Fragile Eternity (19 page)

Sorcha smiled. “You’re a curious mortal. I could like you.”

He knew not to say “thank you” so he said only, “You are kind.”

“No, that I am not.” She looked for a quick moment as if she might laugh. “But I am intrigued by you…. If you are to be changed, you’ll spend one month of every twelve here with me.”

“You’re saying yes?” He gaped at her. His legs felt weak.

She shrugged. “You please me…and you have the potential to benefit Faerie, Seth Morgan. This is not a gift given lightly. You are binding yourself to me for as long as you live.”

“I’m already bound in other ways to two other faery rulers, and fond of a third.” He tried to push back the fear that was creeping over him. He wanted this, but it was still terrifying. It was eternity they were discussing. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing, on calm spaces in his mind. It took away the edge of panic.

Then he said, “So what do I need to do? How’s it work?”

“It’s a simple thing. One kiss and you’ll be changed.”

“A kiss?” Seth looked at her; there were two other faery queens who could demand a kiss without making him uncomfortable. Kissing Aislinn was something Seth never tired of doing, and Donia…he didn’t think of her that way, but he liked her as a person.
Plus it would irritate Keenan if I kissed Donia.
He smiled at that thought.

The High Queen, however, held absolutely no sexual or romantic appeal. She reminded Seth of the statues in the antiquities sections of art books, austere and unyielding. Even before Aislinn was the Summer Queen, she was passionate; Donia might be winter incarnate, but cold was not the same as temperate.

“Is there another way?” he asked. A kiss seemed a strange request, and while faeries were clever, they also didn’t lie. Seth knew that questioning was not only expected, but also lauded.

The High Queen’s expression didn’t change, not even a flicker of an emotion crossed her face, but when she spoke, her voice hinted at amusement. “Were you hoping for a quest? A seemingly impossible task that you could relay to your queen afterward? Would you like to tell her that you found and slayed the dragon for love of her?”

“A dragon?” Seth weighed his words carefully. “No, not so much. I just don’t think Ash would be cool with me kissing you, and faeries aren’t always very forthcoming about
the ins and outs of things.”

“We aren’t, are we?” Sorcha sat down on a chair that was almost as elegant as she was. Wrought of silver, it was all graceful lines that had no visible beginning or end, like Celtic knotwork made tactile. It also hadn’t existed in the moment before she sat in it.

“So, is there another way?” he prompted.

Sorcha smiled at him, a Cheshire cat’s grin, and for an instant he expected the rest of her to vanish. Instead, she fluttered a fan she slid from her sleeve, a demure gesture at odds with her now obvious amusement. “Not that I’m inclined toward. A kiss for your new monarch. It seems only fair to ask what you don’t want to give.”

“I’m not sure ‘fair’ would be the right word there.”

The fan stilled as she asked, “Are you arguing with me?”

“No.” Seth was pretty sure Sorcha was intrigued, so he didn’t back down. “Debating, actually. Arguing would involve anger or fear.”

Sorcha crossed her ankles, resettling her old-fashioned skirts and exposing the silver threads that crept up her ankles. “You amuse me.”

“Why a kiss?”

A spark of something dangerous slid into the High Queen’s voice as she asked, “Do you think she’d mind that much? Your Summer Queen?”

“It wouldn’t make her happy.”

“And that’s reason enough for you to not want to do it?”

“It is.” He tugged on his lip ring, hoping briefly that he wasn’t telling her the exact things she wanted to hear, but increasingly certain that Sorcha found appeal in the idea of Aislinn’s displeasure.

This no-lying-to-faeries thing is a bad plan.
He wasn’t particularly fond of having a moral code just then.
She’d lie to me if she were able.

Sorcha answered in a whisper-soft voice, “The simple things are perhaps the most difficult.”

Then she held out her hand in an invitation he suddenly wanted to refuse. Despite having been surrounded by faeries the past few months, her unnaturally elongated too-thin fingers creeped him out.
She could crush me with that delicate hand.

“This will make me like you? I’ll be a faery after?”

“You will, for all but one month of true fealty spent in my realm each year.” Sorcha hadn’t moved anything but that bone-thin hand and even that was unwavering. “During that month, you will be mortal.”

He couldn’t quite get his feet to move, but his mind told him he needed to. Retreat or proceed, those were the choices. “One kiss for eternity with Ash.”

At that, Sorcha’s calm faltered. “Oh, no, I don’t guarantee
that
. One kiss in exchange for faery longevity. You’ll be held to faery law: lying will be beyond your capabilities; your word will be a vow. Basic glamour will be yours to wield. You’ll be one of us in almost every way, but cold iron and steel will be not be toxic to you because you will retain
a touch of your mortality. As to your queen, Summer Court faeries are a fickle lot—volatile, untidy in their emotions. I cannot promise you eternity with her.”

She wiggled her fingers then, beckoning him. “Come now. If you’ll accept the deal you’re seeking…”

Seth took a step toward her. “And I’m still me? When I’m out there and here? I’m not your subject out there either?”

“Correct,” she confirmed. “Examine my words, Seth Morgan, and choose now. This isn’t an offer that will last if you walk away from me today.”

Am I forgetting anything?
He’d read enough on faery contracts to know that they always looked better than they were. Mortals had been bargaining and losing through loopholes for as long as they’d had dealings with the fey. He’d been paying attention when Aislinn sorted through faery politics; he’d borrowed books from Donia; he’d talked to Niall. The key was in precision.

One month a year, a kiss, and eternity with Ash.

He couldn’t see any way that this was a bad bargain.
Except…
“Are all the months I owe you in a row?”

When Sorcha smiled this time, it was actually breathtaking. Here, then, was the faery queen he’d expected to see. That glimmer of emotion softened her faery perfection, and he saw in her that same wicked, lovely temptation that Aislinn and Donia exuded.

“No. One month of fealty in my presence, and then you leave Faerie and return to the mortal realm for eleven months there.” She let a glamour fall over her until she looked like
every dream he’d ever have—perfect and untouchable and somehow deserving of worship for it. “You may, of course, petition me to stay here for those eleven months as well.”

Seth reached up and gripped the charm Niall had given him. He squeezed until he thought the smooth stone might cut into his skin. It was little, if any, use in this moment. “Don’t hold your breath for that.”

“Do you choose to accept my offer, Seth Morgan?”

He shook his head as if to clear the spider webs that seemed to be wrapping around him as she spoke. “I do.”

“It’s your choice. Come to me if you would choose this. Do you choose to accept this, Seth Morgan?”

He came closer, letting himself be pulled toward her by tendrils he couldn’t see. Intangible fibers wrapped around him; they would weave him to her, assure him a place in a world of purity, protect him from the taint of mortality when he was outside Faerie.

And she
is
Faerie. She’s
everything.

“I do choose this,” he said for the second time.

“To be subject to a faery queen is to give every breath at her command. With no hesitation, you offer your fealty and presence here in Faerie for a month each year as long as you draw breath?”

He was kneeling on the earth in front of her, touching her perfect hand. In her eyes, moonlit slivers beckoned. He’d be destroyed by them if he erred. He let go of the charm he’d been clutching so he could reach out to her.

My queen.

“Will you give me your last breath if I ask it of you? Do you choose to accept what I’m offering you, Seth?”

He shivered. “I will. I do. I
choose
this.”

“Then give me my kiss, mortal.”

Sorcha waited. The Summer Queen’s mortal knelt at her feet, clutching her hand, and unable to shake free of her residual glamour, despite his charm, despite her gentleness. She held her appeal in check, but this mortal was meant to be hers. She’d seen it when he first stood in front of her, boldly asking for the gift of immortality. She saw it now when she looked to the future. Seth Morgan belonged to her, to her court, to Faerie. He mattered—and he needed to be not just a faery, but strong as few faeries were.

As he faltered, she debated the wisdom of how she’d chosen to make this so. It was of her own self she was giving. He had no need to know that or to know what a rarity it was. Simply because she could engender a transfer didn’t mean she often did so. Mortals simply didn’t become faeries, not without being bound to the faery who’d shared an essence with them. There were two ways to do so—as a loved one or as chattel. If he came to her more out of pure selfishness, she’d offer him only selfish use. If he offered more selflessness than self-gain, she’d return that generosity.

“A kiss to finalize our bargain, to unmake your mortality…” Sorcha didn’t let her hopes into her voice. She wanted him to be worthy of what she was giving to him;
she believed him to be so. He could still turn away; he could fail her in this moment.

“You’re not her,” he whispered. “Only should kiss her.”

“Be strong, Seth.” She kept her glamour in check. “If you want this, you must give me my kiss.”

“Give you a kiss.” His words weren’t slurred or unclear, but they were slower.

Sorcha couldn’t reach out. She couldn’t take his will-power. The choice was his; it was always theirs. “Seal the bargain, or reject the offer.”

His eyes were unfocused; his heartbeat was rapid. Then he quirked his metal-decorated brow, and she saw a spark of something unexpected.

“Yes, my queen.” He held her gaze as he turned her hand palm up. Then, he gently kissed her palm. “Your kiss.”

For a moment, Sorcha didn’t react at all. Here was a bold one. Mortals strong enough to resist the temptation of the Unchanging Queen were a rare treasure. Bananach had been right; her own visions of what might be were true: this mortal was different.

Wars are fought over lesser things.

She aided him to his feet, holding his hand in hers as his body began to sway under the first crush of the change. “Our deal is binding.”

He pulled away. “Good.”

She had intended to leave him drunk on a kiss, lost under a narcotic touch that would lessen the pain.
He ought not have to suffer for being clever. It’s not unfair to offer a
kindness to my subject.
When Keenan had changed his mortal girls, they had almost a full year to adjust. Seth had only a month—and within Faerie. The first wave of change would be harsh.

She didn’t allow her subjects to suffer unnecessary cruelty. It was irrational. “Give me the charm.”

She was his queen now: Seth obeyed.

Then the High Queen donned a glamour to look like his
other
queen. “Seth? Come here.”

“Ash?” He stared at Sorcha in confusion.

She held her hands out. “Let me help you.”

“I feel
wrong
, Ash. Sick,” he muttered, weaving slightly on his feet as he tried to look around. “Where’d you come from? Missed you.”

“I’ve been here all along,” Sorcha told him.

Few truths were more complete than that revelation.

“Need to sit down.” He stretched a hand out for a wall that was not there.

Sorcha stroked his face. “Mortals have no business playing in this world. Sometimes they attract the wrong attention….”

“Just trying to keep
your
attention.” He leaned his forehead against hers briefly and then pulled back with a puzzled look. “You’re not this tall.”

“Shhh.” Then she kissed him while his mortality was pushed out by the new faery energy coursing into his body. She let her own calming breath slip into him. It wouldn’t take away all the pain, but it would help. Sorcha could
remake the world in Faerie, but she couldn’t change everything. Pain, pleasure, sickness, longing, there were things that even the High Queen couldn’t affect.

Sorcha found herself hoping that the Summer Queen was worthy of this mortal-no-more’s passion and sacrifice.

Because he’s my subject now.

And like any good queen, Sorcha did what was best for her subjects whether they asked it of her or not.

Donia waited at the fountain on Willow. This late at night the mortal saxophone player was long gone, and the crowds of children who had frolicked in the water were tucked into their beds somewhere. Matrice, one of the Hawthorn People, perched in a tree nearby. The white-winged faery was one of the only fey in the area. Her tattered wings fluttered like ripped spider webs as she sat watching the sky on the edge of a branch. On the ground at the other end of the courtyard, Sasha crouched attentively. Somewhere farther out, several glaistigs roamed the perimeter.

Donia wanted answers, and of the four faeries she could ask, only one seemed likely to be helpful. Sorcha was unquestionable; Keenan was silent; Bananach was mad. That left Niall. After Seth’s sudden disappearance and the whispered rumors coming from Faerie, Donia had little reason to doubt that Seth was in Faerie, a place from which mortals—and more than a few faeries—didn’t return.

The High Queen was inflexible, cruel in ways that sometimes made the Dark Court look meek.
Or maybe I’m swayed by my own fears….
Summer’s rising strength made her melancholy. Winter had no business being out in the increasing heat of the season, but inviting Niall into her home felt like a betrayal of Keenan. Even now that their chance at a real relationship—however brief—was gone, she couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him.

Niall arrived, alone and moving with the fluid grace of shadows stretching over the earth. His stride bespoke the same easy arrogance as his predecessor; his hand held a lit cigarette, a habit he’d adopted along with the responsibility of the court. Violence and temptation, he was the embodiment of the court he’d once rejected. The hint of it had been there when he was with the Summer Court—it was a part of why Keenan had kept him near, in her opinion—but the comfort he had with his own shadows was new.

Niall said nothing as he sat on the bench beside her.

“Why is Seth in Faerie?” she asked by way of greeting.

“Because he’s a fool.” Niall scowled. “He wanted to become fey. Bananach took him to Sorcha.”

“Do you think Sorcha will keep him? Or turn him or—”

Niall cut her off with a look. “I think Sorcha has a habit of stealing away Sighted mortals, and Seth is likely in trouble.”

“And Keenan?” She didn’t stumble over the question, even though it stung to ask about him just then. She’d had
her hopes raised, heard him tell her he loved her, and mere days later, he told her good-bye. Solstice was approaching, but she wouldn’t be in his arms.

Niall ground his cigarette on the underside of his boot before answering her. “Seth’s been missing and unfindable by all of the Summer Court. There’s no way Keenan can’t at least suspect where he is…especially as I expect that Ash told him of Seth’s desire to change.”

Idly, Donia let snowflakes fill her palm and shaped them into a small statue of the lone kelpie that lazed in the fountain. Niall sat silently in the dark beside her, waiting for her to steer the discussion. He wasn’t pushy, even now that he was the head of the court the faeries feared almost as much as they feared hers.

Things had started shifting when Beira died. They’d changed as Keenan grew stronger. They’d gone off-kilter when Irial stepped down from his throne. Everything had become tentative. Not for the first time since she’d realized where Seth must be, Donia wondered if telling Aislinn was better or worse for the impending conflicts. If Aislinn knew, she’d go after Seth and into a conflict the Summer Court would lose. If she knew where he was, Aislinn would be furious with Keenan for hiding the truth—which would further weaken the Summer Court. Yet, not telling her seemed cruel and would inevitably drive another wedge between the Summer Court and the Winter Court. She’d not forgive Donia or Niall or any of them should she learn that they all knew where her beloved Seth was. And if he
were killed in Faerie…the consequences of Aislinn learning that everyone had kept silent could be disastrous.

“Should we tell her?” Donia asked.

Niall didn’t need to ask for clarification. “I’m not sure. She’s grown closer and closer to—” He stopped and gave her a tender look.

“I know.”

Niall lit another cigarette. The cherry glowed a warm red in the almost lightless night. “If we do, it’ll complicate things. Ash will want to pursue him. Bananach tells me things are already poised for true violence.”

Donia tried to separate her own desire for Seth to return to Aislinn from her awareness that war could follow Aislinn’s knowing. The consequences of conflict with Sorcha were unfathomable. Then again, the consequences of Aislinn learning that the Winter Court and Dark Court both knew weren’t pretty either.

Or of learning that Keenan knows.

Niall sighed. “I don’t know. I’m going to see Sorcha. I’ll see how he fares, retrieve him if I need to. It’s probably past time to go visit Faerie anyhow….”

Donia crushed the snowy sculpture she’d been making and let the flakes drift to the ground where they melted immediately. “We aren’t her subjects.”

“Sorcha’s not like us, Donia. She’s without our possibilities for change. She’s the essence of Faerie.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. “If the stories are true, she’s the first of us. If she came here, we’d all be
her subjects. If we went back to Faerie, we’d be her subjects. Showing her respect is the least we should do.”

“I’ve read her books, Niall. I’m not sure if we’d
all
be her subjects if we went there.
Your
court was her opposition.”

“Centuries ago, Don.” Niall’s shadow-maidens danced beside him in glee, belying the meekness of his words. They writhed in the bluish haze of Niall’s cigarette smoke. “Right now, your court is stronger. Mine isn’t able to oppose her.”

“I don’t know. Somehow, I suspect you’d fare better than you’re admitting.”

Niall’s lip curved into a smile, and despite their history of conflict—his working with Keenan and her working against their goals—she felt a loosening of the tension inside her. He seemed happy. Over centuries longer than she’d drawn breath, he’d been sorely abused by Keenan, by Irial, by Gabriel’s Hounds. It was soothing to see him lighter in heart for a change.

“You are kind,” he said. “If Sorcha spent much time here, it wouldn’t matter what we know now. She re-creates the world as easily as we breathe. Once, forever ago, I used to stay near her when Miach was my king, but after Keenan was born”—Niall shrugged as if it wasn’t a loss, although his near-reverent tone revealed the extent of what Sorcha’s presence had obviously once meant to him—“duty called. Miach’s court needed me. Tavish and I held what order we could until Keenan was old enough to escape Beira’s house. She let him have his visits to his father’s court, but…a court needs ruling. We did what we could.”

Donia was silent, thinking about the years Keenan spent in Beira’s home, about the court without a true king, about Niall trying to rule a court not his. That wasn’t something either of them needed to talk about just then. She redirected the conversation. “How long do you think Seth’s been there?”

“For him? A few days. Not long enough for Seth to panic, but…out here, it’s been weeks. I’ve arranged what I need here to go see him. I won’t have him injured if I can protect him.”

Donia nodded. “Bananach came to see me.” Until that moment, she hadn’t been sure she would tell him, but instinct was a critical part of ruling. Hers told her that Niall wasn’t a part of Bananach’s machinations.

“And?”

“She showed me the future.” Donia folded her arms over herself. “I thought we had a chance, but then this happened. She showed me…I am not unlike Beira.”

“It’s only a possible future,” he reminded her.

“If war is coming, I don’t want to be the cause of it,” she whispered. Being the Winter Queen didn’t mean that all of her doubts and worries had faded. If anything, it meant that the consequences of her doubts and worries could be catastrophic.

I am not Beira. I will not be the cause of a return to ugliness.

It was Niall’s voice that was ugly. “Why do you think I restrain myself against him? I have the power to strike him. You have the power to do so. Yet we don’t. I don’t want
peace, but war is not what’s right for my court now. If it was…”

Donia shuddered at the cruelty in Niall’s voice then. “So why do you let Bananach run free?”

“I don’t. I try to keep her leashed enough to prevent all-out war. Why do you think Irial saddled me with…I’m trying to do the same thing you are: find a balance that doesn’t weaken my court. Unlike you, I want to strike him. I don’t forgive as you have, yet war is not what’s best for our courts.”

“So we don’t tell Ash about his suspecting—or possibly knowing—where Seth is.” Donia hated it, but the discord that would result from Aislinn knowing Keenan misled her would put all of them in an even more untenable position. And the anger Keenan would have for Donia or for Niall would be dangerous to the already tentative peace.

Niall nodded. “And you let him go.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered. Uttering those words hurt like a physical pain. To come so close to the love she’d dreamed of and lose it was worse than if she’d not known it was within her reach. “Given time, Ash will accept him. Given time and a few wise choices, perhaps we can still avoid war.”

“There was a time when this was what I planned and hoped for—Keenan with his missing queen, happy, strong. It was all that mattered.” Niall looked bereft. His shadow-maidens stroked his shoulders soothingly.

“Me too.” She thought—but didn’t say—that it was still
what she wanted, not the being with Aislinn part, but his happiness.
Even now.
Despite everything, that’s what she wanted. She only wished that his happiness didn’t mean her sorrow.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Donia looked at him and said, “I would prefer that Bananach is contained, but if there is war, Winter will hold to the past.”

Niall was mortal-slow as he turned to look at her. “Meaning?”

“Meaning my court will ally with the Dark Court.” She stood, letting the snow she’d held in her lap fall to the ground, and waited for him to join her. “Whether it be against his court or the High Court. I want peace. I want…a lot of things, but in the end, I need to do what’s best for my court.”

“If I could let war reign just long enough to make him suffer”—Niall smiled, looking so deadly in that instant that it was hard to remember that he hadn’t always been the Dark King—“I would be sorely tempted, but fighting Sorcha…none of us wants that, Donia.”

“I’d rather fight Sorcha than Keenan.” She laid her hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Seth is an innocent. Would you let her harm Seth? If you had to side with Keenan to protect Seth, would you?”

“Yes, though I’d much rather fight against him.”

“But for Seth?”

“He is as my brother,” Niall said simply. “Sorcha will not
keep him against his will.”

Donia felt herself swaying slightly. This much time in the heat was wearing on her. “You need to go to Faerie.”

“And if it’s not Sorcha we need to fight? Would you stand against Keenan?” he asked.

“Not happily, but I will if need be.” She held his gaze. “No matter which way we act, Seth’s being in Faerie complicates everything.”

“Which is precisely why Bananach took him there,” Niall murmured. Then, he took her arm and escorted her from the courtyard with a comfort that felt familiar. It wasn’t time to dwell on the past, on the losses that she should’ve accepted years past. It was time to prepare for the future—deadly though it might be.