Melissa Marr - Fragile Eternity

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.

Sorcha came to Seth’s room again the next day—and the three that followed. She’d stay all day, for countless hours while he worked. They spoke of life and dreams, of philosophy and art, of music he’d enjoyed and theater she’d seen. They walked in the garden. And sometimes, she simply sat quietly meditating or reading while he painted or sketched. Seth couldn’t imagine being away from her. If not for missing Aislinn, he could see himself staying in Faerie. Out there, he had no real purpose, no direction, no family. He lived only for Aislinn. In Faerie, he existed to create Art. He felt whole for the first time he could remember, at peace and sure of everything. He’d come seeking immortality, but what he’d found was more valuable.

Happiness. Peace. Home. It was tinged with an unending ache for Aislinn and a new sorrow that he’d be leaving Sorcha at the end of the month. His choice to be a faery had given him everything he’d sought—and other gifts he hadn’t dreamed he could ever have.

The thought of leaving Faerie was frightening.

He channeled those emotions, desires, and fears into his art. Mostly, he’d been painting. The room was littered with half-finished canvases. He tried to work with the metals that had appeared in the side room as well. He’d completed a few tolerable things, but nothing worth her—nothing that met his goal.

“Seth?” Sorcha was beside him. “Are you able to pause for a bit today?”

“For?”

She smiled and wiped a bit of paint from his face. “You have a guest, dear.”

Guests . He couldn’t leave, but he could have guests if Sorcha allowed it. His heart was thundering. “A guest? Ash? She’s here?”

“Not her.” Sorcha sounded almost sad as she said it.

The Dark King appeared out of nothingness behind Sorcha. “I see my advice was completely ignored,” he said.

Seth embraced Niall. Aside from seeing Aislinn, nothing else could please him as much as seeing the Dark King. He stepped back and said, “You were wrong.”

Niall laughed. “More arrogant already…you’ve been spending time with the wrong court, little brother.”

The High Queen’s tense expression relaxed ever so slightly. “I’ll leave you to roam with Niall then. I’ll be in the dining hall after.” To Niall, she only said, “Return to me when you’re ready to talk about other matters. Mayhaps we can discuss regrets….”

Seth couldn’t help but watch her as she left. He could count the heartbeats between each movement. He had: they never altered. The rhythm of her motion was one of perfection. When her hand lifted to open the door, it was with the same arc each time she reached out. If he measured the distance, Seth knew she’d match it with precision. Today though, she hesitated for a heartbeat extra on several steps. The beat of her movements was imprecise.