Melissa Marr: Ink Exchange

Without comment he got it out, and she turned in front of the large mirror and held the hand mirror up so she could see her back. The ink in her skin had faded to white and gray. It was as beautiful as before, but it'd been bleached, lightened by the sunlight and frost Niall had pressed into her skin.

My art now. My body. She lowered the mirror and smiled. It wasn't the tattoo that had changed her, had given her repossession of her body. It was her actions, her choices. It was finding the path when it looked like there weren't any paths to be found.

"Leslie?" Niall stepped behind her and looked at her in the mirror, holding the reflection of her gaze. "Are you going to be all right?"

She turned so they were face-to-face and gave him back the words he'd offered her their first night together: "I survived. Isn't that what matters?"

"It is." He pulled her closer and held her carefully.

They stood there, quiet and together, until she started to sway. Blushing, she said, "I'm still weak, I guess."

"You're not weak at all. Wounded, but that's nothing to be ashamed of." He helped her to the bed. Hesitantly he said, "Aislinn would come care for you if you'd allow it. I've left them, left Keenan, but they'll look after you. We can sort it out, and then—"

"Niall?" She tried to keep her tone gentle as she said, "I … I can't deal with your faery courts right now. I just want my life. This" — she gestured around her room—"isn't good, but it's better than your world. I don't want to be a part of the faery world."

"I can't change what I am. I'm not a part of the court, but I can't not interact at all with my world. … I …" He let his words fade.

This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, not now, but it was there. "I still feel … something, whatever it was, for you, but right now … I need to start over, somewhere else … on my own."

"I tried to keep you safe." He told her that he'd kept guard over her for months, that he—and other of Aislinn's faeries—had walked beside her in the streets of Huntsdale. He told her that he'd tried to not speak to her before because Aislinn had ordered him not to, that she didn't want Leslie drawn into their world—and that he'd thought his queen wise to decide thus.

"I want to be with you. I'm not with the court now. I'm … solitary. I could come with you … take care of—"

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Right. You need time, but when you're ready … or if you need anything at all, ever …"

"I know." She leaned back on the pillows. "Can you call Ash to come over? I need to talk to her before I see Irial."

"Irial? Why would you—"

"I'm not the only mortal. There's plenty of people he could replace me with" — she kept the pain out of her voice, but she still had to pause—"if he hasn't already. I'm not going to walk away and leave someone else in my place." She thought about the weeping mortals on the floor, the bloody fights she'd seen the starts of before she blacked out, the knowledge that this was all Irial's being careful, gentle with her. What he'd be like without that caution was too much to consider. "I need to talk to Ash before I see him. I can't wait too long."

Niall sighed, but he went. She heard the front door open and close as he went to seek whoever waited outside. And she let herself drift to sleep, knowing that she was safe, free, and going to find a way to make sure that her freedom wasn't at the cost of another girl's life.

When Leslie walked into the suite that night, there was no one there but Irial. He didn't comment, didn't ask questions. He poured her a drink and held it out.

Silently she took it and walked over to the sofa. He followed but didn't sit near her. He pulled a desk chair over. It was uncomfortable to see him sit where she couldn't touch him.

"Are you okay?"

She laughed. "Niall thought it was unsafe to come here, and the first thing you ask is if I'm okay. Whatever you did to him must have been hellish."

"Our boy's not as quick to forgive as you are." Irial smiled, a sad smile that made her want to ask questions.

She didn't. She moved, trying to find a comfortable position that made the pain on her back less awful. She was glad it was there, but it still brought tears to her eyes when she moved. "I couldn't watch people die for me. Or whatever else you weren't telling me."

"It would've been worse in time," he admitted. It wasn't an apology, but she hadn't really expected one.

"Do I want to know?"

He lit one of his seemingly constant cigarettes, watching her in a way that was almost comforting in its familiarity. Then he made a dismissive gesture with his hand, the cherry of the cigarette waving in the air as he did so. "War, more effort on the drug front, an increase in the number of dark fey kept nearer to me. Maybe a bit of negotiation with Far Dorcha's fey in the sex and death markets."

"Would I have survived it?"

"It's possible." He shrugged. "You were doing pretty well. Most of the mortals don't stay conscious as long as you did. And since it was me that you were bound to … you really might have. I wanted you to survive."

"I've talked to Ash, and if you take another mortal—"

"Are you threatening me, love?" He grinned at her.

"No. I'm telling you that I don't want you to replace me."

His smile faded. "Well, then … and if I do?"

"Then Ash will work with the other one, the Winter Queen, and they'll threaten you, hurt our—your—court." She watched him, not sure that her approach was the right one, but certain that she couldn't let someone else suffer like she had. "But here's the thing they don't get: I don't want you to be hurt. It would hurt me. If you let some other mortal channel that awfulness for you, that would hurt me. What they'll do to you when they find out, that will hurt me."

"And?"

"And you promised me that you wouldn't let anyone hurt me." She waited as he sat staring at her, smoking silently. Leslie's friendship with Aislinn might not be anywhere near repaired, but if the advice she'd given Leslie worked, it would go a long way toward setting things right. For now, that was Leslie's goal: getting things put to rights—her life, her future, and if she could, things with those who mattered to her. Irial was still on that list.

"The Dark Court is what it is. I won't tell them to change their natures to appease—"

"You're playing word games, Irial." She gestured for him to come closer.

His surprise was enough to offset her twinge of fear. He ground out his cigarette and moved over to sit on the sofa, near enough to touch—but not actually touching her.

She turned so they were facing each other. "You gave me your vow, Irial. I get that now. I'm telling you what will happen if you let them wound you: you will be hurting me, and if you know that and still take another mortal … What you are, what you do isn't my business, but doing another ink exchange, starting wars in my world, killing mortals, that is my business, and if my caring for you means that you can't do it … I'll admit that I still care."

He reached for her and she didn't flinch. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to his kisses. It was Irial who stopped.

"You aren't lying." He gave her the strangest look, a bit like awe and a bit like fear.

Having her autonomy back was a beautiful thing. And she realized that how she felt about Irial hadn't changed all that much.

"Tell me what you feel for me?" she asked.

He backed up just a little, no longer holding her. "Why?"

"Because I asked."

"I'm glad you won't end up comatose or dead," he said, his tone revealing nothing.

"And?" She watched him wrestle with his temptation to tell her. If he didn't want to, she couldn't make him.