Melissa Marr - Wicked Lovely

Her face pale with shock and worry, Aislinn crouched on the soaking floor trying to rouse Seth.

One of the hags held out a length of cloth, and Aislinn mutely bound Seth's bleeding ribs. He didn't look good, but the rowan-men had arrived and already summoned healers—both fey and mortal.

Keenan went over to Donia's still motionless body. Healers wouldn't help her.

He cradled her in his arms and wept.

Donia opened her eyes to find Keenan holding her. For the first time in far too long, she was in his arms.

She had to cough before she could speak. "Beira dead?"

He smiled then, looking like every dream she'd denied having. "She is."

"Seth?" It hurt to talk, her throat raw from the jagged pieces of ice she'd swallowed and thrown back up.

"Injured, but not dead." He stroked her face, gently, as if she were something delicate and precious. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto her face, melting the ice that still clung to her. "I thought I'd lost you. I thought we were too late."

"Doesn't matter. You have your queen." Despite her words, she pressed her face closer into his hand, feeling more at peace than she had in decades.

"It's not like that with us." He blew on her face, melting the last traces of Beira's ice that had clumped in her hair.

"She's keeping Seth, calls this a job" — he laughed then, a small sound, but a laugh nonetheless—"ruling beside me, but not mine. When you get well—"

One of the hags knelt beside them, interrupting him.

"My queen," she rasped. "Your staff."

The hag held out the Winter Queen's staff, the repository of Winter's weight.

Keenan's eyes widened. "No."

The hag smiled her nearly toothless smile and reiterated, "My queen. Not yours, Summer King. This one" — she gestured silently—"carries the winter's chill. It grows."

Keenan snarled at the hags, looking far from human. "You knew."

"Beira's time had passed." The hags exchanged calm looks. "She knew the terms Irial'd set, should've known what would happen if she interfered: her choice, her failure."

The same one spoke again, "Donia will be a strong queen. We waited until one survived winter's kiss. She" — the hag looked at Donia with something like awe in her eyes—"is ours now."

They all bowed, looking graceful despite their haggard bodies, and said, "We serve the Winter Queen. It is the order of things."

Donia struggled to sit up. She lifted a hand, her fingertips brushing Keenan's face. To spend eternity with Keenan—this was a fantasy she'd kept silent for decades.

He held her gaze. "No, Don…There's another way. The healers will be here and…"

"This doesn't need healing. The Winter Court is mine. I feel it; the winter fey, I feel them."

"The hags can do something…I don't care what. Stay with me, Don. Please." He held her tighter, scowling up at the hags and the lupine fey that had come into the room. Behind them, several of the hawthorn people waited.

Healers from both the Winter Court and Summer Court stepped forward. Some were tending to Seth under Aislinn's careful watch.

Briefly Donia glanced at Aislinn, and the Summer Queen stood. She, at least, understood the inevitability of what needed to happen.

"Keenan." Donia reached up to him and pulled his face closer to her. "The chill is already in me. If I fight it, it'll take longer to grow, but it won't change."

Aside from the overwhelming urge to wipe away the horror in Keenan's eyes, Donia wasn't upset. She'd expected to die today. Ruling was far from a bad trade-off.

Before it was too late, she wrapped her arms around Keenan and let herself glory in the sort of kiss they hadn't been able to share in far too long.

When she pulled away, Keenan wept, his tears like warm rain hissing as they fell on her face.

Then Aislinn pulled Keenan away and held on to him as the hags helped Donia over to Beira's body.

Black clouds gathered and ripped open, drenching them all, as Keenan's emotions grew more volatile.

Grasping the staff, Donia pressed her mouth to Beira's still body and inhaled. The rest of the Winter Queen's cold flowed into her, rolling through her like an icy wave, churning until it suddenly stopped and lay quiet—a fathomless frozen pool surrounded by ice-laden trees and unmarred white fields.

The words came to her from the white world, sliding through her lips like a winter wind, "I am the Winter Queen. As those before me, I will carry the wind and ice."

And she was healed, stronger than she'd ever been. Unlike Beira, Donia did not trail icy shards in her path as she went over to Keenan.

His sun-kissed tears shimmered as they fell into the puddles on the floor.

She reached up to pull him to her, careful to keep her chill contained, thrilled that she could do so now. Then she whispered, "I love you. I have always loved you. This doesn't change that."

Eyes wide, he stared at her, but he didn't speak. He didn't repeat the words.

Then Donia lifted Beira in her arms, and with the hags trailing behind her, went to the door. Pausing on the threshold, she caught Aislinn's gaze and said, "We will speak soon."

After a quick glance at the still-speechless Keenan, Aislinn nodded.

Then—eager to be out of their brightness—Donia wrapped her fingers around the staff and walked away from the Summer King and Queen.

First Snow

Clutching the silk-smooth wood of the Winter Queen's staff— my staff- —Donia walked out of her cottage and into the shadow of the barren trees.

Outside, her fey waited; Keenan's guards were gone—all but Evan, who'd stayed on as the head of her new guard. There were grumblings over that one—a summer fey heading the new Winter Queen's guard—but it wasn't anyone's right to challenge her choices.

Not anymore.

She wound her way toward the riverside, trailed by six of the guards Evan had chosen from among the winter fey as the most trustworthy. They didn't speak. The winter fey weren't a chattering lot, not like the insipid Summer Girls.

As if she had always done so, Donia tapped the staff as she walked the earth, sending freezing fingers into the soil, the first taste of the winter that would soon follow. Beside her, Sasha loped.

Silently Donia stepped onto the now-frozen surface of the river. Looking up at the steel bridge that crossed the river—no longer poisonous, not to the Winter Queen—she tilted her face to the gray sky and opened her mouth. Winds shrieked from her lips; icicles gathered on the metal of the bridge.

On the bank of the river, Aislinn stood, wrapped in a long cloak. She was already changed, looking more like what she now was every time Donia saw her. The Summer Queen lifted a hand in greeting. "Keenan would be here if he could…He was worried about how you were feeling about all of this." She gestured at the ice.

"I'm fine." Donia slid across the frozen water, graceful as she'd never been as the Winter Girl. "It's familiar, but not."

She didn't add that she was still lonely: that wasn't something to share with Keenan's queen.

They stood quietly, snowflakes hissing as they landed on Aislinn's cheeks. She pulled a fur-trimmed hood up, hiding her newly gold-streaked hair. "He's not all bad, you know?"

"I do." Donia held out her hand, catching snowflakes like a handful of white stars. "I couldn't tell you that, though, could I?"

Aislinn shivered. "We're learning to work together. Most of the time." She rubbed her arms, finally wearing out under the cold. "Sorry. I can still go out, but I guess I can't stay too long near both you and the ice."

"Another time perhaps." Donia turned away.

But then Aislinn said the last thing that Donia could imagine the Summer Queen, could imagine anyone, saying: "He loves you, you know."