by Lucy Fear
She blinked. Once again, he’d surprised her. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said. Because it couldn’t be what it seemed to mean.
He frowned, and she noticed his ears had gone red. “I told you I’m no good at this. I mean… I think I would like it if what we pretended for your brother were true someday. I’d like to court you, Maeve. I mean, properly.”
“Oh.” For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t allowed herself to believe, and now that he’d stated it so clearly, her brain was having trouble formulating a response.
“If you don’t want that,” he continued in the silence, his voice wavering, “I wouldn’t hold that against you, of course. You’ll always be welcome here.” Luckily, she recovered quickly enough to prevent him from getting up, tightening her grip on the hand that had not yet released hers.
“Idris, I do. That is, I… I want to be with you too, only I couldn’t quite believe it,” she said, her joy finally breaking through her shock enough to let her grin. His answering smile was relieved and hopeful.
“I had hoped the kiss would give you some clue as to my feelings on the matter,” he said, his ears a little pink despite the mischief in his eyes.
“Well, it was my first kiss,” she said, laughing to cover her embarrassment at the admission. “I didn’t have anything to judge it by.” Idris looked a little taken aback by this piece of information.
“In that case, I feel like I should apologize. That was hardly appropriate for a first kiss,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth.
“I wasn’t complaining,” she said. It had been somewhat shocking, but not at all unpleasant. Perhaps her relief at his family’s easy acceptance of the events of the day had something to do with her surge of boldness as she smiled at him. “If it truly bothers you, you’re welcome to try again.” This time, he took her face in both of his hands, and held her gaze for the space of a held breath. His eyes were clear and bright; if he was unsure about anything, it wasn’t this. The kiss was tender, his lips soft and warm as they pressed into hers, all too briefly. She might have felt ashamed by the knowledge that she wanted more, except she could clearly see that he felt the same.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, no matter what happens between us,” he said in a low, rough voice that made warmth bloom in her chest. “But we shouldn’t linger here. There’s much that needs to be accomplished, and only a week to do it.”
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He was right, of course. The next week was a blur of activity, but the thing that bothered Maeve most was how little she could help with the problem, considering it was hers. She did what she could, assisting Rhosyn and Lady Rowan in their research, and letting Lord Aidan magically examine her, but as she was neither particularly learned or magically skilled, she often felt she was more in the way than she was helpful.
Idris took her riding every day, as he had promised. She had thought it was mostly to keep her from getting depressed, but she realized after a few days that it was just as much to keep himself distracted. He confessed that he was frustrated at how little he was able to help. Though his education had been similar to that of his sister, he had never showed aptitude for research or for complex magic. He knew how to talk to people, to evaluate threats and get information, but since he was too recognizable to be a spy, his skills were not much use in discovering the source of her curse or its cure. And now, the week was over. Fenella had not returned from the Court of Bones, though she had made contact with someone who she thought could help. Rhosyn and Rowan had been, so far, unable to discover the source of the curse, and though Lord Aidan was confident that he would be able to undo it eventually, it was complex magic that he admitted could take years to unravel completely.
Maeve was feeling both afraid and disheartened as Idris brought her to the room they’d prepared for her. It was bright and comfortable, painted a color of blue that reminded her of his eyes. Everything in the room, she had been told, down to the books, had been spelled to be unbreakable. She knew they had expended a lot of magic to make things easier on her, something she never would have questioned before, but now that she knew why this court conserved power the way they did, the gesture affected her deeply. Still, a prison cell, however nice, was still a prison. Maeve couldn’t help but wonder how long she would have to remain within. Would she go mad? Could the curse kill her? As far as she knew, no one in her family had actually tried to refrain from blood for more than a day or two.
When Idris opened the door, she could feel herself shaking. He paused on the threshold and pulled her into a tight embrace. Just the feeling of his arms around her was reassuring. “We’ll do everything we can to figure this out,” he said. “We don’t want you to suffer any longer than you have to.”
“But what if there is no cure?” she whispered her greatest fear into his shoulder, and he pulled away to look her in the eyes.
“All magic can be negated with enough power. I’ll summon every fae I know, if it comes to it,” he said fiercely. “But my parents are confident the curse can be reversed easily if the source is discovered. Until that happens, I’ll be here, watching over you.” It was a promise she hadn’t expected, hadn’t even known she needed to hear, but her heart swelled with warmth. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, and finally her lips. It was enough for now. She could allow herself to believe that everything would be all right in the end. The door closed and locked behind her. She was alone, but this time, at least she knew someone was out there waiting.
CHAPTER SIX
Three days passed. Idris spent all of his free time sitting outside the door of the room containing Maeve and her curse. Either he or his parents checked on her every few hours by means of scrying, since they didn’t dare open the door. Putting a window in the wall had seemed too voyeuristic; they didn’t want Maeve to feel like an animal in a zoo.
The first day, all was well. Maeve was happy and peaceful, and Idris dared to hope that maybe the curse would not function inside another court. But the next morning, it became obvious that wasn’t true. She lay on the bed, her body curled in on itself, shaking with pain. By the end of the second day, she was screaming. Her bones were beginning to visibly rearrange themselves. It wasn’t anything like the magical shapeshifting he was familiar with, which was quick and painless. This was a physical change being forced upon the body unwillingly, in a way that seemed designed to inflict as much suffering as possible. He didn’t want to watch, but he felt honor bound to do so. On the morning of the third day, as he saw Maeve, her skin partly covered in a shaggy pelt of dark fur, scratching and biting herself in her agony, he felt a sort of crazed despair.
A hand came down on his shoulder, and he jumped, his heart lurching erratically in his chest, but he didn’t even have the energy to glare at his father. “You should take a break, and get some rest,” Aidan said, not unkindly.
“I promised I would watch over her,” he said, turning away from his father, from the understanding in his eyes. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he was already barely keeping control of his emotions. At a certain point, kindness felt like another blow.
“She wouldn’t want you to make yourself suffer. You know that. We are doing everything we can, but until we can figure out how to undo the curse, standing outside her door isn’t doing any good.” Idris knew he was right, but he hated feeling helpless. If watching was all that he could do, he would, just to be doing something.
“How long can she go on like this? She hasn’t eaten since she grew fur, and she just keeps biting herself,” he said, finally giving voice to one of his fears.
“I don’t know,” Aidan admitted. “Her natural healing abilities seem to be even more potent in this form, so I don’t think her self-inflicted injuries will do her any permanent harm. But I cannot guess what will happen if she continues to be denied blood. I may have to put her in magical stasis, which I am hesitant to do. The interaction of two complex spells on her body could have complic
ations.”
“And if she had some blood, it would all go away?” Idris said, pursing his lips in thought.
“It has to be mortal blood. You know she wouldn’t thank us for allowing her to kill another innocent, even to save her life,” Aidan said. “Though I pray it does not come to that.”
“What if she had a willing participant? Surely, we could find someone,” Idris said. “Would the spell really reject blood if it was offered rather than taken?”
“I see nothing in the magic that would differentiate between the two. I think the real issue is that the amount of blood required to initiate the transformation is more than a mortal can afford to give and survive. And I suspect that, once she has turned, Maeve will not have the will to stop herself feeding until she is sated.”
Idris frowned. An idea had occurred to him. It was insane, but if it worked, it would be absolutely worth the risk. But he didn’t want his father to know, so he changed the subject, asking a question that had recently begun to plague him. It was something Idris was afraid to think about. His feelings for Maeve were unexpected and intense in a way that unsettled him, but at the same time, he felt that if there was an appropriate time to speak to his father about them, it was now. “When did you know that you were in love with Mother?”
Aidan raised an eyebrow in surprise, but he smiled. “There was no one moment when things changed for me. No line marking before and after. It was… a slow realization. You know I was interested in her long before we ever met in person. I realized how much trouble I was in, so to speak, when I found her in the ice forest. I thought I’d been too late to save her from her own magic. It was like the color had been sucked from the world. When I saw her draw a breath, I felt such… relief, and I knew I would do anything for her, if only she would consent to be with me. Even if she wouldn’t.”
“You waited a long time to tell her,” Idris said, the amusement he felt at his father’s expense serving to partly mask his own growing realization. Was that really all that love was? He’d honestly expected to feel more different. To notice a change in his life, in himself, but there had not been.
“Well, she wasn’t initially disposed to think of me kindly, due to her father’s views on our people, and her experience with Niall. And, considering the situation, I wanted her to approach me first. I didn’t want her to feel as if I’d coerced her.” Idris understood that feeling. That was one thing that worried him about Maeve. He didn’t want her to think she owed him her affection. If her brother hadn’t arrived, he would have preferred her to be more settled here, more confident in her place in their court, before he’d pursued anything other than friendship. But sometimes, life forced you to handle things differently than you wished, as it had with his own parents. So he would do what he had to do.
“I know things feel hopeless right now,” Aidan continued, trying to be reassuring. “I promise, we’ll figure out some way to help her. We won’t let her be consumed by this curse.”
“Of course,” Idris said. He had no intention of allowing that to happen. His mind was already made up as he sat down in the chair in the corner, arranging himself in a way that he thought might convince his father that he intended to sleep. Aidan left several minutes later, after encouraging his son once again to go sleep in his own bed. Idris watched his magical signature disappear up the stairs and move several floors higher to join Rowan in what he assumed was their bedroom.
He went to the door of Maeve’s cell and took a deep breath. There was a small chance that this could go terribly wrong. Idris laid a regeneration spell on himself, just in case, but he was confident in his decision. Perhaps this was fated. After all, there were few people in the Otherworld who could claim at least half mortal parentage and still have his magical abilities. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
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Somehow, this time was worse. Maybe because she understood what was happening, Maeve remained much more aware, even as she was racked by pain. Part of her mind was overcome by bestial hunger and rage, but another part, in a far-off corner of her consciousness, remained her own, and fretted about what was happening outside the room. She knew they would be concerned for her, Idris especially, and if they couldn’t find a solution, she realized there was a limit to how long he would be able to watch without acting. What would he do, if he thought he had no other choice? Worrying about this was at least a small distraction from her physical agony, but even though her mind had worked through every scenario she could imagine, seeing him enter the room alone was not something she had prepared for. She was not so far gone that she pounced on him immediately, and he calmly locked the door behind him before turning back to her.
“Don’t be afraid, Maeve,” he said quietly, taking a single step toward her. She backed away, whimpering, not understanding. Maybe she was going mad. How could she be afraid of Idris? He should be afraid of her. Even from across the room, she could hear his heart beating like the most seductive music, and his scent permeated the air, making her salivate. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I don’t want you to suffer any longer.”
He took another step toward her, and again she moved away, but now her back was against the wall. She held up her clawed hands to fend him off, but even as he came closer and closer, she couldn’t bear to really hurt him; the beast did not yet have that much control. But she was so hungry, and he was right there. If she could have spoken, she would have yelled at him to run; she would have pleaded, but all she could do was whimper as he finally stopped well within reach of her arms. The transformation had made her taller, so their heads were nearly level.
He started to unbutton his shirt, and she was now sure she was losing touch with reality. Maybe she was dreaming? But then he spoke. “I am half mortal,” he said. “I think that should satisfy the requirements of the curse.” Maeve recoiled instinctively, but she had nowhere to go. Didn’t he know she would rather kill a thousand innocents than take his blood, even a drop of it? And she knew she wouldn’t be able to take just a drop. He pulled back his collar, baring the side of his neck so she could see the blood pulsing just under his skin. She wanted to reach for him as much as she wanted to push him away; she could feel the heat of his body even though they weren’t quite touching.
“Come one, Maeve. I know you’re hungry. I want you to take my blood. Don’t make me cut myself first,” he said, his crystal blue eyes steady and serious. She knew he would, and then nothing would be able to stop her from draining him dry. “Everything is going to be fine,” he said as he caressed the side of her face, unafraid, even though she knew she looked like some sort of half-lupine monster, and his smell was maddening. She howled because she couldn’t weep, and then she fastened her mouth onto the side of his neck, her teeth piercing the vein so that her tongue was bathed in warm iron and salt.
They sank to the ground together, and his arms wrapped tightly around her even as she greedily gulped the blood from his throat. It was even more delicious than she remembered, hot and rich, and his had something else, something electric and indefinable. It was the magic within him, the strange and potent combination of mortal and fae, and she drank and drank, and he whispered reassurances to her until she could feel the curse starting to lift. Her bones shifted, and her fur disappeared, but she couldn’t make herself stop, until she heard him whisper one last thing that jolted her brain back to reality. “I love you,” he said, and then his arms went limp.
Maeve shoved him away in a panic, and then barely caught his body before it hit the ground. His eyes were glassy and lifeless. “Nooooo,” she cried. “Idris, please,” but she knew he wouldn’t respond. She had killed the man she loved just as she was starting to realize how much he meant to her, before she could tell him how she felt. Her tears fell on his face, and she cradled him in her arms, and sobbed, “I love you, I’m sorry,” over and over.
And then, he took a great, gasping breath. She nearly dropped him in surprise as he blinked up at her. “I told you ever
ything was going to be fine,” he said in a rasping voice. She wanted to laugh and weep and slap him in the face all at once, but she merely sat in stunned silence for a moment before the door burst open, and Lady Rowan and Lord Aidan rushed into the room. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Idris said, feebly waving his arms in protest as his father lifted him off the ground. Maeve didn’t want to let go, but she also felt she had no right to keep him. She had done this to him; he had almost died.
“That’s obviously untrue,” Lord Aidan said as he carried his son from the room. Maeve didn’t move, unsure how to feel or what to do with herself. She was relieved that Idris was all right, of course, but she also felt as if she’d made an unforgivable mistake. Surely, now, they would have no choice but to deliver her back to her father. Then, she felt a consoling hand on the top of her head. Lady Rowan was still standing next to her, and she was smiling gently.
“Why don’t we go upstairs and get you cleaned up?”
“But I… Aren’t you upset? I nearly killed him,” Maeve said, her voice breaking as she remembered that awful moment, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. Speaking it aloud only made it feel more real.
“No. We aren’t angry at you, dear,” she said, holding out a hand to help Maeve stand. “This was his choice. Even if it’s a bit infuriating that he didn’t give us any warning, I understand why he did it. Aidan and I had already discussed this possibility, though I didn’t imagine Idris would think to do it on his own.” Maeve gaped at her, hardly able to believe that they would approve of such a course of action. “None of us liked seeing you suffer,” Rowan continued. “But we couldn’t honestly be sure that Idris would be mortal enough. We didn’t feel we could ask him to take such a risk without knowing, but I suppose we underestimated him.”
