisoned at all made Lily feel guilty, but as she replayed the scene in her head, she realized that short of reading the letter before unwrapping the sword, there was nothing either of them could’ve done differently. Lily wasn’t accustomed to poisoned gifts. There was no reason to expect such a thing. She’d opened her package, and Alkamy had touched the sword. That was all it took for potential disaster to hit.