by Ron C. Nieto
“Will the snow be enough to help you?” she asked at last.
“Yes,” he said, and Lily narrowed her eyes.
“Will it help you survive and heal, and get hale and whole, I meant.”
Troy chuckled and covered her hand with his, his long fingers threading through hers. “As I envisioned, finally an able player,” he said.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“No.” Troy sighed, closed his eyes in a slow blink. “Or perhaps it did.”
“The loch?” she asked, even though Marast already had and Troy had declined.
“It was Ayalga’s,” he said. “I do not have enough glamour left to subvert it to my own will, not so soon after her demise. It will reject me.”
Lily used her free hand to pat more snow upon his chest. Listened to the crunch of flurries and ice. To his slow, steady breathing.
“I don’t understand,” she said, watching the white sludge become pink. “We didn’t have a bargain; the Queen hadn’t given you orders. Why would you do this?” Why would you save my life at this cost?
Troy shrugged, the movement dislodging snow from his shoulder and making him hiss. “I did not give it any thought.”
She just stared at him, at the amused smile barely distorted by pain. At the Unseelie, human-eating monster who had saved her.
She hiccupped.
“Come, Lily,” he said, squeezing the hand he still held. “Be calm. This display does not befit you.”
“Troy, you’re dying!” A tear escaped down the corner of her eye, and he stared at it, mesmerized. When it reached her chin and dropped on the snow, he blinked in bewildered confusion.
“You are not,” he said. “But—” He coughed, wiped his mouth with his free hand, and cleaned it on the pinkish snow. “The Doctor,” he added, when he could speak again. “You have learned much of our ways, and you are an extraordinary creature, Lily Boyd. You need not worry. You shall find her.”
He used her True Name, and the absolute conviction behind his statement touched her soul and mind, letting her feel for a moment just how strange, how different to any other mortal she was. How extraordinary, despite her human nature. How stubborn, naive, brave. Back at court, Hevana had said she understood what Troy saw in her, and now for a moment she glimpsed it too, and it broke her.
Even now, he was worried about her grandmother. Even now, he was worried about her—that leaving her alone would hamper her search, get her in trouble, and prevent the rescue of her grandmother.
And the irony of that was a sharp blade to the heart because Lily knew where her grandmother was. Furthermore, the moment he was gone, no faerie would know her True Name and she would be able to call out to One and complete her bargain with Cadowain, freeing Mackenna.
Her original plan to fix that situation had been working fine, but this? This would expedite everything, and she cried all the more because the realization had crossed her mind.
“Not like this,” she whispered.
“You are far more capable now than you realize,” said Troy, misunderstanding her denial and cutting her off at the knees in the process. The sudden stab of pain stopped her sobs, and in that silence, very gently, he pulled her close. Very gently, he pressed his lips to hers.
And gently, hesitantly, she kissed him back through her tears, moving her mouth over his in an eerie echo of their first kiss, their positions and situation reversed. His free hand tangled with her hair, and when she felt snow sludge dripping from his fingers down her neck, another icy blow hit her.
She was dry, her clothing warm despite the fight under the frozen loch. She should have been long gone due to hypothermia, but she wasn’t because Troy had used his glamour to keep her dry.
Not to heal his own wounds.
It won’t happen like this.
A new plan had formed in Lily’s mind, and she broke the tentative, exploring kiss to look him in the eye. She forced a smile, just like he had done moments before, and cupped his face.
“I’ve got a plan,” she said. “It’s not very good.”
Troy laughed, startled, and the sudden movement caused specks of blood to bloom on his lips. Lily wiped them with her thumb before he had the chance and leaned in for a quick, chaste kiss that tasted of iron.
“You’ll have to trust me,” she added.
“Leading with such warning is not very reassuring.”
“I want to save your life, not your peace of mind.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Tell me of your plan.”
“You’ll heal and you’ll survive because I’ll tell you to.” Lily licked her lips and watched as understanding darkened his gaze, saw him chasing down implications and consequences in his mind for a fraction of a second.
“No,” he said.
“Tell me it wouldn’t work,” she insisted.
Troy remained silent, his lips pressed in a white line, his brow furrowed with tension—but he didn’t deny it.
“Tell me you’ll survive this on your own.”
Troy opened his mouth, hissed in pain, closed it again. “It might happen,” he managed to grind out, voice hoarse.
“Just like I might be hit by lightning in a sudden storm five minutes from now?”
“It is in the realm of possibility,” he said, forcing half a smile.
“That’s not good enough.” Lily leaned down, pressed her forehead against his, brushed her lips against his skin with every word. “Troy, please. Please. Let me help you. I can’t let you go, let me do this.”
He hesitated, she felt it in his trembling draw of breath, and a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. Her original idea wouldn’t have worked, she realized. Alone, and touch-deprived, and innocent as he was in his own way, he would never have told her out of love, out of passion, as she had planned. As it was, he could very well refuse her even now, when he had to tell her out of survival.
She pushed on before he could tell her no again, a last measured attempt to push him over the edge of indecision.
“Please, Troy,” she said, conscious of her every word. “I promise, I swear to you I will never use it again. Please let me save you this once.”
And that was her trump card. She was human, and so she could lie.
Troy’s body went limp under hers, a long, steady sigh leaving his lungs. His fingers fisted in her hair, then relaxed, and he pulled her to the crook of his neck, cheek sliding against cheek, until his lips brushed her ear.
And in a low whisper, the words as much felt as heard, he gave her his True Name.
C H A P T E R XXIX
“Caomh Cuidightheach,” she whispered back, wrapping her tongue around the name, letting it roll and flow in her mouth. The syllables sounded old and carried with them the smell of the wild planes of the Highlands and the depths of an underground water reservoir, and the touch of cool air at the onset of winter. She shivered, feeling in her bones that it was the right name, that it was Troy. “Recover enough glamour and heal your wounds. Survive, Caomh Cuidightheach,” she commanded.
Lily felt it sinking in and taking control, felt the pull of the given order in the recesses of her own soul, at the same time Troy gasped and tensed, muscles and tendons going taut. He went to say something, but nothing came out and Lily knew, from past experience, that he would be unable to say anything, do anything, think anything until the command had been obeyed. Until he was safe.
“Shh,” she said, brushing his hair back. “It’s going to be okay.”
His eyes latched onto hers, wide with fear and muddled by pain, and Lily shivered again, still unused to so much openness from him. She had learned to read behind most of his masks, but it was so very odd to see he wore no mask at all.
“It’s going to be okay. Don’t fight it.” As if he had a chance.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the snow around them began to melt. First, big fat droplets clinging to him before evaporating, but then Lily’s knees sank in the pinkish puddle growing around Troy.
It didn’t last long. The water disappeared as fast as it began to flow, and a scream of pure agony tore from his throat.
Were the gouges across that throat thinner somehow?
Lily twisted around and grabbed a fistful of snow, packing it against the wound down his thigh. It melted instantly, the water sluicing down the torn leather for a fraction of a second before his body absorbed it. It was impossible to see if the slice had closed even a bit, but she saw something else.
The leather stuck a little to his leg, as if damp.
Ignoring the screams, the way his taut body began to tremble and thrash with tension and suffering, she kept grabbing snow and pouring it on him, each time having to reach further away. The process continued for long, endless minutes, lasting well after his voice gave out.
Pouring snow, watching it melt, watching his glamour using it up, praying that it healed him as it disappeared.
Doing it all over again.
Then, finally, some flurries of snow lingered, caught in his collar, and Lily stopped.
“Troy?” She patted his cheeks, ran her fingers through his hair. It was damp. Not wet, not dripping, but at least it was damp, and it stayed slicked back, as usual. His skin was pale, not the glowing, marble-smooth paleness that was beautiful and fay, but sickly white, drawn tight around his eyes and hinting at dark circles under fevered eyes. Traces of blood still flecked his neck and chest as far as she could see, but the fine black latticework had disappeared from his forearm. “Troy.”
He met her eyes, still unfocused, and a slow smile pulled at his lips. Not the smirk, not the grin full of mischief—just a smile.
Lily leaned in and kissed that smile, gentleness and tentativeness and softness forgotten. She kissed him with passion, with desperation, and she deepened it with fervor, hoping he would understand the tangle of emotions she poured in his mouth even when she herself couldn’t begin to.
After a small eternity, he pulled back, his hand wrapping around her wrist, and smiled again. Wider.
“Thank you,” he murmured against her lips, the words ringing clear in the quiet.
She breathed in, the sound ragged in her ears. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t acknowledge a debt between us, not for this.”
“Thank you,” he repeated, his hands roaming to her back, his lips searching hers again. “Lily—”
“Shh.” Lily cut him off with a kiss, deep but too brief.
She didn’t know if he had been about to use her True Name, seeking to reinforce the promise he had trusted in before, but she didn’t dare risk it. And she didn’t know how much longer Marast would stay away, giving them a misguided privacy, and that was another risk she couldn’t take.
She was out of time. She needed to set the plan in motion, or she would miss her one chance.
“Listen,” she whispered. “There is something I need to tell you.” She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I . . . I need you to forget you ever knew my True Name.” Troy tensed, a flash of burning in his eyes, but Lily plunged on before she had time to decipher it. “Caomh Cuidightheach,” she added, sealing the command.
Troy blinked, and when he opened his eyes again there was only a mild confusion in them. The next heartbeat, even that much emotion was gone, as if Lily hadn’t just lied to him, broken a promise, used his Name for her own benefit.
As if the last sentences had never been spoken.
Lily felt the knife of guilt in her heart twist and pull.
Troy’s smile, which had faltered while the command took hold, returned, and he reached out to continue the too short kiss.
Because he had forgotten he ever knew her True Name. Had he even forgotten he had been forced to forget?
Yes, because how could he have been told to forget something he had never known?
And that broke her.
Slipping free from his hold, she began to run.
Before she took three steps, she tore off the silver necklace, the wilted rose charms jingling as they fell into the muddied, half-melted snow, and by the fourth, she was crossing over a faerie path that hadn’t been there a moment before.
She thought she heard Troy calling for her, healed but still too weak to follow her abrupt escape, and she did her best to swallow back a sob.
She thought she heard him calling, “Herald,” but then again, perhaps that had only been the noise of a breaking heart.
C H A P T E R XXX
Lily burst through the faerie path and found herself in a vastly different forest. The firs of Scotland were nowhere to be seen, and in their place stood tall, straight sentinels, their bark smooth and golden like honey. Their branches reached out at least thirty feet up their trunks, and while they were naked at the moment, tiny buds and sprouts hinted at stunning canopies when spring came.
As it were, the interlocking branches offered a slim protection against the crisp air, and the ancient trees, tall enough to support the sky, did a decent job of supporting Lily’s weight when she collapsed against one of them.
She wanted to stop and indulge the searing pain in her chest, or better yet, to turn around and undo the last few minutes.
She wanted to, but she couldn’t. The choice was made. This was the only way to save her grandmother, and she would finally rescue her. No matter what. Rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes, she dried the tears and brought her breathing under control while the world stopped spiraling around her. Then, when she found she could stand steady again without feeling sick, she slid the knapsack from her shoulders, stuffed the Wild Horn inside, and put it on again before glancing around.
The floor was covered in rich, black soil, clear of underbrush, and the forest giants grew in such a way that a natural, dark path twisted around them. There wasn’t any other hint of life, only the bare trees and the fertile soil. No birds, no animals, no other plants. It was as if the world had gone quiescent on the cusp of change, winter already behind but the renewal of spring still far ahead.
Lily shivered, rubbing her face once more to hide the evidence of her past tears, and began to follow the meandering, natural path.
One could have come pick me up in person.
Then again, I’d rather she didn’t see me crying over an Unseelie.
The way turned out to be short. What felt like mere minutes after setting out, the impressive wall of trees fell away on both sides, the path dying at a perfectly round clearing. It must have been some fifty paces in diameter, wide enough to escape the foliage when it grew, but the light didn’t change—it was the same soft golden glow, not bright enough to be warm but reminiscent of the last rays of sunset toward the end of summer.
There, standing in the center, fulgent and beautiful, stood Cadowain.
“Welcome back to the Summer Court, My Lady,” he said, smiling.
Lily nodded, swallowing back her thanks, and studied the strange forest around them with new eyes. “This looks different than the last time I came through,” she said instead.
“Of course. It is winter in the mortal realm. The Unseelie hold sway over the world, and we conserve our strength. The lands will awaken once more when the time comes, don’t worry about it.”
She hadn’t been worried. Not about the state of the lands, anyway. “If this is still the Summer Court, no matter how different it looks, does that mean no Unseelie can tear a path through and follow me?”
“Do you expect to be followed?” Cadowain narrowed his eyes, the welcoming smile vanishing in a pinched frown. “I thought we had agreed you wouldn’t contact me while under Unseelie control.”
“Troy won’t order me to come back,” she said, slipping off the knapsack and crouching over it. “He isn’t in control anymore. The Unseelie Royal Hunter was under orders to find the Horn, though, so there’s a chance he’ll eventually track it.” Fumbling inside the bag, she finally produced the Horn, smooth and gleaming. It didn’t look magical or powerful in her hands, but Lily had already seen it work, seen how quickly the Wild Hunt gathered on command and how
deadly they were. She stood again and held it with the respect it deserved. “Not my fault, though,” she added, just in case. “By the time I retrieved it, he had already been dispatched. It doesn’t affect us, especially not if he can’t come here.”
“Oh, he most certainly can,” he said.
Lily stumbled on her way to him. “What? I thought an Unseelie couldn’t—”
“He can’t tear a path to or from the heart of our lands. That doesn’t stop him from tearing one into our peripheral lands, or indeed from crossing over following an existing path and tracking you through our territories.”
There was a moment of silence while the weight of those words hung in the air, and then Lily raised her chin in defiance. “Well. That means we have some time while he reaches a crossing point and finds our trail. We just have to make sure we don’t waste it. And besides, we were working in borrowed time from the moment the Wild Horn entered the Seelie lands. You told me your Queen would know it was here, right? We have to act quickly and free Mackenna before she figures out you’re part of this scheme and sends someone to fetch it. Once Grandma is safe, she can hide it again and you can tell the Seelie Queen you have no idea where it is without lying.” She reached out the hand holding the Horn, invitingly, and Cadowain took the last remaining steps.
“Of course,” he agreed. “We mustn’t dally.” His hand closed over the Horn in hers.
There was something anticlimactic about it. A part of Lily expected the Wild Horn would somehow change, perhaps become warmer, or adopt different hues to reflect the faerie Court holding it. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the bronze inlaid filigrees had become living wood, complete with growing sprouts.
Instead, nothing happened.
Cadowain took the Wild Horn from her, and the only difference was that it looked more graceful in his bigger hands.
She swallowed, fighting the shiver of unease that slithered down her spine.
“I gave you the Wild Horn. Now, you take me to my grandmother. Once she’s free, you give her the Horn, and she hides it somewhere else, somewhere neither of us knows about, in order to throw off the Unseelie faeries,” she recited.
