Fragile Eternity (23 page)

Niall lounged in his chair and watched them with a mixture of amusement and derision. “Why are you here?”

“I need to know what happened to Seth. Where he is. Why he’s gone.” Aislinn wasn’t sure what she was to do.
Do queens curtsy to other rulers when they come seeking favors?
She would. She’d beg if it meant finding Seth. “I thought Bananach might answer questions.”

Faeries laughed raucously at that.

“My Bananach?” Niall grinned. “Darling? Do you suppose you could answer the Summer Court’s questions?”

The raven-faery was suddenly beside the Dark King; she gripped his neck like she’d strangle him.

Niall didn’t react. “They have questions.”

“Hmm?” She had drawn blood and was watching it trickle down Niall’s throat.

“Questions,” he repeated.

The room stilled as Bananach looked around and said, “My war comes. Wars need lambs and cinders.”

Her wings solidified as everyone watched her.

“Unless you ruin it all, we are where we must be.” Bananach kissed Niall and whispered, “We shall bleed, my King. If we’re lucky, you might even die horribly.”

Then she took flight. Aislinn clutched Keenan’s hand as she passed them in a blur.

Once Bananach was gone, Niall made a gesture of dismissal. “You have the only answers you’ll find here. Go now.”

There were more answers to be had. Aislinn was sure of it. Niall knew something more. He cared too much about Seth to be this dismissive if he didn’t already know what she wanted.
He wouldn’t be this calm if Seth were dead.

Her resolve broke. “Tell me what you know,” she begged. “Please?”

The look Niall gave her was akin to the disdain he’d had when they’d argued at the Crow’s Nest. The stillness that had accompanied Bananach’s mad muttering held. When the Dark King broke the silence, he said, “I know that
you
are why he is gone, and I don’t know that you deserve his return.”

“He’s okay, though?”

“He is alive and physically unharmed,” Niall confirmed.

“But…” Aislinn felt simultaneously better and worse.
Seth is safe.
It was just the one pain then, the one that had been weighing on her.
Seth left me and is not here by choice.
“You know where he is. You’ve known…”

The room was full of faeries who were staring at her as she fought not to break down in grief, or perhaps rage. They licked their lips like they could taste her feelings. Vulgar and hateful, these were the faeries she’d feared. They were nothing like her court.

Beside her, Keenan tensed. He extended a hand. She took it. “Will you tell him I—”

“I am not your messenger boy.” Niall’s scorn was chokingly thick. His faeries giggled and whispered.

She started toward the Dark King, but Keenan tugged her back.

“No. Come closer, Aislinn,” Niall beckoned. “Come kneel before me and ask for the Dark Court’s mercy.”

“Aislinn—” Keenan started, but she was already walking toward the Dark King.

When she reached him, she dropped to her knees at his feet. “Will you tell me where he is?”

Niall leaned forward and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Only if
he
asks me to.”

And to that, Aislinn had no answer. She kneeled on the dirty floor and lowered her gaze to stare at the Dark King’s boots. If Seth didn’t want to be in this world, what right did she have to try to force him? Loving someone meant letting them be who they were, not caging them.

Maybe he didn’t tell me good-bye because he knew I would try to make him stay.
His last message had been that he’d call, not that he would come home to her.

She stayed there, kneeling, until Keenan led her away.

Sorcha would rather be with her mortal in the garden; however, Devlin had insisted they speak. They walked through the halls, not beside each other but with him not quite a half step behind. It was only enough distance that she would notice. At a casual glance, other faeries would not see it. The swish of her skirts and measure of her step were so predictable that Devlin could time his movement to match hers. After eons together, he could predict every move in the Unchanging Queen.
And I loathe that.
She wouldn’t speak that into their world though.

Her brother had existed almost as long as she and Bananach had. He was a tether between his sisters, an advisor to Order, a friend to War. Of the three, he found his the least appealing position, but Sorcha would gladly have traded fates with him. He had a freedom of choice that she lacked. Bananach had freedom but lacked a firm grasp on sanity.

“Forgive my questioning, but what good can come of
letting him leave here? Keep him or kill him. He’s just a mortal. His going there will complicate matters. The other courts will quarrel.”

“Seth is mine now, Devlin. He’s my court, my subject,
mine
.”

“I could remedy that. He introduces risks that are dangerous. Your caring for him is…untidy, my queen.” Devlin’s tone was even, but even didn’t mean safe. His devotion to order was often bloody: murder was merely another sort of order.

“He is mine,” she repeated.

“He would be yours in the earth too. Let the hall take him. Your affection is causing you to act oddly.” Devlin caught her gaze. “He inspires you to forget your tasks. You spend all of your time with him…and then he’ll go to their realm, where you won’t walk. If he doesn’t return to you or if War kills him, I fear that you will be irrational. There are solutions. You can still control this situation. Kill him or keep him here where he is safe.”

“And if that’s what Bananach wants?” Sorcha paused to look in at Olivia. The starscapes she was painting were perfectly wrought—equidistant pinpoints of light with sporadic glimpses of randomness. The touch of chaos in the order—art required that. It was why true High Court faeries couldn’t create.

Devlin stayed silent as they watched Olivia string stars on celestial spider-thread, weaving a frame to anchor bits of eternity for a few brief moments. If envy weren’t so untidy,
Sorcha suspected she’d feel it in such moments. Devlin, for his part, was in awe. Consuming passion fascinated him, and Olivia was consumed by her art. She had only the barest tie to the world, moving through it like a breeze. She spoke, but never while she worked, and rarely when she thought of work.

Sorcha stepped back into the hall.

When Devlin followed, she told him, “I want Seth to have his freedom, but to be kept safe over there. I want him observed when I’m not with him. I need this, Dev. I’ve not asked for anything like this in all of forever.”

“What do you see?”

Sorcha didn’t like to talk about the arcs she saw in life-threads. They were rarely predictable, only temporally true, and always fluid. Each choice made the whole pattern shift and refine itself. Like Bananach’s far-seeing, Sorcha saw what-ifs and maybes. Bananach only looked to those that would help her further her goals; Sorcha’s vision was wider.

“I see his thread woven in mine,” she whispered. “And it has no end, no knots or loops…and it shifts even as I speak. It blinks in and out of forever. It chokes mine; it fills in my own where it looks as I had died. He matters.”

“Murdering him before this emotion clouded your logic would’ve simplified things.”

“Or destroyed them.”

Devlin frowned. “You’re keeping something from me.”

When Sorcha opened her mouth to reply, Devlin raised a hand. “I know. You are the High Queen. It is your right.
All is your right.” For a strange moment, he seemed almost affectionate as he gazed at her, but then he spoke, “I will keep him safe over there, but you must tuck this emotion away. It is unnatural.”

The faery who had been her counsel for longer than either of them could quite recall seemed to have only the court’s needs in mind.

As I should.

But as she returned to business, she wondered if Seth would like her private garden and what art he would make for her before he left.

Every day, Sorcha came to Seth’s quarters and listened to him talk, and when he wasn’t working, she spent hours showing him as much of the breadth of Faerie as she could in their limited time. He’d miss her when he left. Much like when he’d known Linda was leaving, he felt a dull ache at the thought of going months without her company. It was a maudlin truth, but he suspected he’d admit it to her all the same.

Today, when she walked in, the High Queen had a pensive mien; her moonlight eyes sparkled with cold light so very different from Aislinn’s sunlit looks.

Soon I’ll see the sunlight again.
He smiled at the thought of being with Aislinn, of telling her what he’d seen, of revealing that he’d found a way to have forever with her. He wanted to bring her to Faerie with him.
Maybe Sorcha would agree to let Ash stay with me during that month. Or visit.
He wasn’t
sure he was ready to ask, not until he talked to Aislinn, but even if they couldn’t work that out, one month out of each year was a small price. He’d gained eternity with Aislinn in exchange for a few short months.

Sorcha didn’t speak. She simply walked to the window and opened it, letting in moonlight and the thick scent of jasmine. It was day, but in Faerie, the skies shifted at Sorcha’s whim: she apparently felt it should be night just then.

“Good morning,” Seth murmured. He had been up working on another painting. It wasn’t right, but something would be. It drove him, the pressure to capture something perfect, something ideal, and give it to her—a gift to one queen to pay the fee to return to another. What he felt for Sorcha was oddly like what he’d felt for Linda. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to look at him with pride.

But right then, Sorcha extended a hand, and he offered her his arm as expected.

His father’s lessons on life weren’t always clear at the time they were given, but they were invaluable. Seth tamped down on a surge of longing for his family.

Beside him, Sorcha was silent. She’d led him to another hall and approached one of the numerous tapestries that hung on the walls. Faded threads made the palette more muted than it must once have been, but age didn’t detract from the beauty of the scene. Sorcha herself was depicted in it, surrounded by courtiers in various positions of attentiveness. Couples danced in what looked to be a formal way. Musicians played. But it was apparent that everyone in it was gazing at Sorcha, who sat regally observing the tableau. The real Sorcha—who looked much the same as her rendered image—pushed the weighty fabric aside. Behind it was yet another door.

“It’s like a rabbit warren around here. You realize that this”—Seth pushed the aged wooden door open—“doesn’t look like it belongs in the hotel at all?”

Laughter like the peal of crystal bells escaped her lips. “The hotel is a part of Faerie now. It doesn’t quite conform to the rules of the mortal realm. It conforms to my rules. The whole of the mortal realm would too if I chose to linger there.”

Outside the door was a different walled garden. A path wound into the heart of it as if to invite them to yet another world. The garden walls looked as though they were made of stones fitted together with spatial understanding in lieu of mortar. Flowering vines crept over those crumbling walls; their blooms burst out of crevices in erratic patterns.

“It’s a bit chaotic for you, isn’t it?”

Sorcha shook her head. “Not really. This my private garden where I meditate. No one comes here but me or my brother…and now you.”

And as they walked, the stones in their path realigned themselves, the blossoms assumed a predictable pattern. It was surreal—even after all he’d seen. “Not in Kansas anymore, are we?”

“Kansas?” Her forehead furrowed. “We weren’t in Kansas to begin with. That state is—”

“Things are weird here,” he amended as he led her around an uneven flagstone.

“In truth, things make sense here.” Sorcha trailed fingers over the plain-looking blossoms of the night-blooming
jasmine. “Appearances are deceiving.”

“The art is almost done.” He was anxious that she like it.

Only a few days left.

“I look forward to the unveiling.” Her tone was light, but amusement lurked under it. “Unveilings are interesting. It’s a moment of clarity….”

“Sorcha?” He caught her gaze. “What’s up?”

“I need to explain the ‘catch’ in the deal you made.”

Seth’s nerves weren’t too jangled yet, but he suspected that they were about to be. “I was hoping I’d done well.”

She squeezed his arm. “I’ve been making contracts since before your mortal records even existed. You knew the dangers and still stood firm.”

“So I was a fool?”

“No, you were what mortals often are: blinded by passion.” She let go of his arm and leaned her face closer to the jasmine. It made a shivery sound as it extended itself to her. Moonlight, from inside of her, illuminated her skin.

“What is it?” His heart thundered as he started to turn the words over in his mind. He’d warned Aislinn about making a deal with a faery king, but then he’d done much the same. Fear built in his chest as he waited—and evaporated when Sorcha turned her face to look at him.

Glamour to soothe me.

He knew it even as calm returned to him like a cool breeze on too-hot skin. Sorcha smiled and turned her face back to the jasmine.

And he waited, watching her—
my perfect queen
—enjoy the simplicity of her gardens. “Don’t do that. Don’t influence my feelings.”

The calm breeze fled.

She straightened and stepped back on the path. “A month in Faerie with me is what you bargained.”

“It is.” He offered her his arm again.

She put her hand back in the crook of his arm and resumed walking. “Time moves differently here than in the mortal realm.”

“How much differently?”

The rhythm of her steps was unchanged as she said, “A day here is six days there.”

“So I’ve been gone more than five months?” He said the words slowly, trying to make sense of what Sorcha was revealing: he’d been away from Aislinn for almost half a year while Keenan was at her side. They’d been alone together—while she was already half enthralled by Keenan—for longer than he and Aislinn had officially dated.

“You have.”

“I see.”

“Do you really?” Sorcha paused, bringing their walk to a stop again. “She’ll feel your absence much longer than you’ll feel like you’re away.”

“I get that.” Seth tugged his lip ring, pondering for a moment. Another surge of fear rose up inside him. Would she think he’d left her for good? Would she worry?
Would she be angry?
Have I lost her?
He wasn’t going to give up now, not when he had come so close to having everything.

Sorcha darted a doubtful glance his way. “You could stay here. I can keep you safe. You’re happy here….”

“I could stay on the
chance
that things there are wrong?” He smiled at her. “I didn’t get this far with her or with you by giving up on what I want. Fortune favors the bold, right?”

“Keenan knows you are here. Niall told you that.”

Seth wasn’t as calm as he’d like; there was a dark pleasure in the fact that Keenan’s deceit would be revealed. It didn’t entirely assuage the pain at the idea that Aislinn could’ve fallen in love with Keenan. “He’ll need to answer for that when Ash finds out. Won’t he?”

The idea of her with Keenan sickened him.
But
we
have forever. He had his one and only chance.

“If she is gone from you, you could come home. You will always have a home with me.” Sorcha didn’t press the subject, but he knew her well enough to understand that what she was offering wasn’t a minor thing for her. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have, and right then, it was a great comfort. The only other person he’d thought he could count on was probably drifting further away. Risking Aislinn’s love was not a price he’d have willingly chosen, but he hadn’t thought he’d gain so much either. Faerie was nothing if not unexpected.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. He wasn’t particularly inclined to hide his emotions, not from her. “Even if I don’t come running back to you, I’ll miss you.”

With the same casual gestures she used in most of her movements, Sorcha let go of his arm and pretended to examine a blossom-laden vine. “That’s to be expected.”

“And, you, my Queen, will miss me.”

The blossoms held her attention, and she lifted a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “I may need to see how you adjust to that world as a faery.”

“It would probably be wise.” He wanted to bring her gifts, find perfect words, something to let her know that he valued her affection, that his missing her was no small thing. He moved closer. “Sorcha? My Queen? I would stay with you if not for loving her…but I wouldn’t be here except for loving her.”