Faery Tales & Nightmares

by Melissa Marr

  The Dark King didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to: Irial could taste the relief, the confusion, and the growing sliver of contentment.

  “Go see her. Be her friend if nothing else. You are safe for her to touch now. I made sure of it.” Irial paused. “And Niall? Let her believe it was me who solved her problem.”

  Niall’s expression was unwavering; he admitted nothing in look or word.

  Irial crouched down in front of him and caught his gaze. “She won’t think less of me for it. It’s you she still sees as tamer than we are. Let her keep that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you both need the illusion”—Irial put a hand on Niall’s knee as he stood, testing the ever-changing boundaries—“and because you need each other.”

  Niall looked away. “And you.”

  Irial lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “Love works like that.”

  For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Then Niall stood, intentionally invading Irial’s space. “It does.”

  Irial froze. An admission? He stayed as motionless as he could, waiting. “Niall?”

  Niall shook his head. “I can’t forget. I wish I could….”

  “Me too,” Irial whispered. “I’d give you anything I have to undo the past. I couldn’t protect you. Not from yourself, not from my—”

  “Our,” Niall interjected.

  “Our court.” Irial leaned his forehead against Niall’s. “I would, though. Not for a touch. Not for a forgetting. I just want to take away the scars.”

  Niall froze, then.

  Irial smiled. He reached up to touch the scar on Niall’s face. “Not that you are any less for them, but because they mean you were hurt.”

  “Regrets are foolish.” Niall smiled, tentatively. “We had other … things I remember too.”

  “We did.” Irial hadn’t ever felt as careful, as hopeful, as he’d been these past few months.

  “You taste so afraid right now,” Niall whispered. “You gave me all the power. The court, your fealty…”

  “You could sentence me to death on a whim.”

  “Why?” Niall sounded, in that moment, as young as he’d been when they first met.

  “If that’s what would make you finally forgive me—”

  “Not that… You stood by. You let me offer myself to the court. You didn’t hurt me.” Niall shuddered.

  “I didn’t stop it, either.”

  “I forgive you.” Niall’s words were shaky. “I know you don’t understand why I made that bargain. I didn’t understand why you didn’t step in—”

  “They’d have killed you,” Irial interrupted. “If I tried to unmake your offer, they’d have killed you, the mortals you were trying to save…. The court wasn’t as orderly then as they are now. They’re not an easy people to rule. If I could’ve talked to you without them knowing, if I could’ve stopped you, if I had told you what you were, if I wasn’t me… There are a lot of ifs, love, but the fact is that it was twelve centuries ago. I’ve been doing penance as best I could.”

  “And then a few grand gestures since I wasn’t noticing?” Niall laughed. “Give me a court. Give me away to be with Leslie….”

  Irial shrugged. “Some people like grand gestures.”

  “I noticed the smaller ones too,” Niall admitted.

  Without letting himself think on it too much, Irial leaned in and brushed his lips over Niall’s. It was no more than a feather touch, but he felt both of their hearts race. He stepped away. “Go see her.”

  Niall reached out as if he’d touch Irial, but he didn’t close the distance. “Move back into the house?”

  Irial stilled. “Into…?”

  “Your old room. Not mine.” Niall did reach out then. He put his hand on Irial’s arm. “I can’t offer more, but…”

  The hope and fear inside the Dark King were dizzying. It was enough that Irial wasn’t sure which answer Niall really wanted. Neither is he.

  “Come home?” Niall added.

  Irial pressed another kiss, no longer than the last, to Niall’s lips. Then, he pushed him gently away. “Go to her. She needs to be reminded that she is loved.”

  Niall didn’t move, so Irial started walking back toward Leslie’s building. He made it several yards before Niall joined him. They walked in silence until they were almost at the door.

  “You could take the court back,” Niall said. “I’d give it to you.”

  “Then neither of you would be able to have what you need.” Irial frowned. “And it’s not best for the court.”

  “If you weren’t addictive—”

  “I’d still be unhealthy for her.” Irial shoved him gently toward the building.

  Niall didn’t press the button. He lifted his hand, stopped, and lowered it. “Will you be at the house?”

  “Yes.” Then Irial walked away.

  Leslie paced in her apartment. Some tendril of the vine that connected her to Irial still lived. It wasn’t the thing that stole her emotions; it was almost an extra sense that allowed her to taste others’ emotions—and to get glimpses of Irial’s feelings sometimes.

  She knew that he was with Niall: his feelings for Niall were always amplified.

  Like mine.

  She looked out her front window again. If Irial was with Niall, that meant Niall was near. If he was near… She pushed the thought away. Him, she could speak to. Not that I should. With Irial, she had difficulty not simply throwing herself into his arms and letting go. She let herself be near him, but they didn’t speak. Talking to Irial would be the first step in not-talking, and mortals who lay down with Gancanaghs became addicted. Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t remove the temptation. Knowing didn’t help her forget how much pleasure she’d felt when he held her. Her relationship with Niall, on the other hand, had never reached that place, so…

  Who am I kidding? She snorted at the rationalization she was indulging in: she shouldn’t be alone with either of them. It was why she didn’t talk to Irial. It was why she didn’t accept five out of six of Niall’s calls.

  The buzzer for the downstairs door rang. She pushed the speaker on, knowing full well who was there.

  “Leslie?”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak, but then she asked, “Are you alone?”

  “Right now, I am…. Can I come up?”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “Can you come down?”

  “I shouldn’t either.” She’d already had her shoes on, though, and she grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.

  She saw him watching her through the front door of the building as she came down the stairs. It wasn’t like seeing Irial, not now, not ever. With Irial, she was sure; they knew each other intimately. With Niall, she was still nervous; they’d never moved beyond kisses and what-ifs.

  She opened the door—and paused. The awkwardness, the urge to touch and not-touch, the where-does-one-go-now wasn’t something they’d figured out. They both froze, and the moment of greeting passed. Then, it was too late to touch without being more awkward.

  He stepped to the side, but reflexively offered her his elbow. It was basic civility for him, but he caught himself as soon as he did it. She could see his doubts, his fear that he’d crossed a line already.

  Leslie slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “Should I pretend to be surprised?”

  He smiled, and all of the tension fled. “Harbingers of my visit or just the fact that I was in town?”

  “Did Gabe send for you?” She didn’t look around them. “Someone … else?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me he visits?” Niall’s tone was more curious than hurt as he asked.

  “Because I want you two to get along,” she admitted. “I want… I don’t know… I just like the idea that you are at peace with one another. That you can be there for each other.”

  Niall gave her a curious look.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “I’d move the court here if it made you come b
ack to … either of us.”

  “I know.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “And if he thought it would work, he’d be trying to manipulate you to do so. Sometimes I think he wants me in your life more than in his.”

  Niall paused. “You’d be in both of our lives if—”

  “I can’t.” Leslie’s voice wavered embarrassingly.

  “So…”

  She leaned in and kissed him. “So we take tonight for what it is, and then you return to our court, to him. You need him in your life. I can’t live my life in the Dark Court. That’s not where I belong.”

  “Maybe there will be someone else who can be king.” He stroked her hair.

  “How long was Iri the Dark King?” Leslie kissed his throat. “You know better.”

  “I want to tell you to be with him,” Niall whispered. “He could keep you safe and you’d be away from the court … and maybe someday…”

  “You need him with you, and I don’t want to be addicted to anyone.” Leslie wrapped her arms around him, leaned closer into his embrace. “Sometimes things simply aren’t meant to be. I’m not able to live in the Dark Court. I’d lose myself if I lived there. You might not see that, but I know myself.”

  He pulled back and stared into her eyes. “What if—”

  “If I thought I could live there, I would,” she interrupted. “Being there with both of you … it’s tempting. More so than I want to admit. I want to ignore the things that happen in the court, not be changed by what I remember. People die. Mortals were killed for sport. Violence is play. Excess is normalcy. I can’t live in that without changing in ways I don’t want to.”

  Leslie felt relief at having this conversation finally. She’d expected that she’d be embarrassed by the admission that it wasn’t simple horror that stopped her. That she knew Niall would accept, expect, even, but her real reason was less honorable. She could accept the cruelty and excess of the Dark Court, and that terrified her.

  Niall frowned. “I wish I could lie to you. I want to tell you that none of the horrible things happen anymore.”

  “They do. If you aren’t doing the worst of them, he is. Don’t think that he’s changed. He’d do anything to protect you … including protecting you from yourself.” Leslie kept her voice gentle. She knew that there was one time when Irial hadn’t been able to protect Niall, but it wasn’t something any of them discussed. “He will do whatever it takes to keep you happy, so if you aren’t able to do…” Her words faded as Niall looked away.

  “I know that there are parts of being the Dark King that he still handles.” Niall’s expression clouded. “I hate being this … almost as much as I enjoy it. Some of the ugly things, though, deals and cruelties… I can’t.”

  “So he does.”

  Niall nodded. “There are things I don’t see. If we could make it so you didn’t see…”

  She ignored that suggestion. “You know what happened with Ren?”

  Niall didn’t answer for a moment. Then he nodded. “I do.”

  “I want to be sorry. I want to be the sweet girl you think I am. I want to say I’m sorry that Irial”—she paused, trying to find delicate words for what she knew had to have happened—“got rid of Ren.”

  For a moment, Niall stared at her. He didn’t speak.

  “I’m not that girl,” Leslie admitted. “Any more than you’re Summer Court. You belong in the Dark Court. With Irial.”

  “And you.”

  “No.” She sighed the word. “The person I would become in the court isn’t who I want to be. I could be. I could be crueler than you are right now. There are reasons that Irial chose me, that I chose his tattoo, and even if you don’t see them, I do. If I stay away from the court, I can be something else too.”

  “I’ll love you either way,” Niall promised. “He would too.”

  “I wouldn’t.” She laced her fingers through his, and they stood there quietly for several moments.

  He didn’t look away. Cars passed on the street. People walked by. The world kept moving, but they alone were still.

  Finally, he asked, “So should I go?”

  “Not tonight. Can we pretend tonight? That you’re not the Dark King? That I’m not afraid of the things I learned about myself in your court? For tonight, can we just be two people who don’t know that tomorrow isn’t ours?” She felt tears on her cheeks. She wasn’t well yet, but she was sure that she couldn’t go back to the world of faeries without destroying all the progress she was making. Maybe if the two faeries she loved were of any other court, she could.

  They aren’t. They never will be. And we would’ve never been together if they were.

  “What are you saying?” Niall asked.

  “I can’t return to the court, but I can’t pretend that you aren’t in my life. I see you. All of you.” Leslie didn’t move any closer to him, but she didn’t back away either. “I need my life to be out here—away from the courts—but I look forward to your calls, to his visits. I want to talk to him, and I want to…”

  “What?” Niall prompted.

  At the end of the block, Irial stood watching. She’d known he was there, known that he’d be closer if he could, and known that he had made this night possible. She was safe from Ren because of Irial. She was in Niall’s arms because of Irial.

  She concentrated on the tendril of connection she had to him, trying to let it open enough to feel him—and for him to feel her emotions. She wasn’t sure if it worked, but he blew her a kiss.

  “Leslie?” Niall looked as tentative as he had when they’d first met. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to come upstairs with me. Tonight.”

  Irial smiled.

  Niall stepped back, but he took her hand in his. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Give us tonight. Tomorrow”—she looked past him to let her gaze rest on Irial—“tomorrow, you go back to your court, and I continue my life. Tonight, though…”

  “I can love without touching.” Niall looked behind him, as if he’d known where Irial was all along, and added, “I learned that lesson centuries ago.”

  “Tomorrow you can love me from a safe distance.” Leslie opened the door; then, she looked back at the faery standing in the shadows watching the two of them. “But it’s okay to stop time every so often to be with someone you love.”

  Niall paused. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “No.” She led him inside. “It’s not easy. Letting you go in the morning will hurt, but I don’t mind hurting a little if it’s for something beautiful.”

  A shadow passed through Niall’s eyes.

  “He wouldn’t ask you to change who you are, anything between you, if you stopped time there, either.” Leslie started up the stairs, holding on to Niall’s hand as she did so. “But not tonight.”

  “No, not tonight.” Niall kissed her until she was breathless.

  And then they let time—and worries and fears and the rest of the things that meant they couldn’t have forever—stop for the night.

  THE ART

  OF

  WAITING

  ONCE THERE WAS A TOWN TUCKED IN the hollow between two mountains. In the winter, the snows fell so heavily that the passes out of the town became sealed by layer upon layer of dense white snow.

  When winter would come, the townsfolk spent long months sealed in their hollow, away from outsiders. Sometimes, it was well past winter before the walls of snow and ice melted enough to make travel safe again. And in these melting times the natural springs overflowed, and the hills grew verdant once more. Wildflowers pushed through the last remnants of snow, and trees burst with new life. Every year, the wait was long, but spring reminded them why they stayed in their tiny hollow. No place in all of creation was as lovely to the townsfolk as their own town.

  The townsfolk—often sequestered by nature’s moods—were quite satisfied with their place in life. They had learned the wisdom of waiting.

  They grumbled about the difficulties to passing stran
gers, lamenting the inconveniences of long winters cut off from the outside world, but should a stranger suggest the unthinkable—“Why not move?”—they’d smile and shake their heads, knowing well that one cannot teach the inexplicable.

  And it was to this town that the man and his young daughter came to live. Once, the man had lived among the priests, learning dead languages and archaic literature. Once, he had traveled, seeing strange sights and mysteries. But when his child began to walk, he chose this small hamlet as their home. He chose to tend the soil. He chose to bury the remains of last year’s crop—to carefully carve seedling potatoes, leaving at least one eye on each, and set them into well-watered soil.

  Those who had been in the town their whole lives murmured to one another—grizzled heads slowly bobbing as they spoke in hushed undertones—and waited.

  They did not ask the man in the planting time; they did not ask during the harvest. Nature would answer in due time.

  When the frosts came, the townspeople waited still.

  Thick snows fell. Then, they began to watch the man.

  He stayed that first year, the man with his daughter. He weathered the snows without wavering. And in the melting time, when the springs flowed freely, he smiled alongside those who had always been there.

  Nature had answered: the man with his daughter belonged between the two mountains; they fit in the hollow.

  More than a decade passed. Snows fell, and springs gushed. The crops flourished as often as not. Strangers paused in the late spring to ask foolhardy questions. The world was as it must be.

  But then, one year, a young stranger stopped beside the man and his daughter.

  The stranger asked the man’s daughter, “Why do you stay here, trapped in this tiny hollow?”

  She looked at him, this stranger with his runningso-fast words and his pretty-as-spring smile.

  And he asked, “Why don’t you leave?”

  Her eyes were the green of lush fields as, instead of the answer townsfolk always gave to strangers, she asked, “What’s out there?”