Fragile Eternity tf-3

by Melissa Marr

  The lightning in his eyes flared again, illuminating his face with that strange flash of brightness. “No. I suppose not.”

  Protective to a fault, Matrice narrowed her eyes at his tone.

  “Well, then, if we’re done with our business”—Donia kept her hands relaxed, refusing to show him that even now she was tempted to reach out to ease that temper—“Matrice?”

  Keenan’s anger fled for a moment. “Don?”

  She gave in then and touched his arm, hating that it was her—again—who had to reach for him. “If you want to see me, not the Winter Queen, but me, you are welcome at the cottage. I will be home later.”

  He nodded, but didn’t agree, didn’t promise. He wouldn’t—not unless his real queen had no need of his attention.

  Donia hated her for a moment. If she weren’t here… Of course, if Aislinn hadn’t become Summer Queen, Keenan would be wooing yet another mortal, in search of the one who’d free him.

  At least I have part of him now. That’s better than nothing. That’s what she’d told herself at first, but as he turned away, accepting Aislinn’s hand as they walked, following the Hawthorn Girls back toward the house, Donia had to wonder if it really was better.

  That night, Donia walked toward the cottage with the illusion of solitude. In the quiet, Evan undoubtedly trailed behind her. If she concentrated, she’d see the blurring wings of the Hawthorn fey in the shadows, hear the chiming music of the lupine. A year ago those same details would’ve set terror in her heart. Evan had been Keenan’s fey then; and Winter Court faeries had been harbingers of conflict, emissaries from the last Winter Queen, carrying threats and warnings.

  So much had changed. Donia had changed. What hadn’t changed was how badly she craved Keenan’s attention, his approval, his touch.

  Frozen tears clattered to the ground as she thought about the impact of that craving on her life. She’d surrendered her mortality in the hope that she was his missing queen. I wasn’t. She’d watched him woo innumerable mortals in that search as if it didn’t hurt each time. It did hurt. She’d willingly gone to her death at his mother’s hands for helping him find that queen. But I didn’t die.

  Instead she was at the helm of the court that had overpowered and oppressed his own for centuries—and her court wanted it to stay that way. Too much of a climate change too fast wasn’t good for any of them. Her court pressed the matter, rustling for a few shows of force to remind him that they were still stronger. While in the dark, when it was just the two of them, Keenan would whisper sweet words of peace and balance.

  Always in the middle…because of him. And he’d walk away from me for Ash if she’d say the word….

  Angry with herself for dwelling on it, for even thinking of it, Donia swatted at the tears rolling down her cheeks. He wasn’t hers, would never be truly hers, and she couldn’t help but feel terrified of that inevitable truth.

  She stepped onto her porch.

  And he was there waiting, beautiful face furrowed in concern, hands reaching out for her. “Don?”

  His voice held all the yearning she’d felt for him earlier.

  All of her clarity faded as he held open his arms. She slipped into his embrace and kissed him, not bothering to keep her ice in check, not caring if it wounded him.

  He’ll stop.

  But instead of pushing her away, he pulled her closer. That awful sunlight he carried in his skin flashed brighter. The snow that had begun to fall around them was sizzling away as quickly as it fell.

  Her back was against the door. She hadn’t unlocked it, but it still swung open. At a glance, she realized that Keenan had melted the lock.

  It’s not Solstice yet. We shouldn’t. Can’t…

  There were welts on her arms where he touched her, blisters on her lips. She tangled her hand in his hair and held him tighter to her. Frost spread down his neck.

  He’ll stop. I’ll stop. Any second now.

  They were on the sofa, and tiny fires burned on the cushion above her head. She let her winter slip further out. The room was filled with heavy snowfall. The fires hissed as they were extinguished.

  I’m stronger. I could stop.

  But he was touching her. Keenan was here, and he was touching her. She wasn’t stopping. Maybe they could make it work; maybe it would be fine. She opened her eyes to look at him, and the brightness blinded her.

  “Mine,” he murmured between kisses.

  Their clothes kept catching fire, smoldering out as the snow smothered the flames, only to ignite again. Blisters covered her skin where his hands had gripped her. Frostburnt patches of skin were visible on his chest and neck.

  She cried out, and then he pulled back.

  “Don…” His face was grief stricken. “I didn’t mean to…” He propped himself up on one arm and looked down at her bruised arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know.” She slid to the floor, leaving him alone on the smoking sofa.

  “I just wanted to talk.” He watched her warily.

  She concentrated on the ice inside of her, not on how close he still was. “About us, or about business?”

  “Both.” He grimaced as he tried to pull on his tattered shirt.

  She watched him button it up, as if that would help hold it in place. Neither spoke as he fussed with the ruined cloth. Then she asked, “Do you love me? Even a little?”

  He stilled, hands aloft. “What?”

  “Do you love me?”

  He stared at her. “How can you ask that?”

  “Do you?” She needed to hear it, something, anything.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Why are you even here?” she asked.

  “To see you. To be near you.”

  “Why? I need more than your lust.” She didn’t cry as she said it. She didn’t do anything to let him know how badly her heart was breaking. “Tell me we have something more than that. Something that won’t destroy either of us.”

  He was a sunlit effigy, as beautiful as always, but his words weren’t beautiful. “Don. Come on. You know it’s more than that. You know what’s between us.”

  “Do I?”

  He reached out. His hand was healing, but he was bruised.

  That’s what we do to each other.

  Donia stood up and walked outside, needing not to see the destruction in her home.

  Again.

  Keenan followed.

  She leaned against the cottage. How many times have I stood here, trying to keep my distance from him or from the last Winter Queen? She didn’t want a repeat of the last time Winter and Summer tried to be together.

  “I don’t want us to destroy each other like they did,” she whispered.

  “We’re not like them. You’re not like Beira.” He didn’t touch her. Instead he sat on the porch. “I’m not going to give up on you if we have a chance.”

  “This”—she motioned at the destruction behind her—“isn’t good.”

  “We slipped for a minute.”

  “Again,” she added.

  “Yes, but…we can sort it out. I shouldn’t have reached for you, but you were crying and…” He squeezed her hand. “I slipped up. You make me forget myself.”

  “Me too.” Donia turned to face him. “No one else angers or thrills me like this. I’ve loved you most of my life, but I’m not happy with things the way they are.”

  He stilled. “What things?”

  She laughed briefly. “That might work on your other queen, but I know you, Keenan. I see how close you two are growing.”

  “She’s my queen.”

  “And being with her would strengthen your court.” Donia shook her head. “I know. I’ve always known. You’ve never been mine.”

  “She has Seth.”

  Donia watched the Hawthorn Girls flitting among the trees. Their wings glistened in the dark. She weighed her words. “He’ll die. Mortals do. And then what?”

  “I want you in my life.”

  “In the dark when sh
e’s not around. A few nights of the year…” Donia thought over the handful of nights when they could truly be together, no longer than a few stolen heartbeats. The taste of what she couldn’t have made it so much harder to weather the months when even a kiss was dangerous. She blinked away icy tears. “It’s not enough. I thought it would be, but I need more.”

  “Don—”

  “Listen. Please?” Donia sat down beside him. “I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you enough to die for it…but I see you trying to romance her and yet still coming to my door. Charm isn’t going to let you have us both under your sway. Neither of us is one of your Summer Girls.” Donia kept her voice gentle. “I accepted death to give you your queen—even though it meant losing you, even after years of conflict.”

  “I don’t deserve you.” He stared at her as if she was his world. In that look—the same look that she’d fallen for innumerable times—he seemed to hold all of the words she longed to hear. In moments that she collected like treasures, he was her perfect match. Moments weren’t enough. “I’ve never deserved you,” he said.

  “Sometimes I’m sure of that…but I wouldn’t love you if that was entirely true. I’ve seen the faery king you can be and the person you can be. You’re better than you think”—she touched his face carefully—“better than I think sometimes.”

  “I want to be the person I could be with you…” he started.

  “But?”

  “I need to put my court’s needs first. For nine centuries I’ve wanted only to reach where I am now. I can’t let what I want—who I want—get in the way of what’s best for my fey.” He raked his hand through his hair again, looking like the boy she’d met back when she thought he was a human.

  She wanted to comfort him, to promise it would be fine. She couldn’t. The closer summer came, the more he and Aislinn were drawn together. He hadn’t come to see her but a few times since spring had begun. Today, he’d come making demands. Loving him didn’t mean letting him rule her—or her court.

  “I understand. I have to do the same thing…but I want you, Keenan, not the king.” She leaned her head against his arm. As long as they were careful, not forgetting, not losing control, they could touch. Unfortunately, touching him made self-control a challenge. She sighed and added, “I want to set aside the courts when we are together, and I need you to accept that my loving you doesn’t mean that dealing with my court is different from any other business of yours. Don’t think that what we share means that my court is malleable.”

  He held her gaze as he asked, “And if I can’t do that?”

  She glanced at him. “Then I need you out of my life. Don’t keep trying to use my love to manipulate me. Don’t expect me not to be jealous when you bring her to my house and stare at her like she’s your world. I want a real relationship with you…or nothing at all.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “When I’m around her I feel like I’m enthralled. She doesn’t love me, but I want her to. If she did, my court would be stronger. It’s like buds opening in the sunlight. It’s not a choice, Don. It’s a need. She’s my other half, and her decision to be ‘friends’ weakens me.”

  “I know.”

  “She doesn’t…and I don’t know if it’ll get any easier.”

  “I can’t help you with this one”—she entwined her fingers with his—“and I hate you both sometimes for it. Talk to her. Find a way to be with her or find a way to be free enough to be truly mine.”

  “She doesn’t hear me when I try to talk to her about this, and I don’t want to quarrel with her.” Keenan’s expression was that of enchantment. Even talking about her distracted him.

  Donia looked at him, the same lost faery she’d loved for most of her life. Too often she’d been the one to soften when they were at odds, too often she’d helped him because they’d both wanted the same goal: Winter and Summer to balance. She sighed. “Try again, Keenan, because this is going to end badly if something doesn’t change.”

  He kissed her pursed lips softly and said, “I still dream that it was you. No matter how many times I’ve looked, in my dreams it’s always been you who were meant to be my queen.”

  “And I would be if the choice were mine. It isn’t. You need to let me go or find a way to distance yourself from her.”

  He pulled her closer. “No matter what happens, I don’t want to let you go. Ever.”

  “That’s a different problem altogether.” She watched the frost form on the steps beside her. “I’m not meant for Summer, Keenan.”

  “Is it so wrong to want a queen who loves me?”

  “No,” she whispered. “But it’s not working to want two queens to love you.”

  “If you were my queen—”

  “But I wasn’t.” She laid her head on his shoulder.

  They sat there like that, leaning together carefully, until morning came.

  Chapter 4

  Sorcha had summoned Devlin after breaking her fast. True to form, he was there within mere moments. In their eternity together, her brother had never been anything other than reliable and predictable.

  He stood just inside the doorway, silent as she crossed the expanse of the hall. Her bare feet made no sound as she stepped onto the dais and sat upon the single polished silver throne. From here, the cavernous hall was beautiful. There was a symmetry of design that was pleasing to behold. This room—and only this room—did not fold under her will. The Hall of Truth and Memory was impervious to any magic but its own. Once, when the Dark Court resided in Faerie, this was where inter-court disputes were resolved. Once, when they shared Faerie, this was where sacrifices were made. The slate-gray stones held those, and many more, memories.

  Sorcha slid her feet over the cool earth and rock upon which her throne was placed. When one lived for eternity, memory grew hazy at times. The soil helped her keep focus on Faerie; the rock tied her to the truth of the Hall.

  Devlin wouldn’t move until she was settled. In some ways, her adherence to order and rules was essential to Devlin. The structure helped him keep to the path he’d chosen. For her, order was instinctive; for him, it was a choice he made every breath of every day.

  The words were rote, but he said them all the same: “Are you receiving, my lady?”

  “I am.” She settled her skirt so that the bare tips of her feet were hidden. Silver threads shimmered in her hands and on her cheeks; they shimmered elsewhere that she’d sometimes reveal, but her bare feet stayed covered. The proof of the nature of her connection to the Hall was not something to show her court.

  “May I approach?”

  “Always, Devlin,” she reassured him again, as she had for longer than either of them could recall. “Even without asking, you are welcome.”

  “You honor me with your trust.” He dropped his gaze to her concealed feet. He knew the truth she shared with none other. Reason made clear to both of them that her trust in him was going to be the source of her stumbling someday. Reason also made clear that there wasn’t a better choice: trusting him secured his loyalty.

  And we haven’t fallen yet.

  He was her eyes and hands in the mortal realm. He was her violence in times when such a thing was needed. But he was also Bananach’s brother—a fact that none of the three of them ever forgot. Devlin saw their sister regularly; he cared for the mad raven-faery, even though her aims were utterly disorderly. His affection for their sister made it so that no amount of time or service could erase Sorcha’s slivers of doubts in his loyalty.

  Will he side with her someday? Does he now?

  “Dark fey have drawn the blood of one of your mortals…on Faerie soil,” Devlin began. “Will you judge them?”

  “I will.” Again, the words were rote: she always judged. It was what Reason did.

  Devlin turned to retrieve the accused and the witnesses, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

  “After this I need you to visit the mortal world. There is a mortal who walks among three courts untethered,
” she said.

  He bowed. “As you wish.”

  “War thinks he is key.”

  “Would you have me eliminate the mortal or retrieve him?”

  “Neither.” Sorcha wasn’t sure what the right move was just yet, but hasty action wasn’t it. “Bring me information. See what I cannot.”

  “As you will.”

  She refocused on the trial. “Bring them in.”

  Moments later, four Ly Ergs were brought into the room by guards under Devlin’s command. In the land of mortals, the red-palmed faeries’ habit of drawing blood wasn’t a concern; out there, most of the depravities that happened weren’t Sorcha’s concern. However, these four weren’t in the mortal world.

  Several score of her own court followed the accused into the room. Hira and Nienke, handmaids and comfort to her these past few centuries, came to sit on the stair at her feet. They were clad in simple gray shifts that matched her only slightly more ornate garb, and like her, they were barefoot.

  She motioned to Devlin.

  He turned so he was angled, not putting his back to her but facing the Ly Ergs and the court attendees. Standing thusly, he could see everyone.

  “Does your king know you are here?” he asked the Ly Ergs.

  Only one replied: “No.”

  “Does Bananach?”

  One of the four, not the same Ly Erg, grinned. “Lady War knows we act to bring about her wishes.”

  Sorcha pursed her lips. Bananach was careful—not acting to overtly sanction an attack on Faerie ground, but undoubtedly encouraging it.

  Devlin looked to Sorcha.

  She gave a curt nod, and he slit the Ly Erg’s throat. The movement was steady, but quick enough that it was silent.

  The other three Ly Ergs watched the blood seep into the rock. The Hall absorbed it, drinking in the memory of the dead faery. The Ly Ergs had to be physically restrained from touching the blood. It was their sustenance, their temptation, their reason for almost every action they undertook.