by Melissa Marr
“Sorry.” She blinked and looked up at him.
“You needed sleep. It’s a compliment that you trust me enough to rest here.”
She blushed and then felt foolish for it. It wasn’t like she’d never woken up with friends. She’d crashed at Carla’s place and at Rianne’s and even at Leslie’s before things had changed so much. Waking up beside Keenan—okay, on him—wasn’t a big deal. She looked outside. Dawn was just breaking. He’d been holding her while she slept for hours. Before she could say anything, Keenan stood.
“Get changed.” Keenan pulled her to her feet as he said the words.
“For?”
“Breakfast out. Meet me downstairs.” Then he departed before she could ask anything or find words to tell him she appreciated his helping her feel secure enough to rest. She scowled at the door he’d left through. His distance during daylight hours made her feel awkward. On the one hand, she appreciated his keeping to his word not to pressure her, but on the other, it made her feel guilty. Once upon a time, he’d promised her that her wishes would be as his own. Despite his moments of telling her that what he wanted was different, he’d kept true to that. For not the first time, she wondered if she could’ve loved him if her heart wasn’t already given to Seth.
She was so tired of wondering, of doubts, of worries. Getting a decent night’s sleep helped, but worrying over the same thoughts she’d been having for months didn’t. Putting those thoughts away, she went to her room and got ready.
Downstairs, Keenan was waiting by the Thunderbird. They didn’t take the car often, so she was a little surprised.
He seemed nervous. “No questions yet.”
“Okay.” She got in and watched the sky brighten as he drove them out of town toward farmlands she’d been to on rare school field trips and even rarer photo excursions, when Grams could be convinced that she would follow the rules about the faeries. Back then, trips to dangerous expanses of iron-free nature were exceedingly rare. Now, it was safe. The crowds of faeries in the fields and among the trees weren’t a danger to her.
Keenan pulled into a gravel lot. A battered wooden sign, hand-painted and fading, proclaimed peg & john’s orchard. On the other side of the vast and mostly empty parking lot stretched apple trees in long rows. As Aislinn looked, all she could see were branches and leaves and apples.
She’d never seen so many healthy trees. Even from this distance, she could see the ripening apples that clung to their strong branches.
When she got out of the car, he was already at her door.
“This is it, the orchard where…” She wasn’t sure she wanted to finish that sentence.
Keenan didn’t hesitate to say the words, to put the weight of it out there in front of her. “I brought one other person here, but”—he took her hands in his—“you’re the only one who’s ever come knowing what it means to me. I thought we could have breakfast here.”
“Can we walk first? So I can see it.” She felt shy. It wasn’t a casual thing he was offering her—not that anything between them had ever been casual. This was his private space, though; bringing her here was a gift.
He let go of her hands and got a cooler out of the car. After taking her hand again, he led her across the uneven lot. The crunch of gravel under her feet seemed loud in the empty air between them.
At the edge of the lot was a patch of grass. A dark-haired girl wearing sunglasses sat on a chair behind a table covered in baskets. An old cash register sat on the table. She looked at Keenan suspiciously. “You’re not usually back so soon.”
“My friend needed to come somewhere special,” he said.
The girl rolled her eyes, but she motioned at the baskets. “Go on.”
Keenan gave her a blinding smile, but her dismissive look didn’t alter. Aislinn found herself liking the girl for her instinctive mistrust. A pretty face didn’t mean someone was harmless, and Keenan, for all his kindnesses, could be ruthless.
Aislinn let go of Keenan’s hand and took a basket from the table.
“Come on.” He led her under fruit-heavy branches, away from the world. All I need is a red cape. She felt childhood panics rise up for a moment: venturing into the woods where faeries lurked was never safe. Grams had taught her that. Little Red had found danger because she went away from the safety of steel. He’s my friend. Aislinn pushed aside her twinge of mistrust and looked at the apples hanging overhead.
Casually, as if it wasn’t unusual, she took his hand again.
He said nothing. Neither did she. They walked hand in hand, wandering among trees he’d nurtured even when Winter held dominion over the earth.
Finally, they stopped in a small clearing. He set the cooler down and released her hand. “Here.”
“Okay.” She sat in the grass under a tree and looked at him.
He sat beside her, near enough that it felt unnatural not to touch him. She shivered even though it was warm. The loss of his hand meant that the warmth that had been zinging between them had receded.
“This was my haven for years when I needed a place that was just mine.” He looked lost then; clouds flickered in his eyes. “I remember when they were saplings. The mortals were so determined to make them thrive.”
“So you helped.”
He nodded. “Sometimes, things just need a little attention and time to grow.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “I was thinking last night. About things. About what you said before…when I kissed you.”
She tensed.
“You said you wanted complete honesty. If we’re to be true friends, that’s what we must do.” He ran his fingers through the grass between them. Tiny wild violets sprouted. “So here we are. Ask me anything.”
“Anything?” She plucked at the grass beside her, enjoying the strength of it. The soil was healthy; the plants were strong. She could feel the web of tree roots under them. She thought about it, what he was offering. There weren’t many things she could think to ask, except…“Tell me about Moira. You and Grams are the only ones I can ask.”
“She was beautiful, and she didn’t like me. Many of the others…Almost all of them”—he grinned—“with a few exceptions, were pliable. They were eager to fall in love. She wasn’t.” He shrugged. “I cared for each of them. I still do.”
“But?”
“I had to become what they wanted to help them love me. Sometimes that meant adopting the fashion of the day, their newest dances, poets, origami…finding out what they liked and learning about it.”
“Why not be yourself?”
“Sometimes I tried. With Don—” He stopped himself. “She was different, but we were talking about your mother. Moira was clever. I know now that she knew what I was, but at the time I didn’t.”
“Did you…I mean…I know you seduced…I mean, it’s…” She blushed brighter than the apples above them. Asking her friend, her king, her maybe-something-more if he’d slept with her mother was weird by any standard.
“No. I never slept with any of the Summer Girls when they were mortal.” He looked away, obviously as uncomfortable with the topic as she was. “I’ve never slept with a mortal. I kissed some of them—but not her, not Moira. She treated me with contempt almost from the beginning. No amount of charm, no gift, no words, nothing I tried worked.”
“Oh.”
“She was sort of like you, Aislinn. Strong. Clever. Afraid of me.” He winced at the memory. “I didn’t understand it, but she looked at me like I was a monster. So when she ran, I couldn’t follow her. I knew she’d have to come back when she became a Summer Girl. I knew she wouldn’t accept the test, so I let her go.”
“And what? Waited?”
“I couldn’t un-choose someone once she was chosen.” Keenan looked sad. “I knew she was special. Just like you. When I realized that you were the one, I wondered if she would’ve been my queen if…”
“I’ve wondered too.” She realized they were whispering even though the faeries that she’d seen in the orchard weren’t anywher
e near. “Or if I’m this because she was changing when she had me.”
“If I’d have done things differently—brought her back—how many things would’ve been different? If I’d known she was pregnant, you would’ve been raised by the court. You wouldn’t have resisted if you’d grown up with us. You wouldn’t have been so involved with mortals.”
She knew exactly what mortal involvement he was thinking of, but she couldn’t consider even for a heartbeat that her life would’ve been better without her mortal life. Loving Seth was the most perfect thing she’d known, and his love would be the only true love she’d ever know. That wasn’t something to wish away, even now when her heart ached. Of course, saying all of that to the faery she was tied to for eternity wasn’t something either of them needed.
“I’m glad you didn’t know,” she said.
“That year while Moira was away, pregnant with you, I spent all the free time I suddenly had trying to convince Don to forgive me.” He looked wistful. “Some nights she would deign to sit with me. We went to a revel together…and…”
“Does it get easier?”
He glanced at her. “Does what get easier?”
“Losing someone you love.”
“No.” He looked away. “I kept thinking one of her rejections would be the one that stopped hurting, but it was when she didn’t reject me that it hurt worse. I thought that we had a few years, but now…He’s gone, Ash, and I can’t not be around you. You’re my queen. I can’t not be drawn to you. If I could set you free somehow and make Donia my queen, I would, but I can’t. And if there’s a chance that you and I might become more, I will be here with you.”
“And Donia is…”
“Not something I want to discuss right now. Please?” He held Aislinn’s gaze and said, “I need time before I can talk about her.”
“So we try to figure out how to be happy with what we do have,” she added.
It wasn’t love she felt, not like she felt for Seth, but there was friendship. There was longing. She could convince herself it was enough. If this was to be her future, she could do it. Loving someone meant being hurt; choosing passion with a friend was safer. Maybe it was calculating, keeping her heart safe, but it wasn’t only selfish: it would make their court stronger. It made good sense.
She didn’t want to fall in love with anyone else—not that she wanted to tell him that. How do you tell someone that even though you’ll be together for centuries, you don’t want to love him? Keenan deserved better.
They sat there, talking about the courts, faeries, stories from their lives—just talking. Finally, he paused. “Stay right here,” he said. Then he vanished.
She leaned against the tree, content for a change, at peace with her world.
When he returned, he had several apples he’d plucked from a tree. “These were almost ripe the other day. I knew they’d be perfect today.” Keenan knelt on the ground beside her and held an apple out, not to give it to her but for her to bite. “Taste.”
She hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she tasted it: sweet and juicy. He had made that happen, brought these trees to strength when the world was trapped under ice. A few drops of juice trickled down her chin as she bit into the fruit, and she laughed. “Perfect.”
He ran his thumb across her skin and brought the apple juice to his mouth. “It could be.”
It’s not. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t enough. He’s not Seth.
She backed away, trying not to see the hurt in Keenan’s eyes.
Chapter 26
Niall stood scowling in Sorcha’s sitting room. Shadows radiated from him, strands of darkness extending from a black star. He didn’t move, even though the temptation to strike out was obvious in the clenching of his hands. “You’ve made a mistake, Sorcha.”
Slowly, far more slowly than she’d approach any faery other than Bananach, Sorcha crossed the room to stand in front of him. She didn’t stop until the hem of her skirt was atop his boots. “I do not make mistakes. I make reasonable choices. I chose to make him mine.”
“He was not yours to take,” he said. The handmaids of the abyss spun and faded into tongues of black flames as Niall gripped her arms. “The other courts might let you take the Sighted ones without consequence, but I’ll fight for this one. I’ll not let you take any of the halflings or Sighted ones that are mine to protect.”
“You stand in Faerie and think to tell me what will be, Niall. Is this really what you consider wise?” Around them, the room faded away until it was just the two of them in a wide-open plain. “My will is all that matters here.”
“Perhaps you might want to remember which court once held equal sway in Faerie?” He stared at the space beside her. His brow furrowed in concentration, but it worked. The Dark King smiled as an obsidian mirror, shadows made solid, reached up from the dry earth at their feet. It wasn’t much, but it was there.
The tempting cadence of Niall’s voice revealed his pleasure as he remarked, “I might be new to this court, but I watched you well once upon a time. I learned more of your secrets than I’ve told anyone.”
“Do you threaten me?”
“If I must.” Niall shrugged. “I can bring my court here. I can take him back. Being the Dark King gives me the right to rule equally in Faerie.”
“It would be foolish. I”—she took a small breath and the world around them shifted—“would crush you if you stood against me. You are a babe.”
“There are people worth fighting for.”
“We are partway in accord there: Seth is worth much. Fighting me is not the right answer.” She gestured around them. They stood in an austere temple. Niall’s obsidian mirror was flanked by ornate pillars. In the space behind her an altar heaped with carnage stood large. She didn’t need to look to know it was there. “Is that what you’ll offer Bananach? Your foolhardy compliance? You come here and behave impudently. Why do you think she brought him to me? He was a sacrifice to start her war.”
“Seth is not a sacrifice to start or avoid war. He is not disposable.”
“I know,” Sorcha whispered, not in fear but because sharing truths wasn’t something she did lightly. “I will keep him safe, as you would realize if you were thinking clearly. Should Bananach—or anyone—strike him, they strike me.”
Niall paused at that declaration. The anger fled from his face. “Ash…Aislinn…does not know where he is. Yet. If she learns that you’ve taken him, she’ll come here.”
“Her king will not tell her.” Sorcha knew that Keenan, that all of the faeries who were thinking clearly, knew precisely where Seth was. “It is not my responsibility—or of interest—to tell her. Nor is it yours, else you’d have done so.”
Sorcha held out her hand.
Niall, still the gentleman, took her hand and directed it to the fold of his arm. “What game are you playing, Sorcha?”
“The same one I’ve been playing my whole life, Gancanagh.”
For a few moments, Niall said nothing. Finally, he turned to face her and said, “I want to see Seth. I need to hear from him that he is well.”
“As you will. He has been resting for the past several days. When I think him ready, you may see him, but not before. He is mine to protect.”
“What did you do?”
“What needed done, Niall. That’s what I always do,” she said. Their courts might exist to oppose each other, but that didn’t make them true enemies. It was about balance. Everything was. On occasion she might have even tipped the scales to assure that the Dark Court was nourished enough to stay healthy—never too healthy, of course, but strong enough to serve its function. That was what Faerie required, and although she was not their monarch while they were in the mortal realm, she still was the Unchanging Queen.
“Was his oath freely given?”
There was such hope in his voice that she almost wished she could lie to Niall. She couldn’t, though. “It was. I do not tempt and misdirect, not like you.”
“I’ve never tried
to tempt you, Sorcha. Even when I thought you might be the answer I sought.”
“More’s the pity,” she murmured as she left him to find his way to his room. He was a worthy king, one who could bring the Dark Court back to what it could be, but he wasn’t a threat to her court, not today, not yet. In time he would be, but Niall wasn’t truly there as the Dark King. He was there as Seth’s friend, which meant he’d not abuse her court or her good will on this visit.
When Seth woke to find his queen standing in his room, his first reaction was gratitude: she’d saved him from mortality, given him a gift beyond words. Nothing he could do would be too much to repay her. She was stretching as she stared at the garden outside the window. It looked like the move of someone who had slept uncomfortably. Which is nonsense. The High Queen had no reason to be staying near him in any uncomfortable position, but Seth still looked at the muted green chair that sat near the window.
Sorcha didn’t turn to face him. Instead she pushed open the windows and reached outside to twist several blossoms off. “You’ve been unaware for six days,” she said by way of greeting. “Your body had changes to accept. This was easier for you.”
He stretched. He felt almost as bad as when he woke in the hospital after the last Winter Queen had almost killed him. He was sore, weak, and surprised that he’d slept—or been unconscious—for the worst of it.
“But I’m not just a mortal now?”
Sorcha smiled. “You were never ‘just a mortal,’ Seth. You’re an anomaly.”
He quirked a brow, which made him increasingly aware of a screaming headache that was growing worse by the moment. “I was a mortal.”
“Yes, but you matter in ways that you don’t see.”
“Which are?”
She walked over and handed him a washcloth from a basin beside the bed. At first, it looked like she was going to wipe his face, but she held it out. “The cold will help your head.”
