Summer Bound: A Wicked Lovely Story, Page 2

  “Irial? Are you . . . well?”

  “Shush, Siobhan. A little fear makes us alive,” Irial whispered.

  “The Dark King might think so, but you . . . are no longer that.” Siobhan reached out and squeezed his arm. “If it does not endanger my queen, I am still your friend.”

  He nodded, and then a moment later, his grin returned. “Mustn’t let your beau realize I’m not nearly as awful as he thinks . . . or perhaps we should.”

  “I care for him, Irial,” she warned.

  “I see, but”--he tilted his head and stared into the distance as if pondering-- “I’m afraid I’m about to upset Tavish’s entire apple cart.”

  “His apple cart?” she echoed.

  “I’m a father,” he whispered. “I’ve come to share my news.”

  “With my queen? What . . . Leslie is with ch—"

  “No. Not her. Not yet.” He sighed, and Siobhan suddenly missed the shadows that used to undulate next to him when he was the Dark King.

  “Irial . . .”

  He took her hand as if they were, in fact, simply old friends, and in a way, she supposed that was as fitting a label as any for their history. Then he told her, “I have learned that I am a father, and I have a great-grandchild, too.”

  “And that child is of interest to this court,” Siobhan filled in.

  “Clever woman,” he said.

  “You do make me nervous.”

  “Chaos, love. It’s what I am.” He lifted his glass. “To family!”

  And with that, the once-Dark King downed an entire glass of Summer Wine.

  Aislinn paused in her perusal of the latest reports. There were advisors, merchants, and managers employed to handle the court’s business—as there had been for centuries--but the Summer Queen had taken a keen interest in the business of providing for her court.

  Learning to control the full weight of unfettered summer wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped—especially as a former human. The Summer Court was volatile by design, and the weight of so much power was still hard to control after several years. She’d taken up courses, managing the accounts, and a number of other hobbies to try to practice focus.

  She’d taken courses at the college and read books on a variety of marketing and investing plans. These may not be the normal purview of faery queens, but Aislinn Foy had been mortal first. She would and often did let summer’s essence fill her, and she did frolic as a proper Summer Queen should when the time was right—but she would also be a decision-making party when it came to her court’s financial and business interests. Eternity was a very long time, and the practicalities of providing for a court could be expensive.

  “Aislinn?” Tavish suddenly stood there, drawing her attention to him with the power of something greater than magic. He moved like moonlight sometimes, present suddenly and beautifully, and rather intense without realizing it. “My queen . . .”

  “That look never seems to be a harbinger of joy, Tavish.”

  She stood and went to the faery who had been her guide and strength in her new role as queen. He’d become her family, as much as many of the faeries she counted on in her new life as a queen, but Tavish was more. He was the brother she had never had.

  Embracing him, she asked, “What can I do to cheer you, brother? Summer isn’t meant for such gloom.”

  Tavish had finally relented to her insistence on calling him “brother,” but he only agreed to that if there were no witnesses. Hearing it—according to him—allowed her to let him know they were alone.

  “Not gloom. Wishes of a bit of lightning to toss…”

  Aislinn laughed and teased, “Shall I smite someone for you?”

  “I would enjoy that,” he said, lighter by a few degrees. “Alas, it would cause complications. You have a guest.”

  “With that expression, let me guess . . . Donia? Devlin? Irial?” She paused on the last name as Tavish nodded curtly.

  “He is not our enemy, brother. Chaos is--”

  “The self-same faery who once cursed this court.” Tavish punched a section of wall. Here, without witnesses, he would reveal the side of himself that was more summerlike than anyone seemed to expect. Temper flared, and he glowed with a hot internal light.

  Aislinn waited.

  “Centuries, Ash. Centuries of futile searching, and he did not suffer. Our court. Our faeries. All of the mortals remade as faery. Keenan.” He sighed. “You. So much pain, and for what?”

  She reached out and squeezed his wrist. “I shall meet with him without you at my side. Go, find an outlet for this. Summer may rage, but we are a court of joy, brother.”

  “As you command.”

  “As you need,” she corrected. There was little else she could say or do.

  Tavish wasn’t wrong, but she couldn’t refuse Irial’s visit. He was, these days, an entity that was welcome in all courts. The last embodiment of Chaos was only with the Dark, and that had led to hunger for power. Chaos had become War, and in doing so, Death had been summoned.

  Aislinn had no desire to see such bloodshed again. She would have peace. Summer was for joy, for pleasure, for languid days and drunken mornings. Violence lurked, and she could feel that impulse. It was why she invited other regents to her table, broke bread and shared drinks with them as the long-dead Summer King Miach had done. Unity and balance were what let the world thrive.

  “I will meet with Irial,” she said. “The past is a thing we must set aside.”

  Tavish’s expression made quite clear that he did not agree—but this was why her court was benefitted by her relative youth. Barely in her twenties, Aislinn had only a heartbeat of time in their world. No centuries’ old grudges to sway her. No near-eternity of suppressed rage.

  Tavish dipped his head in a bow. His calm exterior seemed as if it reformed like a great wall around the storm she knew he felt inside. “Ash?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I ask that we have a revel? I have needs that are interfering with my duties.” Tavish held her gaze. “If I do not address them, I fear that working with Siobhan will be impossible soon.”

  If he were anyone else or perhaps if they were any other court, Aislinn would laugh, but this was the Summer Court. Pleasure was as much a joy as a duty.

  “Of course! Seth will return soon and—"

  “I would beg your leave that we do not wait that long.” Tavish looked toward the room. “Seeing Irial embrace her did much to wear my last thread of control.”

  The Summer Queen nodded. Her advisor asked little for himself, so there was no chance she’d refuse. “You could speak to her, Tavish. I have no objection to my two advisors enjoying--”

  “No. If she wasn’t your advisor in opposition to me, perhaps . . .” Tavish frowned. “But this is the happiest she’s been, Ash. I would not risk that to satisfy my own carnal interest in her.”

  Aislinn nodded. She already feared losing him to the High or Winter Court. If he could not find joy here, she would. There had to be a solution that meant keeping both of her advisors—and Tavish finding happiness. If not, she’d lose him.

  Aislinn watched the former Dark King walk into her aviary alone in surprise. Although Tavish hadn’t mentioned anyone else, Aislinn had thought there must be someone else here with him. Leslie visited with Irial, typically, and though the two weren’t as close as Aislinn would like, she wasn’t sure what sort of thing would necessitate a visit from Irial alone. Dark Court business was a thing he absented himself from these days—at least ostensibly. No one who saw the way the former king watched Niall had any doubts of his allegiance.

  Worry flooded Aislinn, and the weather around her reacted. A small storm cloud appeared as she asked, “Is Leslie well?”

  “She is.” Irial seemed unconcerned with the brief burst of rain that filled the room and drenched him. “As is Niall.”

  “Good.” She waited, figuring out by now that there was no way to rush the fey when they were of a mind to stall.

  “How are you?” Iri
al stared at her in a way that was wholly unfamiliar, as if he was studying her face for clues of . . . something. Odder still, he approached her, instead of keeping his usual distance.

  Vines sprung up, lashing together in a fence of sorts between them.

  “Close enough,” she said.

  Irial simply stood there, leaning into the fence, pausing to sniff a flower that sprouted near him. “Tell me of your mother. Your grandmother. What were they like when you were younger?”

  “My . . .what?”

  “Your family.” Irial made a careless gesture in the air. “Tell me of them.”

  “Why?”

  “Is it so hard to believe I’m curious?” His tone was light, and his smile was hard to resist.

  Aislinn tried to resist the answering smile she felt threatening. “Without a reason? Yes.”

  “I do not know you well enough.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. There was something irrepressible about Irial—to the point that Seth had grown oddly fond of him and Aislinn couldn’t help but find Irial charming.

  “You’re being peculiar.” She gestured and a chair woven of ivy and flowers appeared as she sat.

  “May I?” Irial held up a cigarette.

  “Around my plants? No.” With a flick of her hand, another such seat lifted next to Irial.

  “Nerves,” he said.

  Aislinn paused. Although faeries—especially Irial—lied by omission and misdirection, they could not lie outright. Further, Irial sounded sincere.

  “Are you well?” she asked.

  He sat without replying. After a moment, Irial leaned forward. “Shall I tell you the grand news, my dear?”

  At Aislinn’s will, a table rose between them. Fashioned of tree branches twisted into an infinite loop of Celtic knots, it provided the illusion of a barrier. She’d been working on it as a meditation piece.

  “May I call you ‘dear’?”

  “Irial—"

  “Was there an affectionate name you would have liked as a child?” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Or a pet? There is a beautiful lioness that I saw when I was in—”

  “Irial!”

  “Mmm?” He stared at her in a way that she would almost call besotted, but for the fact that she knew without a doubt that he had never shown any genuine interest in her romantically.

  “What are you here to tell me?”

  “Oh,” he said, “I’m a father.”

  “Leslie is—”

  “No. A hundred or so years ago, I met a lovely woman. We had children, Aislinn.” He looked both joyous and forlorn in a matter of moments. “I’ve forgotten for years, by my own design, as my Thelma was fated to be . . . well, you.” He gestured around the room. “This.”

  “Your children’s mother was mortal.”

  “Yes.” He stared at her. “Thelma was a mortal.”

  “And she would have been the Summer Queen?” Aislinn echoed, trying to wrap her mind around whatever Irial was sharing. “If she’d have . . . and then I’d have . . . I would have been mortal.”

  “No, my dear.” Irial met her gaze. “You were never truly mortal. Elena’s father was fey. You’ve always been part-fey, a halfling like Ani and Tish—and your grandmother.”

  Irial leaned back in his vine-wrought chair and watched her expectantly, as she pieced together his statements to the conclusion he was implying. When she burst out laughing, flowers popping into existence throughout the loft, and several of the birds came zipping into the room.

  “Oh! You almost had me!” Aislinn rarely felt so light-hearted around him. “Your expression. . . You are a master at lying without actual lies, Irial.”

  Irial, however, frowned.

  She giggled. “That was so convincing. The whole set-up, walking in as if you were drunk and . . .”

  She stood and stepped toward him. Leaning down, she brushed a kiss on his cheek. If he could play a prank on her, he could tolerate a token of affection.

  “Was this Leslie’s idea? Seth’s?” she asked. “I can’t imagine Niall having this sort of prankster urge.”

  Irial caught her hand as she started to step back. “Aislinn, I am serious. Many years ago, I met a woman, a fierce rebellious beautiful mortal, and I knew she was the one who could free summer.”

  Aislinn stared at him.

  “I made that curse,” Irial continued. “Over nine hundred years ago, I bound Keenan. There was a beautiful mortal girl, and—at that time—I thought it was clever to hide that sunlight in a family of women. Your family.”

  Aislinn pulled free of his grasp and sat back down gracelessly. No traces of her laughter remained. “No. Stop it. This isn’t funny now--”

  “Aislinn . . . I cannot lie outright. You know this.” He paused, watched her intently as he added, “Centuries after my oh-so-clever curse, I met her. Thelma. Thelma Foy.”

  “You must be confused—"

  “I am not. I see her in you now that I have my memories freed. Her courage and strength . . . She would be proud to see what you’ve achieved.” Irial’s expression was the same one he had when gazing at Niall or Leslie. He was as subtle as a brick through a window when it came to love. “I fell for Thelma, willing to damn the world if that was the cost.”

  “Foy is Grams maiden name, but . . .”

  “She kept her mother’s name. I had no name to give her.” Irial met Aislinn’s gaze. “I’d have married her, damned the world for her—and my daughter. After I’d lost Niall, I feared I’d never be loved again. Truly loved, not adored or admired or desired, but loved.”

  “Leslie and Niall love you.” Aislinn stood and walked away from him, her back to him, wishing she could have Seth at her side.

  “I don’t deserve it, but I am grateful that they do,” Irial said, tone still tender and open. “I would do anything for love. I learned that lesson when Niall left me. Had I known that I was cursing my own, I would never have cursed that long-ago mortal woman, Aislinn. I swear to you.”

  Aislinn nodded. She wasn’t sure she could say the words she needed for the revelation he’d brought to her. What were the words? Did he want a pardon? Understanding?

  “Thelma was desperate, you see, to avoid her fate.” Irial’s voice had grown softer still, tender as if she were a small child—and to him, she supposed she was. “I wanted to stay in Faerie, raise Elena there.”

  “So was my mother,” Aislinn whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Desperate, I mean. She died to stay human.”

  Irial nodded. “I wish I could have known, could have saved her. I wish I could have raised Elena—and been there for Moira and for . . .you.”

  He walked closer and dropped to his knees before Aislinn. “I loved Elena when she was born, and I love her granddaughter, my great-granddaughter already. Instantly. Family is precious, has always been precious to the Dark Court. You are my family, Aislinn. Let me into your life.”

  Aislinn stared down at the faery who had cursed her, who had cursed her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother—the faery who had loved her great-grandmother.

  “You’re my . . .” Aislinn’s words fled. She couldn’t even say the words.

  “Great-grandfather,” Irial finished, sounding reverent. “And I want to rebuild our family.”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head and backed away. Grandfathers weren’t to look your age, or be sleeping with your friend. They were old and smoked pipes. They told rambling stories, and they had not cursed you. “I just . . . I can’t . . .”

  Siobhan cringed at the sudden storm that flashed over the entire loft and—from the look of the torrential downpour outside—the surrounding area as well. Her queen had not summoned her, and as advisor to the Summer Queen, she’d feel a call if Aislinn needed her.

  The loft, though it was rebuilt for the current inhabitants, was not designed for holding this much water. There was a grate that opened, and once that was done, the flood that currently rose over Siobhan’s ankles would sluice down into the open park t
hat was the site of their revels.

  Lightning flashed inside the aviary, and the birds all flew out into wherever they nested at such times. The blur of vibrant feathers looked like magic in the air, as if a riot of blossoms had been launched into the park.

  She realized that she was laughing in glee as she sloshed toward the valve to open the grate. There was something invigorating about a sudden deluge, not quite a waterfall, but near enough that a part of her wanted to let the water build so they could swim.

  The water was more than knee-deep as Siobhan finally reached the valve.

  “Can you turn it?” Tavish was there, at her side, soaked and gorgeous. “Siobhan?”

  Logic said not to let instinct rule.

  Logic said she wasn’t interested in rejection.

  She said nothing as she gripped the old-fashioned valve and cranked. The water sluiced out, sucked past her legs and sending her toppling into Tavish’s arms. She could’ve resisted, but why not enjoy it?

  She smiled at him as his arms stayed wrapped around her. For all the faeries she’d met in the time she was a part of this world, and for all that she, too, was completely fey now, there was something about Tavish’s inhuman beauty that left her breathless.

  The silver strands of hair that were usually kept tethered in a braid had come loose, and the overall effect was a softening of an otherwise austere face.

  “It is hard to trust you, Siobhan, when you look at me with cunning smiles,” Tavish said finally, breaking into her reverie.

  “Perhaps, Tavish, there are good reasons for those ‘cunning smiles.’”

  “Tell me.”

  “I haven’t seen you look like this in years.”

  “Bedraggled?”

  “Aroused,” she countered. “My years as a Summer Girl might be coated in softer things, but my memory is not gone.”

  He said nothing.

  “Tell me no,” she whispered.

  He leaned down and kissed her until she wasn’t sure she’d still stand if not for the tightening of his arms around her. Her lips parted to invite him to deepen the kiss, and her hands reached up to tangle in the metallic silver that was so rarely free.