Fragile Eternity (21 page)

“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.

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.”

He laid it over his eyes for a moment. It smelled minty.
“Will I feel miserable the entire month I’m mortal?”

“No.” Her voice was soft. “But your body is trying to understand the extra energy that’s coiled inside you. Your senses will be different as a faery. Your gifts will be startling. The knowledge that most faeries are born possessing is being woven into your unconscious mind. If you were just to stay here, it wouldn’t feel like this. The process could go more slowly.”

“Woven?”

“With a few threads from Olivia’s starlight. It makes things quicker, but it stings a bit.”

He lifted the edge of the cloth from over his eyes to glance at her. “A bit?”

She had moved back to the window and was tearing up the blossoms she’d collected. “And the faery’s essence that you received is stronger than most. That too makes the change more challenging…. I’ve done what I could to ease the pain.”

The tone of her voice was very different from what it had been when she’d spoken to him before. Her expression was sculpture-stiff, but she was vulnerable.
Fragile.

Seth sat up and stared at his new queen. “You’ve given me everything. Because of you I can be with Ash. I can be there for Niall. I can survive being in their world.”

The High Queen nodded and her look of worry receded. “Few faeries will be strong enough to be a threat to you,” she said. “I’ve made sure of that.”

“Why?”

“Because I chose to.”

“Right…so that month here…” Seth hated bringing it up, but right then all he wanted was to see Aislinn. “Do the six days unconscious and my first few days here count too?”

“Yes.” Sorcha poured steaming water over the blossoms she’d plucked.

“So twelve of my thirty days are over?” He rolled out of bed and was briefly amused as she turned and quickly threw a robe at him.

“Yes.” She poured the blossom tea and handed him a cup. “Drink this.”

Seth didn’t even think to hesitate. He
couldn’t.
His queen had given him a command: he obeyed. He swallowed the vile drink, and then he scowled. “That…I just…I couldn’t tell you no.”

She smiled. “You’re
mine
, Seth Morgan. You’d give me your heart if I ordered it.”

She
owns
me.

He’d watched Niall, Donia, Keenan, and Aislinn with their faeries. It wasn’t like this. He hadn’t thought it would be like this when he’d sworn fealty.
Is it different because this is Faerie? Is it her? Me?
He scowled at her. “I didn’t know.”

She walked back to stand in front of the window again, once more keeping her distance from him. “If I choose to, I own your will, your body, your soul. Would you have changed your answer?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Good.” She nodded and stepped from the room into the garden. “Bring another cup of tea.”

She didn’t ask him to follow, but he knew that he should. It was expected.

Barefoot, wearing pajama pants and a robe, carrying a cup of disgusting tea, he followed Sorcha into the garden with no hesitation. She was his queen: her will was all that mattered.

He had to walk faster than he liked in order to catch up. “So I’m what? Your pet? Your servant?”

Sorcha’s look was bemused. “I don’t keep pets. Faerie isn’t as twisted as it looks from out
there
”—she made a vague gesture toward a faraway stone wall—“we are civilized in my court.”

“You own me. I’m not seeing how that’s civilized.” He sipped the noxious tea. “It isn’t like that for other rulers.”

“No?” She made a moue of confusion and then shrugged. “I am different.
We
are different.”

“But I’m a faery when I’m out there?” He suddenly needed to have her confirm it. The weirdness of her being able to steal his will had unsettled him.

“A strong faery. A faery few will be able to overcome. You are
different
, but yes, definitely a faery.” She looked away from him, staring at a bench that seemed as if it was carved of ivory. It was surrounded by tiny winged insects that shone like fireflies. They moved in a blurring arc and vanished.

“Okay. In
here
I’m a mortal. So what am I to do? Do I just lie about?” Seth hoped that his being a faery wasn’t
going to make him turn into someone who parsed words so oddly. Conversation with many faeries was infuriating. Sorcha was no exception.

She gave him another tolerant look—as if he were the one being difficult. “You will do what mortals have always done for us: you will create.”

“Create?”

“Art. Music. Verse.” Absently, she ran a hand over the bench. The patterns on it re-formed under her touch. “Everything you need is available here. Whatever medium. Whatever palette. Find inspiration and create something amazing for me.”

“So my price for immortality is weeks spent here doing what I enjoy doing?”

“Just”—she gave him a calculating look that he had seen on other queens’ faces—“don’t disappoint me. I will have your passion in your creation, or you won’t leave.”

“No.” Seth’s temper piqued, and he took a step toward her. “A month per year. That is the deal.”

“A month of
fealty
in Faerie was the deal. If you are to truly serve me, you will give me true art. Nothing offered to fill the surface only. True art. True passion.” Her tone grew gentle then. “Rest today, Seth. Tomorrow, I will return.”

There was something hidden in her voice, but before he could ask any questions, a gray stone wall on the opposite side of the garden path opened. Devlin emerged from behind it.

Sorcha gave a sad smile to Seth that confused him. “A
mortal shouldn’t be allowed the autonomy and influence you’ve had. Three of the four courts have been touched by your will. Balance needs to be reestablished. You are out of the natural order and so must be nullified in some way. It is in everyone’s best interests.”

Seth suppressed a shudder as he looked from the High Queen to the waiting faery. Seth had believed that the worst of the faeries belonged to Niall these days, but as he looked at the placid expression on Devlin’s face, he wasn’t so sure.

The monsters don’t always look like monsters.

Devlin gestured for Seth to precede him through the stone doorway, away from Sorcha, and Seth had to wonder just how far the queen’s lackey would go to “nullify” something she declared out of order.