Wicked Lovely tf-1 Page 14

  "No," she said, not wanting the gentle side of him, not now. Today she needed him to be the Summer King, to set aside the person he could be without the crown. She needed him to be arrogant and assured, able to do what needed doing.

  Steam rose against her hand as he exhaled, the breath of summer melting her frost. Sometimes, in secret dreams she'd never tell him, she wondered what would happen if her frost and his sun truly clashed, if they touched as they had in those few weeks before she became the Winter Girl, when he was pretending to be a mortal for her. Would she melt away? Burn up?

  She shivered—excited at the thought—and felt the cold well up inside her as her emotions raged like a blizzard. If she didn't keep calm, she'd need to let that awful cold out.

  "Beira was here last night. You need to know what she's doing."

  He nodded, weariness on his face, as she told him almost everything—about Beira's initial visit when Aislinn was chosen, about the attack on Aislinn outside the library, about her belief that the attack was at Beira's behest, about Agatha's death, about Beira's threats, about her insistence that Aislinn not lift the staff.

  Donia kept quiet about Seth's research—fearing for the mortal's safety—but beyond that, she was more honest with Keenan than she'd been in a very long time. When she stopped talking, he stared at her, silent and struggling to contain the temper he rarely freed.

  She clenched her hands so tightly that icicles formed on the tips of her fingernails. Now comes the hard part.

  "Let's go." He looked over at Sasha, then past the wolf to the tiny mementos handed down by the other Winter Girls. "The guards will bring your things. We can turn the study into a private chamber and—"

  "Keenan," she interrupted before she could be tempted.

  He'd see the logic of what needed to be done if he thought clearly; she needed to assure that he did so. She opened her hand. Icicles fell and shattered at her feet. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "You can't stay here. If something happened to you" — he bowed his head, letting his forehead rest on her knee— "please, Don, come with me."

  Where is the Summer King? But it wasn't the king who laid his head in her lap, pleading.

  She didn't move away. It burned her, froze him, but she stayed still. "I can't come with you. It's not my place. I'm not the one you're looking for."

  He looked up at her, an ugly frostbitten bruise forming where his skin had touched her knee. "I'm not strong enough to stop her, but I will be soon. Stay with me until we get this sorted out."

  "And what would she do to me when I left?"

  "I'll be strong soon." He was almost frightening in his insistence. His eyes darkened to that unearthly green hue she still dreamed of; if she stared long enough, she'd see flowers blooming there, a promise of what he could become once his queen freed him.

  She couldn't look away.

  He whispered, "Stay with me. I'll keep you safe."

  "You can't." She wished he could, but it was impossible: there was no winning, not for her. "I want you to win. I always have, but I still have to try to convince Aislinn not to believe in you, that you're not worth the risk. Those are the rules. I gave my word when I lifted the staff. We both did."

  He put a hand on either side of her, his fingertips burning her skin through her clothes. "Even if it means Beira wins? Even if she kills you? We can work together, find a way."

  She shook her head. For all his centuries—far more than she'd ever see—he could still be so reckless. It usually infuriated her. Today she found it saddening. "If she wins, she won't kill me. It's only if you win that I'll die."

  "Then why tell me? I need to win." He looked awful, pale and sickly like he'd been skewered by iron spikes. He moved farther away from her—crouched on the floor, head bowed—where they couldn't touch. He sounded as broken as he looked. "If you stop Aislinn, I lose everything. If you don't, you die. What am I to do?"

  "Hope I lose," she suggested softly. No.

  She stood up and walked over to him. "I'm terrified of Beira, but I truly do hope that Ash is the one. For both of your sakes."

  "You'll still be a shade. That doesn't fix anything."

  Where is the Summer King? She sighed as she watched him struggle between what he wanted and the inevitable. Not all dreams come true. If it'd make things easier, she'd be cruel. It wouldn't help, though.

  She leaned over him, holding her hair back so it didn't fall against him. "It fixes a lot of things."

  "It…"

  "Make me lose, Keenan. Convince her you're worth the risk" — she kissed his cheek—"because you are." It was easier to say it, knowing Beira would kill her, knowing she wouldn't spend eternity with him knowing she still loved him. I cant…

  She put her hand over his mouth. "Convince her."

  She pulled her hand away and—lips firmly closed to keep the icy air from his mouth—kissed him. "Then kill Beira."

  CHAPTER 19

  Faeries are partly human and partly spiritual in their nature…

  Some of them are benevolent…

  Others are malevolent…

  abducting grown people, and bringing misfortune.

  — The Folk-Lore of the Isle of Man by A. W. Moore (1891)

  Keenan was shaken when he left Donia; he walked aimlessly through the city, wishing, wanting an answer. There wasn't one. Unless Aislinn was his missing queen and he was able to convince her to trust him, to accept him, there was nothing he could do. He simply wasn't strong enough to stand against Beira.

  If I were…He smiled at that thought: stopping Beira, maybe in time to save Donia. That was the only recourse they had.

  But if Aislinn's Sight was that thing which the Eolas spoke of—and that would be in their nature—it was all for nothing. Donia would die, and he would still be bound. The small trickle of summer that he could call was nowhere near enough to stand against Beira.

  He rested his head against an oak tree, eyes closed. Breathe. Just breathe. Aislinn was different, perhaps different enough; perhaps she was the one.

  But she might not be.

  The Eolas' proclamation—which the fey had heard as a herald of the Summer Queen's discovery—could be nothing more than a revelation that she was Sighted. She might not be the one.

  He'd just turned toward the greener part of the city when he heard Beira's hags approach. They followed at an almost respectful distance until he reached the river.

  At the river's side, he sat—feet on the soil, sun on his back—and waited.

  Better here than at the loft.

  The last time she'd visited, Beira had frozen as many of his birds as she could when he left the room. He'd returned to find them dead on the ground, or affixed to branches, hanging like awful ornaments at the tips of icicles. Unless he could stop her, one of these times it could be the Summer Girls or his guards who felt her temper.

  Beira stood in the shadow of a garish awning held over her by several of her nearly-naked guards—Hawthorn-people and one slick-skinned troll, all sporting fresh bruises and frostbitten skin.

  "What, no hug? no kiss?" Beira held out a hand. "Come here, dearest."

  "I'll stay out here." Keenan didn't bother getting up; he just glanced up at her. "I like the warmth on my skin."

  She wrinkled her nose and made a little moue of distaste. "Nasty stuff, sunlight."

  He shrugged. Talking to her now—after seeing Donia, after all the doubts about Aislinn—was the last thing he wanted.

  "Do you know that there's a market these days for SPF cloth?" She sat back on a blindingly white chair that the hags dragged up for her. "Mortals are such strange beasts."

  "Do you have a point, Beira?" He never enjoyed her presence, but she'd threatened Donia—feigning civility was more of a struggle than usual.

  "Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to visit with you? Chat with you?" Without looking behind her, she held out a hand; a collared wood-sprite slipped an icy drink into her outstretched fingers. "You so rarely visit."

>   Keenan reclined on the grass, relishing the strength of the earth's warmth seeping into his body from the soil. "Perhaps because you're vicious and cruel?"

  She waved her hand as if brushing away his comment. "You say potato; I say potahto…"

  "I say integrity; you say deceit."

  "Well, it's such a subjective idea, integrity." She sipped her drink. "Can I offer you a refreshment, dear?"

  "No." He ran his fingers over the soil, sending his warmth down to the resting bulbs. Small flower sprouts rushed out toward his touch; delicate shoots poked up between his opened fingers.

  "I hear you shared quite a bit of refreshment with the new Summer Girl. Poor dear was dizzy with it." She tsked at him with a censorious look. "Haven't I taught you better? Getting the poor lamb intoxicated to convince her to you know"

  "That wasn't what it was," he snapped. "Aislinn and I danced and celebrated her new life. It wasn't a seduction."

  She stepped out from under her awning, sending her guards scurrying to keep it over her as she moved. If they failed, they'd suffer, regardless of whose fault it was.

  As the shade blocked his comforting rays, Keenan was torn between waiting and simply setting the awning to flame. He stood to face her.

  "Well, if you want my opinion, a mother's wisdom, I say she's not worth it." She glanced at the flowers; they froze in her sight. She stepped forward and—with a grating noise— ground them under her boot. "Poor Deborah shouldn't have any trouble convincing her to stay away from you. You didn't ask her to go easy on the mortal, did you?"

  "It's Aislinn's choice. She'll either take up the staff or not." He wanted to tell her that threatening Donia wouldn't change anything, but he couldn't. "I spoke to Donia—which you so obviously know—about the Eolas' announcement."

  "Oh?" She paused, wide-eyed as if she were surprised. "What announcement?"

  "That Aislinn is special."

  "Of course she is, sweetling. They're all special—at least the first few nights. After that, the" — she looked back at a cowering sprite—"novelty just isn't there, you know?"

  He forced a laugh.

  "Poor Delilah, I imagine she's bitter. It wasn't so long ago that she was the one dancing with you." Beira swayed as if she were dancing with an invisible partner, looking elegant even though she was alone. "Mortals are such fragile things. Just tender feelings walking around exposed in their delicate shells…Easy to crush."

  His heart sped. The rules prevented her from contacting the mortal girl, and until now Beira'd never broken that rule—to the best of his knowledge—but she was already breaking other rules. "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing, love." She stopped and curtsied to him, pulled out a fan, and fluttered it in front of her face, sending cold air toward him. "I'm just wondering if you should pick another girl for the game; let this one join the rest of the other discarded girls. I'll even go girl-watching with you. We could pick up Delia and make a bonding experience of it."

  He let all the bitterness he felt show in his voice and said, "Well, at the rate Donia's going, I may need to. Aside from one drunken dance, I'm getting nowhere."

  "There'll be other girls, darling." Beira sighed, but her eyes glimmered with a sheen of ice—a sure sign she was pleased.

  But they aren't the Summer Queen, are they?

  "Perhaps I just need to try harder," he said as he sent a hot breath toward Beira's awning—catching it on fire— then he walked away, leaving her there shrieking at the guards to keep the sunlight away from her.

  Someday I'll truly be able to stand against her.

  For now, he took pleasure in the moment.

  Keenan wandered the city, up Fifth Avenue away from the river until he got to Edgehill, following it until he reached the seedier shops. The din of the city was a welcome buzz, reminding him of the mortals who thrived where his kind could not.

  That's what this is all about: these mortals and his summer faeries.

  "Keenan?" Rianne stepped out of a music store and all but ran into him. She gaped at him. "What's up with your hair?"

  In his distraction, he had been walking around plainly visible, his hair its normal shade, reflective copper.

  "Dye." He smiled at her, lightening his hair until the metallic glimmer was gone.

  She reached out and caught a few strands, holding it up to the sunlight, moving it from side to side. "For a minute it almost looked like strips of metal."

  "Hmm." He pulled back, freeing his hair from her hand. "Have you seen Aislinn today?"

  She laughed. "Nope. Thought maybe she was still with you."

  "No." He looked beyond Rianne, to where several of the Summer Girls were flirting with an off-duty rowan-man. "I escorted her home this morning."

  "Morning, huh?" She shook her head, still smiling. For all of her posturing, she smelled like innocence to him, untouched and sweet. Her words were at complete odds with her attitude. "I knew you were a good bet."

  "We were just dancing."

  "It's a start, right?" She glanced around, looking down the street and back inside the shop. For a moment her illusory lasciviousness vanished, and her genuine personality slipped through. "Between you and me, Ash could use a bit more fun in her life. She's too serious. I think you'll be good for her."

  Keenan paused. He hadn't thought about that very much; all that mattered was that she was good for him, for the summer fey.

  Was he good for her? Between the sacrifices she'd need to make and difficulty of what stood before them if she were the true queen, he wasn't sure. Probably not. "I'll try to be, Rianne."

  "You've already got her out till dawn dancing: sounds like a good start to me." Rianne patted him on the arm, consoling him for something she couldn't begin to grasp. "Don't worry so much."

  "Right."

  After she walked away, Keenan faded back to his normal state—invisible to mortals—and resumed walking to the loft. If there was ever a time when he needed the wisdom of his advisors, this was it. Keenan felt the music before he even walked into the loft. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, a false smile on his face.

  After only a cursory glance at him, Tavish removed Eliza's arms from around his neck and went toward the study. "Come."

  At times like these, Keenan felt as if having Tavish's presence was almost like having a father. The older faery had been the last Summer King's advisor and friend; he'd been there waiting when Keenan had come of age and left Beira's household. While Tavish would never presume to act like a father, he was far more than a servant.

  Noticing their movement, Niall opened his mouth.

  With a brief shake of his head, Keenan said, "No. Stay with the girls."

  "If you need me…"

  "I do. Always." Keenan squeezed Niall's shoulder. "Right now, I need you to keep everyone out here."

  This wasn't the place to talk. If word got out that he suspected Beira of trickery or maliciousness, if rumors spread that Aislinn had the Sight, it could go badly for all of them.

  As he wound his way through the room—embraced by the Summer Girls who were spinning dizzily with off-shift guards—Keenan kept his face clear of any doubt. No hint of problems. Smile.

  By the time he reached Tavish, he was ready to bar the door for the rest of the day. He believed the girls and his guards were trustworthy, but one never knew, not really.

  Tavish poured a glass of wine. "Here."

  Keenan took the glass and sank onto one of the heavy leather chairs.

  After Tavish settled on an opposite chair, he asked, "What happened?"

  So Keenan told him—about Aislinn's Sight, about Beira's threats, all of it.

  Tavish stared into his glass like it was a reflecting mirror. He spun it by the stem. "She may not be the queen, but Beira fears her. To me, that is reason enough to keep hope—more reason than we've had ever before."

  Keenan nodded, but did not speak yet. Tavish was rarely direct in his points.

  Instead of looking at Keenan, Tavish let his ga
ze drift around the room, as if he were reading the spines of the books that lined every wall of the study. "I have waited with you, but I've never suggested that one of the girls was her. It is not my place."

  "I value your opinion," Keenan assured him. "Tell me what you think."

  "Do not let Aislinn refuse the challenge. If she is the one, and she does not…" Tavish's gaze stayed on the heavy books behind Keenan. "She must accept."

  The older faery had been somber so long that his vehemence was disquieting.

  Keenan asked, "And if she refuses?"

  "She cannot. Make her agree." Tavish's eyes were as black as pools in shadowed forests, eerily captivating, when he finally held Keenan's gaze. "Do whatever you must, even if it is…unpalatable to you or her. If you heed only one word I ever say, my liege, make it this one."

  CHAPTER 20

  They offered him drink…after, the music ceasing, all the company disappeared, leaving the cup in his hand, and he returned home, though much wearied and fatigued.

  — The Fairy Mythology by Thomas Keightley (1870)

  When Aislinn woke—the clock's red numbers proclaiming it past 9:00—the evening's events came crashing down on her. The weird drinks, dancing, telling Keenan she knew what he was as they watched the sunrise, him kissing her. That was the last thing she remembered. What else happened? How did I get home? When? She bolted out of bed, barely making it to the bathroom before she threw up. Oh my God.

  She sat with her face against the cold porcelain until she was sure she could stand without vomiting again. Her whole body trembled, like she had the flu, but it wasn't the flu making her feel so awful. It was terror. He knows I see them. He knows. They'll come for me, and Grams…The thought of her Grams fighting faeries almost made her sick again. I need to get out of here.

  After brushing her teeth and washing her face, Aislinn hurriedly slipped on jeans and a shirt, shoved her feet into boots, and grabbed her bag.

  Grams was in the kitchen, staring at the coffeepot, a bit less observant before her morning jolt.