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She grasped Cilia’s hand and led her to the courtyard beyond the great hall. He knew where Rois was taking her and regretted he would miss the blossoming wonder on her face as she saw the Butterfly Tree for the first time.

The trunk was smooth and rounded; its substance was almost translucent. The tree’s long limbs reached high into the over-bright Faerie sky. A faint pulse of shifting colors in its base created a kaleidoscope that flashed through the iridescent body. Its sweetly perfumed bark shined with thick syrupy nectar; butterflies blanketed its arms.

Cilia would look with her human sensibilities and see the wonder and magnificence that made the Lady lavish the tree with her attentions. She would see, instead of leaves, thousands of butterflies, in every color and pattern imaginable, cover the transparent limbs. Their tiny, straw-like tongues would dart out to suction the sticky nourishment from its silky skin. What she wouldn’t see was the drunken abandon that spurred the fragile insects to glut. Overfilled with a substance they should never have tasted, a slow poison disintegrated their dainty bodies and allowed the tree to absorb their minuscule essence.

Although the tree looked grounded, it was animated. It moved to where it best felt the light, to where its delicate perfume could best lure more unsuspecting victims. It fed from its decorations; the ground was merely a convenient anchor to hold steady the burden of its pantry stretched across its limbs. This was Faerie, and nothing was as it seemed.

The Lady guided Fiach to a small alcove, a Whispering Corner. Anything spoken in whispers remained confined to the space, but a raised voice would release any secrets the speaker had imparted. They were a valuable resource, an oasis for allies to meet and foes to plot. Ventriloquism was a necessary skill set if you chose to activate a Corner. Just because your voice couldn’t be heard didn’t mean your lips couldn’t be read.

They stepped into the small space, and each took a chair facing the other. The air around them thickened and pulsed, which made his ears pop. The spell was active; their privacy guaranteed. He sat back and waited to see what had necessitated this meeting. He was anxious to see Cilia again, to smooth his hands over her flawless skin and glimpse forever in her eyes. He needed to feel his part in her future.

“I know you think me harsh in my treatment of your mate. For that, I am most sorry.”

He waved her apology away, uncertain if she meant it. “You didn’t have to take her words. You could have allowed her that small concession.”

She patted his cheek with affection that was alien to their relationship. “There are things I can do, things I must do, and things that will forever be altered if I interfere.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you honestly think that I don’t know what Harailt did to you during your stays with him?”

Fiach looked away. “I assumed you knew. You never mentioned it, and I saw no reason to either. It was nothing that either of us could change.”

“Exactly. Your life would have been forfeit if I had tried to come between that demon and his spawn.”

He sighed wearily. “I am of age. Harailt can no longer command my loyalties. I survived, and I found Cilia. Those are the only two things that matter.”

“They matter more than you know.”

“Why so cryptic, Lady?”

“I cannot speak freely with you until after the
Noce
. I should not speak with you at all, but I felt the need to … clear the air … between us before this trial begins.”

His scalp prickled with unease. “Promise me you will not harm her.”

“I can offer no such promise. It is not within my power.”

“You are the Lady of the court,” he hissed. “Nothing is beyond your power.”

The precarious bubble of silence wavered, but a gentle flick of the Lady’s hand enforced the nearly breached walls. She waited until the soft hum of magic resumed before she continued.

“That is where you are wrong. Destiny is not within my control. You have a great destiny before you, Fiach. One I have waited long years to see realized.” She stood and waited for him to do the same. “Come. We must begin.”

“Can I see Cilia before the trial begins?”

She nodded. “I will allow you to escort her to her chambers.”

Fiach accepted the offer and followed her through the pierced dome of quiet and back into the center of the hall, where Rois was already leading an exuberant Cilia to meet them.

*

Fiach’s mother motioned for them to follow and led them away from the great hall, which bristled with the curious stares of her people. Cilia closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of Fiach’s body against hers. The curve of his arm wrapped around her hip so that he bumped into her as they walked. When her eyes opened, he was looking down at her with those dark brooding eyes set in his perfect face. He had apparently taken after his mother in one respect at any rate. He was beautiful but not effeminate. Only pain and desperation could have forged the ruggedness in him.

They halted outside a pair of floor-to-ceiling double doors. Fiach’s mother pulled them open and stepped inside. As Fiach led Cilia, they entered an opulent bedchamber.

The high ceiling had been enchanted to look like a summer sky. Clouds danced overhead, white flashes against the cerulean background.

It reminded her of the eerie majesty of the Butterfly Tree, an illusion of beauty and splendor that attempted to hide something sinister. Dark gray shadows slipped between the white cotton hazes over head. She would ask Fiach to explain them, and the tree, once they were alone.

“This is to be your
D’Ame’s
chambers.”

Cilia passed Fiach a worried glance. His expression was grim.

“Mother, she is a stranger to this place, to your people. I’m certain she would feel more comfortable sharing a room with me.”

The Lady laughed. “Do not think I am ignorant as to how you became as she is. Only intercourse is the catalyst for that change. Our ceremonies require you to be celibate during the cleansing and preparations for the
Noce
.” She stared pointedly at his tented pants. “I can read the taint in your body from your aura.” She smacked her lips as if tasting the air surrounding them. “Fairy Dust. You will not be allowed alone with her until the trial is completed.”

“Lady I am not wholly Sidhe, nor completely demon, and Cilia is neither. Surely we aren’t required to fulfill such an archaic rite.”

“You are not either now; you are a Phoenix, as she is. They are an honored part of our extended court.” She smiled tightly. “That means that you both are bound by our
archaic rites
.”

Cilia slumped against Fiach’s side, concerned with the prospect of finding sleep beneath the ominous wisps painting the ceiling.

“Now, now, I am not being cruel. You will thank me for this later.” She pointed to a second set of double doors. “I offer you a concession. I will give my son a room joined to yours, but only if you can abstain.”

Cilia grabbed the offer with both hands. “I think we can behave ourselves.”

The Lady cast her an amused look but said nothing.

“Isn’t it a little early to be putting us to bed?” Cilia asked hesitantly.

The Lady smiled warmly at her. “It seems but a moment since you awoke, but time moves differently in this place. You will sleep. The enchantment on your bed will ensure that.”

Cilia opened her mouth to speak.

The Lady cut off her unasked question. “There will be time enough for answers later.”

Fiach leaned in to kiss Cilia good night but stopped just before his lips touched hers.

“You must not,” the Lady warned.

Fiach aligned Cilia until their heat mingled and their Phoenixes pushed reassuring warmth and much needed energy into each partner. She reached her hand to thread through his ebony tresses to feel the small quills and the buds of feathers filling in across his scalp.

The Lady sighed, as though they tried her patience. Fiach stepped away but let his fingers trail down her cheek. “I love you. No matter what else comes, know that.”

His eyes were pained and full of worry. She wanted to comfort him, but his mother stepped between them and led him away. As the doors closed, Cilia thought she heard her say, “The trial has begun.” Their voices were softer now, too far away for Cilia to know if what she had heard was real or imagined.

Chapter Four

Without Fiach to share it, the room had lost its appeal. Cilia stepped to the bed and tested the mattress with her palm. It was soft and springy; the fabric smelled like fresh flowers and rain-kissed grass. She crawled up and settled on her favored side. As her head hit the pillow, her ears popped. Her eyes dropped shut, and her breathing almost stopped. She was still conscious and aware, but paralyzed and terrified. She wanted to cry out for Fiach, but her lips refused to move.

A voice whispered, “Do not fear, child. This is the first phase.”

Suddenly, all the talk of trials and tests crashed down on her, and all of Fiach’s assurances evaporated. In her mind, she was sitting in a black void, perched on a spindly chair carved from gnarled tree branches. Silver eyes gleamed in the darkness around her, and the soft cadence of a chant filled air. A cowled figure glided forward and spoke.

“We will ask you a series of questions. Answer them honestly. If you value the bond to your mate, you will be truthful. Do not attempt to escape; if you do, you forfeit your right to the
Noce
.” He uncoiled the long black length of a leather whip. Its serpentine tail danced nimbly across the floor just before her feet.

She nodded mutely, and he asked the first question, “What right has Fiach to be loved?”

Cilia waited, but not further clarification was made. The figure awaited her answer as the braided leather length writhed on the floor below her in silent menace, daring her to run. She licked her lips. “He has the same right as every creature to love and earn love in return.”

The hooded head bobbed and blended into the background, passing the whip’s handle off to the next figure to approach. The black handle hung loosely from his fingers, as though he regretted its presence there. He poised his question with little inflection.

“What right have you to be loved?”

Cilia’s heart accelerated; her mind flew ahead to try and sense a trap but was unable to find one. If there was a hidden meaning to the questions, she was at a loss to discover it. “As I said, we all have the right to give and earn love as we can. It’s not a matter of whether you deserve it, only if you can attain it.”

The black-robed figures shuffled their ranks again. The whip was offered, but this time waved away. Its black tail slid from view, like a snake retreating to the shelter of tall grass. The cloaked form opened his hand and a dagger settled against his palm. “Would you bleed for someone you loved?”

“Yes.”

He took her hand in his, and she noticed an intricate tattoo on the fleshy meat that joined his thumb and pointer. He pricked her finger with the blade.

Fire erupted around the dagger as her blood beaded on the tip. “I wonder, would you die for someone you loved?”

The question was harder, but the answer equally easy to give. “Yes.”

Cold hands twined in her hair and arched her neck. She felt the iced edge of the blade as it drew a line of blood from her neck.

“Are you certain? Death here is quite permanent.”

“Yes,” she said again. Then the horrible sensation of her neck being sliced open overtook her; she felt her airways bared, and her voice silenced as she screamed. The world went dark.

* * * *

Cilia jerked upright, disoriented and amazed to be alive at all. Fiach knelt at the foot of her bed with his hands folded in what looked like prayer. A white band of gauze circled his neck and wrists. Red seeped through in bright patches. Her hand rose to her throat impulsively and found the same padding. When she withdrew her fingers, they were tinted with blood.

“Fiach.” The sound was little more than a hoarse whisper. His head jerked up, and she saw mercurial tears slip down his cheeks. He pushed from the floor and moved to the foot of the bed. The doors to his bedchamber remained open; a thin Sidhe woman hovered in the doorway and watched them.

“Cilia,” her named was little more than a reverent murmur over his lips.

Her neck burned. “I’m alright. No harm done.” She swallowed a little to test her throat.

Fiach’s eyes burned with fury. “I can’t allow them to torment you like this.”

She pointed to his bandages. “And, you as well.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “We can still marry as humans do. This binding isn’t necessary to prove our devotion to one another.”

Cilia wished deep down that she could throw herself into his arms and beg to be spirited away, but she recalled the flush of pure joy on his face when she had agreed to the
Noce
. Whatever else lay in store, the reward had to be great for Fiach to be in awe at the prospect.

“No. We started this, and we will finish it. Something is niggling at my mind.” She frowned as the thought passed her by. “I know this is the right thing to do.” She rubbed her temples. “I hate not being able to remember things, always feeling like something important is on the tip of my tongue only to have it slip away.”

He reached out a hand, and she took it. The tingle of their bond danced up her arms and down to her core. The dark look in her mate’s eyes was mirrored in her own, she was certain.

“I want you,” Fiach whispered. His voice rang coarse with hunger. Sweat beaded his brow. His skin felt fevered, and his hand shook in her grasp. The drug still raged in his system, but she was powerless to help him.

“I want you, too.” She squeezed his hand quickly. “And, I love you.”

He looked around and gestured his hand to encompass the room. “After I’ve put you through all this, can you believe I love you, too?”

“I know you do.” One side of her mouth hitched up in a half smile. “I don’t suppose you can tell me what comes next?”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t. The rules are changing.” His stare fixated on the bloody gauze at her neck. “I don’t remember anyone’s life being endangered before. I don’t know what it means.”