Melissa Marr - Fragile Eternity

Aislinn let go of Keenan’s hand and took a basket from the table.

“Come on.” He led her under fruit-heavy branches, away from the world. All I need is a red cape. She felt childhood panics rise up for a moment: venturing into the woods where faeries lurked was never safe. Grams had taught her that. Little Red had found danger because she went away from the safety of steel. He’s my friend. Aislinn pushed aside her twinge of mistrust and looked at the apples hanging overhead.

Casually, as if it wasn’t unusual, she took his hand again.

He said nothing. Neither did she. They walked hand in hand, wandering among trees he’d nurtured even when Winter held dominion over the earth.

Finally, they stopped in a small clearing. He set the cooler down and released her hand. “Here.”

“Okay.” She sat in the grass under a tree and looked at him.

He sat beside her, near enough that it felt unnatural not to touch him. She shivered even though it was warm. The loss of his hand meant that the warmth that had been zinging between them had receded.

“This was my haven for years when I needed a place that was just mine.” He looked lost then; clouds flickered in his eyes. “I remember when they were saplings. The mortals were so determined to make them thrive.”

“So you helped.”

He nodded. “Sometimes, things just need a little attention and time to grow.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “I was thinking last night. About things. About what you said before…when I kissed you.”

She tensed.

“You said you wanted complete honesty. If we’re to be true friends, that’s what we must do.” He ran his fingers through the grass between them. Tiny wild violets sprouted. “So here we are. Ask me anything.”

“Anything?” She plucked at the grass beside her, enjoying the strength of it. The soil was healthy; the plants were strong. She could feel the web of tree roots under them. She thought about it, what he was offering. There weren’t many things she could think to ask, except…“Tell me about Moira. You and Grams are the only ones I can ask.”

“She was beautiful, and she didn’t like me. Many of the others…Almost all of them”—he grinned—“with a few exceptions, were pliable. They were eager to fall in love. She wasn’t.” He shrugged. “I cared for each of them. I still do.”

“But?”

“I had to become what they wanted to help them love me. Sometimes that meant adopting the fashion of the day, their newest dances, poets, origami…finding out what they liked and learning about it.”

“Why not be yourself?”

“Sometimes I tried. With Don—” He stopped himself. “She was different, but we were talking about your mother. Moira was clever. I know now that she knew what I was, but at the time I didn’t.”

“Did you…I mean…I know you seduced…I mean, it’s…” She blushed brighter than the apples above them. Asking her friend, her king, her maybe-something-more if he’d slept with her mother was weird by any standard.

“No. I never slept with any of the Summer Girls when they were mortal.” He looked away, obviously as uncomfortable with the topic as she was. “I’ve never slept with a mortal. I kissed some of them—but not her, not Moira. She treated me with contempt almost from the beginning. No amount of charm, no gift, no words, nothing I tried worked.”

“Oh.”

“She was sort of like you, Aislinn. Strong. Clever. Afraid of me.” He winced at the memory. “I didn’t understand it, but she looked at me like I was a monster. So when she ran, I couldn’t follow her. I knew she’d have to come back when she became a Summer Girl. I knew she wouldn’t accept the test, so I let her go.”

“And what? Waited?”

“I couldn’t un-choose someone once she was chosen.” Keenan looked sad. “I knew she was special. Just like you. When I realized that you were the one, I wondered if she would’ve been my queen if…”

“I’ve wondered too.” She realized they were whispering even though the faeries that she’d seen in the orchard weren’t anywhere near. “Or if I’m this because she was changing when she had me.”

“If I’d have done things differently—brought her back—how many things would’ve been different? If I’d known she was pregnant, you would’ve been raised by the court. You wouldn’t have resisted if you’d grown up with us. You wouldn’t have been so involved with mortals.”

She knew exactly what mortal involvement he was thinking of, but she couldn’t consider even for a heartbeat that her life would’ve been better without her mortal life. Loving Seth was the most perfect thing she’d known, and his love would be the only true love she’d ever know. That wasn’t something to wish away, even now when her heart ached. Of course, saying all of that to the faery she was tied to for eternity wasn’t something either of them needed.

“I’m glad you didn’t know,” she said.

“That year while Moira was away, pregnant with you, I spent all the free time I suddenly had trying to convince Don to forgive me.” He looked wistful. “Some nights she would deign to sit with me. We went to a revel together…and…”

“Does it get easier?”

He glanced at her. “Does what get easier?”

“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.