by Melissa Marr
In her childhood that was one of the hardest lessons. Grams used to take her to the park for short trips so she could practice not-running when they sniffed and chased, so she could practice making her sudden stops seem normal, uninfluenced by the faeries chasing her. She hated those lessons. Everything inside screamed run faster when they chased, but that was fear, not reason, compelling her. If she stopped running, they lost interest. So she’d stop running from Keenan, once she figured out how to make it seem somehow natural.
She tried a few tentative smiles at Keenan as they walked toward health class.
He responded without hesitation, directing such an intensely happy look at her that she stumbled.
But when he reached out to steady her, she flinched away, and a frustrated frown returned to his face.
She tried again after they left religion class. “So do you have big plans this weekend?”
The expression on his face was an odd one, somewhere between amused and surprised.
“I’d hoped to, but”—he stared at her until she felt that familiar panic and compulsion rise up—“I’ve been doubting that I’d have much luck.”
Don’t run.
Her chest hurt too much for her to offer an answer, so she just nodded and said, “Oh.”
Silent then, he looked away, but he was smiling and quiet now. He waded through the crowd without another word. He still stayed too close, but the silence was a nice change. The lack of tempting warmth was incredible, like some odd calm radiated from him.
When they walked into Government, he was still smiling. “Can I join you at lunch?”
She paused. “You have every other day.”
He laughed, a sound as musical as the chiming song of the lupine fey when they ran. “Yes. But you resented it every other day.”
“What makes you think I won’t resent it today?”
“Hope. It’s what I live on….”
She bit her lip, considering: he was too easily encouraged by a few friendly remarks, but when he wasn’t trying so hard she seemed able to breathe around him, felt less overwhelmed by odd compulsions.
Tentatively she said, “I still don’t like you.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind if you spend more time with me.” He reached out like he’d touch her cheek.
She didn’t flinch, but she tensed.
Neither of them moved.
“I’m not a bad person, Aislinn. I just…” He stopped and shook his head.
She knew she was walking on precarious ground, but it was the closest to honest he’d sounded and the closest to peace she’d felt since he’d started attending Bishop O.C.
She prompted, “What?”
“I just want to get to know you. Is that so strange?”
“Why? Why me?” Her heart sped as she waited for him to respond, as if he’d answer the real question. “Why not someone else?”
He stepped closer, watching her predatorily, his mood shifting rapidly once more. “Honestly? I don’t know. There’s something about you. From the first time I saw you, I just knew.”
He took her hand.
She actually let him. Play along. It wasn’t just playing, though: she’d been resisting the need to reach out to him since they first met. It wasn’t logical, but it was definitely there.
At his touch, her Sight sharpened. It appeared as if the faeries around them had all donned human glamours simultaneously.
No one in the classroom reacted; no one screamed. Obviously, the faeries hadn’t suddenly become visible.
What happened? She trembled.
Keenan was staring at her, too intently for comfort. “I don’t know why certain people shine for others. I don’t know why you and not someone else.” He gently pulled her forward and whispered, “But it’s you I think of when I wake each morning. It’s your face in my dreams.”
Aislinn swallowed. That would seem odd even if he were normal. And he wasn’t. What he was—unfortunately—was completely serious.
She shivered. “I don’t know.”
Keenan stroked her hand with his thumb. “Give me a chance. Let’s start over.”
Aislinn froze. Years of Grams’ warnings tumbled through her mind, a symphony of wisdom and worry. She heard her own voice telling Seth that the way things were done wasn’t working. Try something new. She nodded. “Start over. Sure.”
And he smiled at her, truly smiled—wicked and lovely and so tempting that the stories of faery kidnapping came crashing into her mind. Kidnapping? Following by choice is more like it. She all but collapsed into her chair. He’s a faery. Faeries are bad. But if I can find out what they want…
Class was half over before she realized she hadn’t heard a word of the lecture or—she glanced at the notebook she didn’t remember opening—written any of it down.
Afterward, still in a daze, she walked beside Keenan to her locker.
He was talking, asking her something, “…carnival? I could pick you up or meet you. Your choice.”
“Sure.” She blinked, feeling like she was sleepwalking in someone else’s dream. “What?”
The faery guards exchanged knowing looks.
“There’s a carnival tonight.” He held out a hand for her books.
Stupidly she started to hand them to him, but stopped herself. “What about your big plans?”
“Just say yes.” He waited expectantly.
Finally she nodded. “As friends.”
He stepped back as she closed her locker. “Of course. Friends.”
Rianne, Leslie, and Carla came over then.
“Well?” Rianne prompted. “Did she say yes?”
“She shot him down, didn’t you, Ash?” Leslie patted Keenan’s arm consolingly. “Don’t worry. She turns everyone down.”
“Not everyone.” Keenan looked entirely too pleased with himself. “We’re going to the carnival.”
“What?” Aislinn looked from Rianne to Keenan. They knew?
“Pay up.” Rianne held a hand out to Leslie, who grudgingly pulled a crumpled bill out of her pocket, and then turned to Carla. “You too.”
“Pay up?” Aislinn echoed, following them toward the cafeteria.
Behind her, she heard several guards laughing.
“I told them he’d be able to get you to go out.” Rianne folded her winnings and tucked the bills into her blazer pocket. “Look at him.”
“He’s right here, Ri,” Carla murmured, shooting Keenan an apologetic look. “We’ve tried to teach her manners, but…” She shrugged. “It’s like housebreaking a dog. If we’d had her when she was still a puppy, maybe.”
Rianne smacked her on the arm, but she was grinning. “Woof, woof.”
Turning to Aislinn, Carla lowered her voice. “When we saw you two talking, she wouldn’t let us come over until she was sure he had asked you. She actually grabbed Leslie.”
“It’s not a date,” Aislinn muttered.
“Right. We’re just going to talk, get to know each other,” Keenan agreed. He paused, looking at each of them, glowing just a little as he did it. “In fact, you can join us if you want. Meet some of my old friends.”
Aislinn’s heart sped. “No.”
“Sounds like a date to me. Don’t worry. I’m not coming on your date, Ash.” Rianne sighed, like something wonderful had just happened, and turned to Carla. “What do you think?”
Carla nodded. “Definitely a date.”
“Aislinn is accompanying me as a friend,” Keenan said with a contented look. “I’m simply honored that she’s joining me at all.”
Aislinn looked at him, at her friends who were staring at him adoringly.
He caught her gaze and smiled.
She didn’t speed up as he kept pace with her. Now that Keenan seemed pleased, the compulsion she’d been feeling had faded to barely a whisper.
I can handle this.
But as he pulled out her chair with an unusual courtly gesture, she saw her reflection in his eyes, surrounded by a tiny halo of sun.
<
br /> I hope.
CHAPTER 15
They live much longer than we; yet die at last, or [at] least vanish from that State.
—The Secret Commonwealth by Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang (1893)
When Donia returned home from her evening walk, Beira was waiting on the porch, reclining in a chair fashioned of ice.
Almost idly the Winter Queen sculpted screaming faces on a sheet of ice beside her. It looked like the faeries in the sculpture were trapped alive, writhing and shrieking.
“Donia, darling,” Beira gushed, coming to her feet with such grace that it looked like she’d been pulled upright with invisible strings. “I was beginning to wonder if I should send Agatha after you.”
The hag in question grinned, exposing gaps where a number of her teeth should’ve been.
“Beira. How very…” Donia couldn’t find a word that wouldn’t be a lie. Unexpected? Pleasant? No, neither of those. “What can I do for you?”
“Such a good question, that one.” Beira tapped her chin with one finger.
“Now, if only my son had the good manners to ask that”—Beira frowned petulantly—“but he doesn’t.”
Across the yard, at the edge of the trees, several guards saluted. The rowan-man waved.
“Do you know what that boy did?”
Donia didn’t answer; it wasn’t really a question. Just like Keenan. It’d be a relief not to be stuck between them.
“He went to the girl’s school. Enrolled there, like a mortal. Can you imagine?” Beira began pacing, the staccato rhythm of her steps cracking like falling sleet on the battered porch. “He’s spent the week with her, trailing behind her like that dog of yours.”
“Wolf. Sasha is a wolf.”
“Wolf, dog, coyote, whatever. The point”—Beira paused, standing so still she could’ve been carved of ice—“the point, Donia, is that he’s found an in. Do you understand what that means? He is making progress; you are not. You’re failing me.”
Agatha cackled.
Beira turned, slowly, deliberately. She crooked a finger. “Come here.”
Not yet realizing her error, Agatha stepped onto the porch with her grin still in place.
“Is it amusing then that my son could win? That he could undo everything I’ve built?” Beira put one finger under Agatha’s chin, her long manicured fingernail cutting into the hag’s skin. A line of blood trickled down her throat. “I don’t find it the least bit funny, Aggie dear.”
“’S not what I meant, my Queen.” Agatha’s eyes widened. She glanced at Donia, imploring.
“Aggie, Aggie, Aggie”—Beira tsk-tsked—“Donia won’t help you. She couldn’t even if she wanted to.”
Donia looked away, staring instead at the ever-present rowan-man. He shuddered in sympathy. They’d all seen Beira’s temper before, but it was still awful.
Holding the hag tightly in her embrace now, Beira put her lips to Agatha’s withered mouth and blew.
All the while Agatha tried to escape, her hands pushed against Beira’s shoulder, clutched at the Winter Queen’s wrists. Sometimes the Winter Queen relented; sometimes she did not.
Today she did not.
Agatha fought, but it was futile: only another monarch could stand against Beira.
“Well then,” Beira murmured as Agatha’s body slumped forward, limp in Beira’s embrace.
Agatha’s spirit—a shade now—stood beside them, wringing her hands, weeping soundlessly.
Beira licked her lips. “I feel better.”
She dropped Agatha’s body to the ground.
Agatha’s shade knelt beside her now lifeless body. Ice crystals fell from the corpse’s open mouth, trailed down her sunken cheeks.
“Go on, now.” Beira shooed the soundlessly weeping shade with a gesture, like she’d brush off an insect. Then she turned to Donia. “Work faster, girl. My tolerance wears thin.”
Without waiting for an answer, Beira walked away—the shade of Agatha trailing behind her—leaving Donia to deal with the corpse on the porch.
Donia stared at Agatha—at the body that used to be Agatha. The ice had melted, leaving a puddle soaking the hag’s hair.
That could be me. It will be me someday if I fail Beira….
“May I help?” the rowan-man stood close enough that she should’ve known he was there long before he spoke.
She glanced up at him. His gray-brown skin and dark-green leafy hair made him almost a shadow in the dark. If it weren’t for his bright red eyes, he’d almost blend into the growing evening.
Evening? How long have I been standing here? She sighed.
He gestured to the other guards who waited back at the tree line. “We could take her with us. The soil is moist; her shell would fade quickly in the loam.”
Donia swallowed the sickness that threatened to rise.
“Does Keenan know yet?” she whispered, embarrassed that she still worried over how he felt.
“Skelley already went to tell him.”
Donia nodded.
Skelley? Which one is he? She tried to focus, think about the guardsmen. Better that than thinking about Agatha.
Skelley, he was one of the court guards, thin, like the Scrimshaw Sisters, gentle. He’d wept when she’d frozen the guards before. Still he stayed, taking his turns guarding her, doing as Keenan ordered.
“Do you need extra guards?” The rowan-man did not wince when he offered, although she knew he remembered the temper tantrums she’d thrown when such a thing was offered in the past. “We could at least come closer.”
Frozen tears rolled down her face and landed in the puddle on the porch. I don’t weep for her. Would he still offer such kindness if he knew that—that even now with Agatha at my feet, I weep for myself?
She looked away, to where the other guards stood, waiting, ready to protect her even though she’d never shown them a single reason to do so. Of course they would. Keenan wills it.
“Donia?”
She looked up. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”
With another soft rustling sound, he stepped onto the porch. “Let us take her away.”
Still watching him, Donia nodded.
He motioned to the others, and in barely a moment they’d taken the body away, leaving only a giant wet spot where Agatha had lain.
Closing her eyes as if that would shut out the images, Donia drew several deep breaths.
“Shall I stay closer?” the rowan-man whispered. “Just one guard nearer to you. If she returns…”
Eyes still closed, she asked, “What do they call you?”
“Evan.”
“Evan,” she murmured. “She’s going to kill me, Evan, but not tonight. Later. If I let the new girl take up the staff, she’ll kill me. I’ll join Agatha.” She opened her eyes and held his gaze. “I’m afraid.”
“Donia, please…”
“No.” She turned away. “She won’t be back tonight.”
“Only one extra guard?” He held an arm as if he’d pull her into an embrace. “If you were harmed…”
“Keenan would get over it. He has a new girl. She’ll give in. We all do.” She folded her arms over her chest and turned to go back inside. Back still turned, she added softly, “Let me think. Tomorrow I’ll figure the rest out.”
Then she went inside and closed the door, calling to Sasha, burying her face in his soft fur and trying to breathe.
Keenan was in great spirits when he got home. The guards had already filled in Niall and Tavish, so he wasn’t surprised to see them smiling when he walked in the door.
“Almost record time,” Tavish nodded approvingly, holding out a glass of summer wine. “I told you: nothing to worry over. Mortals are like that, especially these days. Get her in line, get back to business.”
“Get her in line?” Niall laughed and poured himself a glass too. “I’d love to see you say that to a mortal girl.”
Tavish scowled and carried the decanter into the living room. Several cockatiel
s perched on a long tree branch that spanned the left side of the room. “I’ve spent centuries with the Summer Girls. They were mortals, and they’re not that complex.”
Niall turned to Tavish and said, slowly, as if the older faery were a very, very young child, “Once they’re Summer Girls, their inhibitions are gone. Remember Eliza when she was a mortal? Not the least bit affectionate.” He took a long drink and sighed. “Now she’s much more receptive.”
“Aislinn’s different,” Keenan interrupted, feeling immeasurably angry over the idea that his Aislinn could be like Eliza, could join the Summer Girls, could warm other faeries’ beds. “I can feel it. She could be the one.”
Tavish and Niall exchanged a look. They’d heard the selfsame words before, and he knew it.
She could be, though. She could be the one.
He dropped onto the sofa and closed his eyes. I hate this, how damnably important these games are. “I’m going to go grab a shower. Clear my head.”
“Relax.” With a solemn expression, Tavish topped off his glass and handed it to him. “She might be the one. One of them has to be. Sooner or later.”
“Right.” Keenan took the glass of wine. If not, I’ll spend eternity doing this. “Send a couple of the girls. I could use some help relaxing.”
A couple hours later Keenan looked at the clock for the third time in the past half hour. Two more hours. This was the first time his people would see them together, the first chance they had to see him speak with the girl who might be the Summer Queen, the girl who might change everything. No matter that there’d been others. It was always the same: that precious bubble of hope that this one would be his queen.
Niall leaned against the wall in the doorway to the bedroom. “Keenan?”
Keenan held up a pair of gray trousers. Too formal. He rummaged in his closet. Jeans. Black ones. She’d like that. It was quicker if he simply became what they wanted, made a few changes to act like what they found appealing. “I need black jeans, not new looking, but not too faded.”
