“Do you have a point, Beira?” He never enjoyed her presence, but she’d threatened Donia—feigning civility was more of a struggle than usual.
“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to visit with you? Chat with you?” Without looking behind her, she held out a hand; a collared wood-sprite slipped an icy drink into her outstretched fingers. “You so rarely visit.”
Keenan reclined on the grass, relishing the strength of the earth’s warmth seeping into his body from the soil. “Perhaps because you’re vicious and cruel?”
She waved her hand as if brushing away his comment. “You say potato; I say potahto….”
“I say integrity; you say deceit.”
“Well, it’s such a subjective idea, integrity.” She sipped her drink. “Can I offer you a refreshment, dear?”
“No.” He ran his fingers over the soil, sending his warmth down to the resting bulbs. Small flower sprouts rushed out toward his touch; delicate shoots poked up between his opened fingers.
“I hear you shared quite a bit of refreshment with the new Summer Girl. Poor dear was dizzy with it.” She tsked at him with a censorious look. “Haven’t I taught you better? Getting the poor lamb intoxicated to convince her to you know.”
“That wasn’t what it was,” he snapped. “Aislinn and I danced and celebrated her new life. It wasn’t a seduction.”
She stepped out from under her awning, sending her guards scurrying to keep it over her as she moved. If they failed, they’d suffer, regardless of whose fault it was.
As the shade blocked his comforting rays, Keenan was torn between waiting and simply setting the awning to flame. He stood to face her.
“Well, if you want my opinion, a mother’s wisdom, I say she’s not worth it.” She glanced at the flowers; they froze in her sight. She stepped forward and—with a grating noise—ground them under her boot. “Poor Deborah shouldn’t have any trouble convincing her to stay away from you. You didn’t ask her to go easy on the mortal, did you?”
“It’s Aislinn’s choice. She’ll either take up the staff or not.” He wanted to tell her that threatening Donia wouldn’t change anything, but he couldn’t. “I spoke to Donia—which you so obviously know—about the Eolas’ announcement.”
“Oh?” She paused, wide-eyed as if she were surprised. “What announcement?”
“That Aislinn is special.”
“Of course she is, sweetling. They’re all special—at least the first few nights. After that, the”—she looked back at a cowering sprite—“novelty just isn’t there, you know?”
He forced a laugh.
“Poor Delilah, I imagine she’s bitter. It wasn’t so long ago that she was the one dancing with you.” Beira swayed as if she were dancing with an invisible partner, looking elegant even though she was alone. “Mortals are such fragile things. Just tender feelings walking around exposed in their delicate shells…Easy to crush.”
His heart sped. The rules prevented her from contacting the mortal girl, and until now Beira’d never broken that rule—to the best of his knowledge—but she was already breaking other rules. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, love.” She stopped and curtsied to him, pulled out a fan, and fluttered it in front of her face, sending cold air toward him. “I’m just wondering if you should pick another girl for the game; let this one join the rest of the other discarded girls. I’ll even go girl-watching with you. We could pick up Delia and make a bonding experience of it.”
He let all the bitterness he felt show in his voice and said, “Well, at the rate Donia’s going, I may need to. Aside from one drunken dance, I’m getting nowhere.”
“There’ll be other girls, darling.” Beira sighed, but her eyes glimmered with a sheen of ice—a sure sign she was pleased.
But they aren’t the Summer Queen, are they?
“Perhaps I just need to try harder,” he said as he sent a hot breath toward Beira’s awning—catching it on fire—then he walked away, leaving her there shrieking at the guards to keep the sunlight away from her.
Someday I’ll truly be able to stand against her.
For now, he took pleasure in the moment.
Keenan wandered the city, up Fifth Avenue away from the river until he got to Edgehill, following it until he reached the seedier shops. The din of the city was a welcome buzz, reminding him of the mortals who thrived where his kind could not.
That’s what this is all about: these mortals and his summer faeries.
“Keenan?” Rianne stepped out of a music store and all but ran into him. She gaped at him. “What’s up with your hair?”
In his distraction, he had been walking around plainly visible, his hair its normal shade, reflective copper.
“Dye.” He smiled at her, lightening his hair until the metallic glimmer was gone.
She reached out and caught a few strands, holding it up to the sunlight, moving it from side to side. “For a minute it almost looked like strips of metal.”
“Hmm.” He pulled back, freeing his hair from her hand. “Have you seen Aislinn today?”
She laughed. “Nope. Thought maybe she was still with you.”
“No.” He looked beyond Rianne, to where several of the Summer Girls were flirting with an off-duty rowan-man. “I escorted her home this morning.”
“Morning, huh?” She shook her head, still smiling. For all of her posturing, she smelled like innocence to him, untouched and sweet. Her words were at complete odds with her attitude. “I knew you were a good bet.”
“We were just dancing.”
“It’s a start, right?” She glanced around, looking down the street and back inside the shop. For a moment her illusory lasciviousness vanished, and her genuine personality slipped through. “Between you and me, Ash could use a bit more fun in her life. She’s too serious. I think you’ll be good for her.”
Keenan paused. He hadn’t thought about that very much; all that mattered was that she was good for him, for the summer fey.
Was he good for her? Between the sacrifices she’d need to make and difficulty of what stood before them if she were the true queen, he wasn’t sure. Probably not. “I’ll try to be, Rianne.”
“You’ve already got her out till dawn dancing: sounds like a good start to me.” Rianne patted him on the arm, consoling him for something she couldn’t begin to grasp. “Don’t worry so much.”
“Right.”
After she walked away, Keenan faded back to his normal state—invisible to mortals—and resumed walking to the loft. If there was ever a time when he needed the wisdom of his advisors, this was it.
Keenan felt the music before he even walked into the loft. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, a false smile on his face.
After only a cursory glance at him, Tavish removed Eliza’s arms from around his neck and went toward the study. “Come.”
At times like these, Keenan felt as if having Tavish’s presence was almost like having a father. The older faery had been the last Summer King’s advisor and friend; he’d been there waiting when Keenan had come of age and left Beira’s household. While Tavish would never presume to act like a father, he was far more than a servant.
Noticing their movement, Niall opened his mouth.
With a brief shake of his head, Keenan said, “No. Stay with the girls.”
“If you need me…”
“I do. Always.” Keenan squeezed Niall’s shoulder. “Right now, I need you to keep everyone out here.”
This wasn’t the place to talk. If word got out that he suspected Beira of trickery or maliciousness, if rumors spread that Aislinn had the Sight, it could go badly for all of them.
As he wound his way through the room—embraced by the Summer Girls who were spinning dizzily with off-shift guards—Keenan kept his face clear of any doubt. No hint of problems. Smile.
By the time he reached Tavish, he was ready to bar the door for the rest of the day. He believed the girls and his guards were trustworthy, but one never knew, no
t really.
Tavish poured a glass of wine. “Here.”
Keenan took the glass and sank onto one of the heavy leather chairs.
After Tavish settled on an opposite chair, he asked, “What happened?”
So Keenan told him—about Aislinn’s Sight, about Beira’s threats, all of it.
Tavish stared into his glass like it was a reflecting mirror. He spun it by the stem. “She may not be the queen, but Beira fears her. To me, that is reason enough to keep hope—more reason than we’ve had ever before.”
Keenan nodded, but did not speak yet. Tavish was rarely direct in his points.
Instead of looking at Keenan, Tavish let his gaze drift around the room, as if he were reading the spines of the books that lined every wall of the study. “I have waited with you, but I’ve never suggested that one of the girls was her. It is not my place.”
“I value your opinion,” Keenan assured him. “Tell me what you think.”
“Do not let Aislinn refuse the challenge. If she is the one, and she does not…” Tavish’s gaze stayed on the heavy books behind Keenan. “She must accept.”
The older faery had been somber so long that his vehemence was disquieting.
Keenan asked, “And if she refuses?”
“She cannot. Make her agree.” Tavish’s eyes were as black as pools in shadowed forests, eerily captivating, when he finally held Keenan’s gaze. “Do whatever you must, even if it is…unpalatable to you or her. If you heed only one word I ever say, my liege, make it this one.”
CHAPTER 20
[They offered] him drink…after, the music ceasing, all the company disappeared, leaving the cup in his hand, and he returned home, though much wearied and fatigued.
—The Fairy Mythology by Thomas Keightley (1870)
When Aislinn woke—the clock’s red numbers proclaiming it past 9:00—the evening’s events came crashing down on her. The weird drinks, dancing, telling Keenan she knew what he was as they watched the sunrise, him kissing her. That was the last thing she remembered. What else happened? How did I get home? When? She bolted out of bed, barely making it to the bathroom before she threw up. Oh my God.
She sat with her face against the cold porcelain until she was sure she could stand without vomiting again. Her whole body trembled, like she had the flu, but it wasn’t the flu making her feel so awful. It was terror. He knows I see them. He knows. They’ll come for me, and Grams…. The thought of her Grams fighting faeries almost made her sick again. I need to get out of here.
After brushing her teeth and washing her face, Aislinn hurriedly slipped on jeans and a shirt, shoved her feet into boots, and grabbed her bag.
Grams was in the kitchen, staring at the coffeepot, a bit less observant before her morning jolt.
Aislinn pointed at her ear.
Grams turned on her hearing aid and asked, “Everything okay?”
“Just running late, Grams. Overslept.” Aislinn gave her a quick hug and turned to leave.
“But breakfast…”
“Sorry. I need to, umm, meet Seth. I thought I told you? We were to have a breakfast thing, date….” She tried to keep her voice steady.
Don’t let her see how worried I am.
Grams was already too fearful after their talk the other night; adding to that would be selfish.
“You know you aren’t fooling me, Aislinn, dodging me so I don’t ask about that issue. We’re going to talk about it.” Grams scowled. “It isn’t any better, is it?”
Aislinn paused. “Just a few more days, Grams. Please?”
For a minute Grams looked like she was going to balk: she pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. Then she sighed. “Not a few days. Tomorrow we’ll talk. You understand?”
“Promise.” Aislinn kissed her good-bye, grateful to put it off even one day more. She wasn’t sure she could handle that conversation, not now.
I need Seth. I didn’t even call him last night.
“I can’t believe I did that.” Aislinn put her head between her knees and concentrated on not vomiting on her feet. “I told him I knew they were faeries.”
Seth sat on the floor beside her feet. He was patting her back, making small soothing circles. “It’s okay. Come on. Breathe. Just breathe.”
“It’s not okay, Seth.” Her voice was muffled by her decidedly uncomfortable posture. She lifted her head enough to scowl at him. “They used to kill people, gouge out their eyes for knowing what they were.”
The nausea rose again. She closed her eyes.
“Shh.” He moved closer, comforting her the way he’d always done when she fell apart. “Come on.”
“What if they blind me? What if…”
“Stop. We’ll figure it out.” He pulled her into his lap, cradling her like a child.
Just like Keenan did last night.
She tried to stand up, feeling guilty, like she’d betrayed Seth even though all she did was dance—she hoped.
What if I, Keenan, we… She started to sob again.
“Shush.” Seth rocked her, murmuring reassuring words.
And she let him—until she started to think about faeries again and dancing with Keenan and kissing him and not knowing what else might have happened.
She pulled away and stood.
Seth stayed on the floor. He propped his head up on one hand, his elbow on the seat of the chair where she’d been sitting.
She ducked her head, unable to look at him. “So what do we do about it?”
He came to stand beside her. “We improvise. He promised you a favor. If the books are right, vows are like laws.”
She nodded.
He stepped in front of her and leaned forward until the longer strands of his hair fell like a web over her face. “The rest we’ll deal with too.”
Then he kissed her—softly, tenderly, lovingly—and said, “We’ll get this figured out. Together. I’m here with you, Ash, even after you tell me what else happened.”
“What do you mean?” Aislinn felt the world swim again.
“You drank something that messed you up, danced until dawn, and woke up in your bed sick.” He cradled her face in his hands. “What else happened?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered.
“Okay, how did you get home?”
“I don’t know.” She remembered the taste of sunshine, the feel of sunbeams falling onto her as she stared up at Keenan’s face, as he leaned toward her. What happened?
“Did you go anywhere else?”
She whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Sleep with him?” He looked straight at her as he asked it, the question she’d been trying—and failing—to answer.
“I don’t know.” She looked away, feeling sicker with the words hanging there like something awful. “I’d know, right? That’s something I’d remember. Right?”
He pulled her into his arms, tucking her under his chin, as if he could keep her safe from all the bad things by keeping her close enough. “I don’t know. Are there any flashes of memories? Anything?”
“I remember dancing, drinking, sitting on some strange chair, and then the carnival was gone. He kissed me.” She shivered again. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He stroked his hand over her hair.
She tried to pull away.
He didn’t force her to stay, but he kept his hands on her arms. He looked so serious, so adamant. “Listen to me. If something happened, it wasn’t your fault. He gave you some drug, some faery booze. You were drunk, high, whatever, and what happened afterward isn’t your fault.”
“I remember laughing, having fun.” She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly so they didn’t shake. “I was having fun, Seth. What if I did do something? What if I said yes?”
“Doesn’t matter. If you’re fucked up, you can’t consent. It’s that simple. He shouldn’t have done anything, Ash. If he did, he’s the one who’s wrong. Not you.” He sounded angry, but he didn’t tell her that he had been
right, that she shouldn’t have gone. He didn’t say anything awful to her. Instead he tucked her hair behind her ear and let his hand rest on her face, gently tilting her head so she looked at him. “And we don’t know that anything did happen.”
“I just wanted the first time to be with someone special, and if I, if we, it’s just wrong.” She felt half foolish for worrying about it—exposed to the wrath of a faery king and she worried about her virginity. He could take her life; he could take her eyes. Her virginity shouldn’t matter so much.
But it does.
She walked away, going over to curl up in the comfort of Seth’s sofa. “I’m sorry. You were right, and I—”
He interrupted, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. You’re not wrong. I’m not upset with you. It’s him—” He stopped. He didn’t move, just stood there in the middle of the room, watching her. “You’re what matters.”
“Hold me? If you still want to, I mean.” She looked away.
“Every day”—then he was there, lifting her into his arms, holding her like she was fragile and precious—“I want to hold you every day. Nothing will ever change that.”
CHAPTER 21
The Fairy then dropped three drops of a precious liquid on her companion’s left eyelid, and she beheld a most delicious country…. From this time she possessed the faculty of discerning the Fairy people as they went about invisibly.
—The Fairy Mythology by Thomas Keightley (1870)
Donia walked past the faeries outside Seth’s home—a few familiar guards, the demi-succubus Cerise, and several Summer Girls. Without Keenan beside her, none of them smiled. They still bowed their heads, but there was no affection in their respect. To them she was the enemy—never mind that she’d risked everything for him, everything the girls hadn’t been willing to risk. They conveniently forgot that.
At the door she braced herself for the inevitable weakness that such awful walls would bring about. She knocked. Pain seared her knuckles.
She didn’t react when Aislinn opened the door, but it took effort. From the hollow look on her face, Donia was sure that her memories of the faire were far less clear than Keenan’s. All he’d admitted was that he’d let her drink far too much summer wine, caught up in the moment, the revelry, the dancing. It was his way: too easy to rejoice, to believe. For him, it worked.