by Melissa Marr
Glancing neither left nor right, Bananach walked past them into a sterile-looking corridor. The faeries who’d noticed her tensed. Some slipped away. Whispered words twisted into an overall breathy hiss in the still of the room as Seth passed among them. Their Otherness was more pronounced than the Summer and Dark Court denizens. Many of them looked almost mortal, but they radiated a stillness that felt alternately rapacious and dismissive. It was frightening.
The raven-faery seemed oblivious. Her feather-hair fluttered like pennants trailing behind her as she swept through hallways, went up and down stairways, and took sudden turns. He felt and heard the low sound of battle drums throughout the building. Pipes and horns wound through the thunder of the drums. The noise sent his pulse racing in dread, but he continued to follow Bananach.
The tempo of the music increased as they raced through empty spaces, building to a fierce cadence that would burst a heart if it tried to keep pace. Then it stopped mid-beat just as Bananach put her hand, flat-palmed, on a closed door and murmured, “There you are.”
She opened the door into a vast ballroom. The floor was cut blue marble. Tapestries and art that belonged alongside the most revered masterpieces lined the walls. Some art was framed by pieces of silver that had been left in their natural threadlike state; others were held by simple wooden frames; still more were in what seemed to be glass frames. Vine-wrapped marble pillars stood at regular intervals in the room, supporting a star-scattered ceiling. Seth knew they couldn’t be real stars, but he gaped at the illusion all the same.
While he stood awed by the stars and the art, Bananach put herself in front of him and said, “I brought you a lamb.”
Reluctantly, Seth took his attention from the wonders around him to look at the faery who sat on a stiff-backed chair in the empty expanse of the room. She was the one who could save him—or crush his every dream. Her hair was like fire: flickering shades of heat shifted in and out of sight as he tried to watch her. Her skin was the same as the moonlight veil he’d crossed to enter Faerie, as if she herself had been formed of that cold light. Yet, as he watched, her skin shifted too. It became as dark as the depths of the universe. She was shadow and light, flame and coolness, white and black. She was both sides of the moon, all things, perfection.
The High Queen. Sorcha. It could be none other. She sat in her empty ballroom, pondering a game board, surrounded by nature and art.
He reached up to grip his charm and ran his thumb over it as if it were a worry stone. Even wearing it, he felt pulled to revere her. The temptation to drop to his knees and offer her his soul was the same sort of insistence a body felt to draw breath. It was automatic and near impossible to resist.
“A lamb?” The High Queen’s gaze passed over him with the attentiveness of a hummingbird, pausing and darting away. She returned her eyes to the board in front of her. The game looked to be something akin to chess but several times larger and with six sets of gemstone pieces.
“All of his wet parts are still inside.” Bananach reached over and stroked Seth’s head. “Do you remember when they brought us sacrifices?”
Sorcha picked up a translucent green figure with a sickle-looking weapon in its hand. “You shouldn’t have brought him here. You shouldn’t even be here.”
Bananach tilted her head in that disturbing birdlike gesture. Her voice was singsongy as she asked, “Shall I keep him then? Shall I carry him back through the veil, take him from the field of play? Shall I leave him on the right regent’s threshold; tell them I brought him to the door from inside your demesne? Shall I, sister mine, take the lamb?”
Seth paused as something unreadable flickered in Sorcha’s eyes. He’d only just arrived here, so he couldn’t imagine where Bananach could leave him or what she could say that would cause trouble. The only regents who know me are Ash, Don, or Niall, and I could explain—the thought stopped as clarity hit: she wouldn’t be leaving him alive at anyone’s door. If Sorcha didn’t allow him to stay, he was about to die.
He looked around, as if a weapon would suddenly be lying in reach. There wasn’t anything. Sentences from the lore he’d read rushed to mind in a jumble. Hawthorn and Rue, thistle and rose… He knew there were herbs and plants that offered protection. He kept a number of them in his train and often with him. He began rummaging in his pockets. Words…vows… What could he offer not to die? Bananach had promised to deliver him safely to Sorcha, but nothing beyond that.
Sorcha held the figure aloft before setting it in a square adjacent to the one it had been in when she lifted it. “Fine. He can stay.”
The raven-faery pressed one taloned hand over his chest, her fingers curling in ever so slightly, as if she’d pierce him with her fingertips. “Be a good boy now. Make me proud. Make our dreams come true.”
Then she turned and left.
For a few heartbeats, Seth stood and waited for Sorcha to speak. He’d heard enough about her—not in direct revelations but passing comments that painted her as impeccably proper and uptight—that he thought he should wait for her to speak.
She didn’t utter a word.
Boomer shifted, sliding down Seth’s arm and lower until the boa was resting at Seth’s feet.
Still the High Queen sat silently.
Now what?
Waiting her out was unlikely. He glanced at the doorway through which Bananach had just left and then back at the High Queen. She wasn’t looking at her puzzle board now; she gazed into the distance, as if she saw things in the empty air.
Perhaps she does.
After several still moments, he figured he’d try to speak. “So, you’re Sorcha, right?”
The look she gave him was not cruel, but it wasn’t inviting at all. “Yes, and you are?”
“Seth.”
“The new queen’s mortal consort.” She lifted another game piece absently. “Of course you are. Not many mortals would know my name, but your queen is—”
“She’s not my queen,” he interrupted. Somehow that particular clarification felt important just then. “She’s my girlfriend. I’m not anyone’s subject.”
“I see.” She lowered the violet carving and straightened the voluminous skirts she wore. “Well then, Seth who is not a subject, what brings you to my presence?”
“I want to be a faery.” He looked at her without flinching.
Sorcha moved the game board away. A flicker of what might be interest flashed over her face. “That’s a bold request…and not one to answer without contemplation.”
She could fix everything. She has the power to do it.
An elaborate tapestry was pushed aside, and another beautiful, seemingly emotionless faery appeared from behind it. He could’ve been one of her game pieces: perfectly still and inhuman. As Seth looked at him, he realized that this was the same faery who’d watched Niall fight with Bananach in the Crow’s Nest.
“Devlin,” she murmured. “I believe my new mortal needs a resting space for the time, and a reminder of the dangers of impertinence. Would you tend to that while I ponder things?”
“It is my honor.” The faery bowed slightly, and then he calmly reached out and gripped Seth’s neck.
Devlin lifted Seth by the throat and squeezed, applying pressure to his windpipe.
Seth couldn’t breathe. He struggled, kicking out at Devlin, but everything went dark and he fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter 21
“You all right?” Carla asked Aislinn softly as they waited for Rianne to come out of the restroom. She took a while to apply the makeup her mother forbade her to wear to school. “Sick?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk? You look…off.” The words were hesitant, but they were still there. Carla had become mothering with both Aislinn and Rianne.
“Seth and I—” Aislinn started, but a sob threatened at the thought of finishing that sentence. She stopped the words before the tears at the end of that admission could fall. Saying it aloud in this world made it too real. “He’s not�
�here. We had a sort of fight.”
Carla hugged her. “It’ll be okay. He loves you. He’s been waiting around for you forever.”
“I don’t know.” Aislinn tried not to look at the faeries who stood invisibly in the hall. “He took off or something.”
“Seth?”
Aislinn nodded. It was all she could do. A part of her wished she could talk to Carla, to Rianne, to someone, but the person she talked to was missing—and telling Carla all about it would mean skirting the truth or admitting truths that Aislinn couldn’t quite handle. Mortals really didn’t belong in the world of faeries.
“He’s gone.” She looked at Carla and at the faeries behind her and whispered, “And it hurts.”
Her friend made comforting noises, and her faeries stroked their hands over her hair and face. Once that would have terrified her, but now their touches comforted her. The faeries were hers. They were her reason now, her focus and her responsibility. I need them. And they needed her; they weren’t going to ever leave her. Her court needed her. That truth was a comfort as she went through the motions of the school day yet again.
Faeries weren’t often in the school. The metal and plethora of religious symbols made them uncomfortable. Yet, throughout the day, her faeries surrounded her. Siobhan sat beside her in an empty desk during study hall. Eliza sang a lullaby during lunch. The soft cadence of her words was matched by affectionate brushes of faery hands as her guard and other assorted faeries came by without any reason but to show her they cared. This is my family. Her court was more than a collection of strangers or strange creatures. Their love didn’t make all the pain go away, but it helped. They helped. That sense of being cosseted in her court’s embrace was a salve on her injured heart—and it was all that helped.
After school, Aislinn didn’t race to see Keenan, but her steps as she went up the stairs to the loft were hurried. Being there, surrounded by her king and court, made her feel a sense of security she lacked outside the building.
She still went to school, and she still spent some nights at home with Grams, but in the eighteen days since Seth had vanished, her attempts to reenter her old life had stopped. She didn’t see or call her friends. She didn’t go anywhere alone. She was safest with Keenan. Together, they were stronger. Together in their loft, they were safer.
After the first couple days, he’d learned not to ask any awkward questions about how she was doing or how she felt or—worst of all—if Seth had called yet. Instead he gave her tasks to keep her distracted. Between schoolwork and court business and the new self-defense training, she’d been exhausted enough that she slept at least a few hours every night.
Sometimes, Keenan mentioned in passing that he’d not had any progress on finding Seth. But we will, he promised. It was only slow because they’d been cautious in their inquiries. Letting Seth’s absence become public could endanger him, he’d explained. If he’s left us, he’s vulnerable. It made things slower than she wanted, but endangering him—is he already in danger? — wasn’t an option she liked at all. Whether he left her by choice or not didn’t matter. She still loved him.
All they’d learned so far was that he’d gone to the Crow’s Nest and spent hours with Damali, a dreadlocked singer he’d once sort-of dated. The guards hadn’t seen him leave; a tussle with several Ly Ergs who’d captured one of the younger Summer Girls had called their attention away. When they returned to the Crow’s Nest, Seth had slipped out, but Skelley had spoken to him afterward. He was safe in his home, Skelley repeated. I don’t know how he left. He’s never done so before. Seth left stealthily; he took Boomer; he sounded excited. The evidence didn’t add up. Did he go willingly? The only reason to believe he hadn’t was that it seemed out of character.
Does it though?
Seth didn’t do relationships. He’d never been in one before her; he was increasingly tense about her bond with Keenan; and he’d sounded fine when he called. He didn’t sound quite right, but telling someone good-bye over voice mail was weird. Maybe he went to see his family. She’d spent hours thinking it through, ordering faeries sent to various locations, having them check ticket receipts at the bus and train station. None of it made her feel any better—or brought answers.
Seeing Keenan was all that eased the ball of tension she felt. Today though, when she walked through the door of the loft, he greeted her with a sentence she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear: “Niall would like to speak with you.”
“Niall?” She felt both fear and hope at the thought of talking to him. She’d tried to contact him the day after Seth had first vanished, but he’d refused to see her.
Keenan’s usually transparent emotions were tamped down so tightly that she couldn’t get any sense of what he was feeling. “After you meet with him, we can go over Tavish’s notes and have dinner.”
She was unable to breathe around the tightness in her chest. “Niall is here?”
The look on Keenan’s face was a brief blur of fury. “In our study. Waiting for you alone.”
Aislinn didn’t correct him as she once would’ve; the study was hers too now. This was her home. It had to be. Immortal only if I’m not murdered. She’d not thought about the finite and infinite until she’d become a faery, but since the change, the idea of reducing forever to just another heartbeat terrified her. The recent threats from Bananach, Donia, and Niall made the possibility of ending seem too real. There were those who could take everything away—and one of them was waiting on the other side of the door.
Knowing Keenan stood a moment away helped, but the trepidation she felt at seeing Niall was still awful. In the first rush of changing, she’d still felt terror, self-doubt, worries—all the stuff she’d hid over the years when she saw the faeries but had to keep her Sight secret. Fear for her safety had faded. It was back now, stronger than it had ever been before.
“Do you want me to come in?” Keenan’s offer was without inflection.
“If he said ‘no’…if he has information and didn’t tell me because…” She gave him a pleading look. “I need answers.”
Keenan nodded. “I am here if you need me.”
“I know.” Aislinn opened the door to go see the Dark King.
Niall sat on the sofa looking as comfortable as he had when he’d lived there. It was familiar enough to ease the tension Aislinn felt—but his expression of contempt wasn’t.
“Where is he?”
“What?” Aislinn felt her knees go weak.
“Where. Is. Seth.” Niall glared at her. “He’s not been home; he’s not answering my calls. No one at the Crow’s Nest has seen him.”
“He’s…” All the calm she’d been struggling to feel slipped away.
“He’s under my protection, Aislinn.” Niall’s shadowy figures appeared and perched behind him in postures of judgment. One male and one female sat on either side of Niall; their insubstantial bodies leaned forward attentively. “You cannot keep him away from me just because you don’t like—”
“I don’t know where he is,” she interrupted. “He’s gone.”
The shadowy figures shifted in agitation as Niall asked, “Since when?”
“Eighteen days ago,” she admitted.
The look on his face was censorious. He stared at her for several moments, not speaking or moving. Then, Niall stood and walked out of the room.
She ran after him. “Niall! Wait! What do you know? Niall!”
The Dark King spared a hostile glare for Keenan, but he didn’t stop. He opened the door and left.
Aislinn attempted to follow, but Keenan restrained her as she tried to pass him, before she could reach out to take hold of Niall.
“He knows something. Let go—” She pulled free of Keenan. “He knows something.”
Keenan didn’t try to touch her again or close the door. “I’ve known Niall for nine centuries, Ash. If he walks away, it’s not wise to follow. And he’s not our court now. He’s not to be trusted.”
She stared into the empty hallway bey
ond their loft. “He knows something.”
“Maybe. Maybe he is simply angry. Maybe he’s off to pursue a suspicion.”
“I want Seth home.”
“I know.”
Aislinn closed the door and leaned on it. “Niall didn’t know he was leaving. It’s not just me he left.”
“Niall will seek him out too.”
“What if he’s hurt?” she asked, giving voice to the fear she tried to hide even from herself. It was easier to believe he’d left her than that he was injured and unfindable.
“He took the serpent. His door was locked behind him.”
They stood there in silence until Keenan gestured toward the study. “Would you like to go over the notes Tavish had collected for us? Or do you want to hit something?”
“Hit something first.”
Keenan smiled, and they went to one of the exercise rooms to hit the heavy bags and speedballs that hung there.
Later, after she had hit the bag until her stomach muscles ached to the point that she felt like she’d be sick if she pushed further, Aislinn grabbed a quick shower in the bathroom attached to her bedroom. Until recently, she hadn’t felt like it was hers. It was a place to sleep and store a few things, nothing more, nothing less. That had changed after Seth left. She’d withdrawn into the room several times just to hide away from the world—only to retreat from there to roam the whole of the loft, where her faeries were. She needed them, needed to be around them.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t startled to find Siobhan sitting cross-legged in the middle of the massive canopy bed. The spiderweb drapes that hung like walls around the bed were fastened back, pinned by rose thorns that jutted from the posts of the bed. Surrounded by the fairy-tale setting, Siobhan looked like a princess from one of those animated movies Grams had never approved of watching. The Summer Girl’s hair was long enough that tendrils of it brushed the duvet that covered the bed. The vines that twisted like living tattoos around her body rustled as the leaves shifted toward Aislinn.
