Eilidh nodded. “I drugged your tea the first time and your wine the second.”
“I knew someone had,” Rhys grumbled. “I had poison testers after the wine incident.”
“I know. It became more and more complicated to knock you out over time, but I didn’t want you to know.” Eilidh sat on the edge of the sofa, realizing that Torquil and Rhys were standing because she’d failed to sit. Having guests and remembering the propriety involved in doing so was still new to her. “I couldn’t have you
see
me help you. I didn’t know then if I could trust you.”
“You can trust me, Eilidh. I swear on it. No one outside this room will know what you can do,” Rhys vowed.
“I still don’t know,” Torquil pointed out. “Why did you drug Rhys?”
Silently, Eilidh patted the sofa.
Rhys sat.
Eilidh wrapped her hands around her brother’s wrist, letting her sight and touch sink under his flesh until she found the imperfection in the bone. It was something she’d only done with a few people, but she’d healed Rhys often enough that she could see his bone quicker than she would have with someone she’d not healed in the past.
Vaguely, she heard Torquil say, “Is she . . . ?”
“Healing me,” Rhys finished. “Yes.”
Eilidh ignored them, concentrating on the surface of the bone. She drew the pieces together, knitting them steadily as she re-grew the pieces so they could fuse properly. It was akin to coaxing fire from tinder or a plant from soil.
Rhys drew a sharp breath.
“Sorry,” she murmured as his body pulsed with pain. It wasn’t an easy feeling, she suspected, to have bone meld together. She condensed the entire healing process into mere moments. There was no way to do it without pain.
When she released his arm, her usually imperturbable brother looked ill. He leaned back on the cushions and closed his eyes. “Perhaps being drugged first is wise.”
“I doubt you’d have agreed to that willingly,” Eilidh said.
Torquil was sitting across from her, staring at her with wide eyes. “Attenuation? That gift is all but a myth.”
Eilidh offered him a weak smile. Healing made her tired.
For a brief few moments, she felt weakened. “It seems that the union of the two courts has had unexpected results.”
“Do your parents both know?” Rhys prompted.
She didn’t want to discuss that topic, but she couldn’t refuse to answer him. She nodded. “They are aware.”
While neither parent had overtly spoken to her about her affinity, they had both—in their ways—let her know that she was not to use it. Leith had said only, “My grandfather once spoke of a fae
his
grandfather had known who was cursed with an affinity for attenuation. Lessening the injuries of others weakened him until he was so frail that he died. It is not an affinity I would wish on any but those I despised.”
At the time, Eilidh had bowed her head in silence.
It was one of the rare moments of affection that the king had shown her when he tucked his fingertips under her chin and said, “You are my child, Eilidh. I want you well and safe. If I or your mother ever were mortally injured, even
then
I would not wish that you had such an affinity. Do you understand me?”
And she had. She knew that she was not to use this affinity. Her mother had said similar things in less subtle terms: “If I were to find that you had used this affinity, Daughter, I would not be pleased.”
None of those details changed the fact that she’d used it time and again to heal Rhys. There were others she’d healed—including both Torquil and Lilywhite—but it was something she did rarely. Rather than enter a conversation
filled with unpleasant admissions, she told her brother and betrothed, “Tomorrow, I need one or both of you to come with me to the mortal lands. I will explain more, answer your questions then, but I
do
need at least one of you.”
“I am yours,” Torquil said.
“I will be with you,” Rhys added.
Eilidh had expected lectures from both of them, but neither chastised her on anything, not about her secrets, not about standing up to the queen. They held their silence for several moments. Torquil sent a nervous look at Rhys that she didn’t understand. Rhys still looked wan, but there was no danger in that.
When Rhys finally opened his eyes, he looked from one to the other, and then—in the sort of casual voice that made clear that what he was revealing was anything but casual—he said, “Tell me, Eilidh, what do you know of the king’s affinities.”
“Fire, compulsion, and air,” she recited.
Torquil stood and glared at Rhys. His posture was such that Eilidh expected swords to be unsheathed. Clearly there was something here that was not known to her, something her betrothed knew and Rhys wanted her to know too.
“Do not do this,” Torquil ordered.
The only son of the Queen of Blood and Rage wasn’t known for taking orders other than the queen’s. He met Torquil’s gaze straight on and asked Eilidh, “Did you know that the king has a fourth gift, one not known to many?”
“As does the queen,” Eilidh said quietly, drawing the
boys out of their stare.
Rhys rewarded her with a proud smile and said, “You have known and not spoken if it! You are better suited to the Hidden Throne than I realized, sister.”
“Secrets are currency.” She repeated their mother’s words of wisdom.
“Indeed. One I would use to pay you now for your gift of health.” Rhys glanced back at Eilidh’s betrothed and said, “Dreams. The Seelie thought it a vanished gift. Very few have it. The king does, but there are whispers that the son of Aden is a rarity too.”
Eilidh looked at Torquil, her dearest friend, her only confidant for many years. “Truly?”
“Eilidh . . .”
Slowly the import of this revelation began to settle on her. “So the dreams I had of you for all of these years, were they . . .
my
dreams
or
your
manipulations?” Eilidh’s voice shook with the effort of restraining her anger and hurt. “Do you give dreams or can you see others’ dreams?”
“Both,” Torquil admitted. He stepped toward her, took both hands in his, and held tight to her as if she would flee. “I saw one of your dreams by accident when you were younger, and when I realized that you dreamed of . . . what you dream, I didn’t look again. It’s why I couldn’t stay near you sometimes. You were too young, Eilidh. The queen’s daughter, the heir, I couldn’t let myself see you that way.”
“I fell asleep in your arms last winter,” she pointed out, not asking, not sure she could stand to know.
“You were of age by then, and I needed to know if you still dreamed of me,” he whispered. “The queen ordered that I would wed, and I couldn’t do that, not while I was waiting on you.”
“So you looked,” Eilidh finished.
He nodded.
“And?” Rhys prompted.
Torquil glanced back at Rhys with a scowl. “That is not yours to know.”
“She is my sister.”
Instead of answering him, Torquil turned back to face her. “It was not until these past months that I’ve influenced your dreams. I swear. I would’ve waited, but if there was a chance, if there was a glimmer of a hope that you could be mine, I needed to know.”
“Rhys, I need to speak with my betrothed in private,” she announced.
“My debt is paid.” Rhys looked at Torquil and then at her as he pronounced, “Your secrets are both safe with me. There is no one else who needs to know either of these affinities.”
Then he bowed deeply and left them.
Once they were alone, or as alone as they could be with the watchers outside the tower, she asked, “And those dreams that . . . were unlike my old ones? The ones of us . . .” She couldn’t say the words, didn’t know how to go from thinking she was having dreams to realizing that they had
shared
those experiences. In a surprisingly steady
voice, she admitted, “I don’t know what to say here. Help me understand . . . why did you do that?”
“The first was an accident. I was weak because I knew that you were not uninterested in me, and my own dream projected to you,” he admitted. “I did not mean to do so that first time, Eilidh. I swear it.”
“And then?”
“And then . . . I looked at your dreams intentionally; I saw a dream not so unlike my own. The second time that I know that you dreamed of what we could be like together—that was
your
mind’s creation, not mine. I simply saw it.” Torquil stroked her hair tenderly, even as his eyes darkened with something more intense. “The rest were not a coincidence. Some were my doing, and others were yours. I watched them as often as I could. They were all that kept me from believing you found me repugnant. In our waking hours, you were so cold . . . so dismissive. If I hadn’t known of the things you dreamed, I might’ve given up. But I
did
know. I couldn’t touch another fae after that. All I could do was count the hours until we could dream together again.”
“Oh,” she said. There were so many things he was saying, so many revelations that she couldn’t fathom how she’d been oblivious to each of them. In the midst of her shock was a not-insignificant measure of embarrassment. To know that she’d directed some of those dreams . . . it was hard not to feel awkward.
“Do you
feel
the dream, as I do?” she asked.
He didn’t make her clarify further, fortunately.
“Every touch.” He looked at her as she’d seen fae look upon one another, with so much fire in his eye that she could scarcely breathe. “Because of my affinity, it is as real as if we were awake.”
“I see.”
“As it is for you,” he continued.
As he spoke, Eilidh realized that he was the safest possible spouse she could hope for. In dreams, there was no risk of a child. Part of her wished she could tell Endellion of his affinity. If the queen knew, perhaps she would allow a ceremony.
It was a matter to ponder. Not now. Possibly not even soon, but there would be a time to discuss the matter.
Then Torquil spoke again. “I wanted to give it time, to court you properly, but then you were walking away. You were telling me to find a wife as if you had no feelings, as if you didn’t dream of me, of
us
with the sort of passion that I’ve never known. So I declared myself.”
“Because we dream of mating?” Eilidh tried to dismiss it, to find a way to shelter her heart. “You don’t have to marry for
that
, Torquil.”
“I love you, Eilidh.” He swallowed nervously. “I know you were trapped when I chose to marry you, but if you give me a chance maybe you’ll feel differently in time.”
“I won’t.” She felt tears in her eyes as emotions overwhelmed her.
“Oh,” Torquil murmured. He turned away in defeat.
“I already love you,” she clarified. “I have loved you for years.”
And there, in her glass tower, with faeries of both courts watching them, she kissed her betrothed, not as a maiden kisses, but with the sort of passion she’d only known in dreams. Torquil’s touch and taste were as familiar as if they’d done this a hundred thousand times.
“We can only be where the people can see us,” Eilidh told him several moments later as she stepped back from him, resuming the proper distance to respect the queen’s orders. Kissing wasn’t forbidden, but the things that, in her dreams, came after that would be. She met her betrothed’s eyes and asked, “Would you nap with me?”
Torquil laughed happily. “I’ve waited months, thinking of telling you, wanting to dream together a purpose.”
Eilidh took his hand in hers and walked with him to the sofa. They sat, her leaning against his chest and him with an arm around her, until they fell asleep and dreamed together while the spies and fae staring into the glass tower had no idea of the joy that the betrothed fae in the tower were experiencing as they slept.
The next night, Lily met Creed and Zephyr at the same walled garden where she’d first thought she could be hidden. The fae-blood, because she refused to accept that they were true fae, apparently used it regularly for the same reasons she’d wanted it. There was a privacy in it that was precious to fae-blood trying to hide from the world. She couldn’t begrudge them their need of it any more than she’d expect them to ban her from it. The problem, she expected, would be when she refused to go along with their madness about being soldiers for Endellion.
The day itself had been uneventful, which was a relief as she suspected they’d need their wits sharp shortly.
Silently, Lily walked up to them. “You told none of the others about tonight?”
“I agreed to your terms, Lilywhite.” Zephyr pressed his
lips together like he’d bitten something unpleasant.
“So no one knows we’re here?” she asked them both.
“I don’t know who Creed has invited here”—he sent a surly look at Creed—“but that’s the
only
person who knows where we are.”
“Okay then,” she said.
She walked into the labyrinth and looked at the hedge wall, willing it to part for her. When it did, she stroked a hand over the hedge in gratitude, and then glanced back at Creed and Zephyr.
“So you have affinities for water, fire,
and
earth, but you still insist that you’re not fae.”
Lily bit her lip to keep from adding, “and air.” Getting away from them if they refused to let this whole soldiers-for-the-queen nonsense go would be hard enough. She needed to maintain some element of surprise. She’d meet the queen if it kept them safe, but after that, she might need to vanish.
A part of her had plotted ways to convince them to run with her. Surely her father could hide them! But even as she thought that, she wondered if she was being foolish to think there was a way to escape the fae.
She wasn’t going to give up though. She’d spent hours imagining potential scenarios. Daidí had contingency plans, and those plans had contingency plans. Surviving when there were factions who wanted you dead or imprisoned taught a man to think beyond the obvious—and that man had taught her. Unfortunately, contingency plans were
sometimes unappealing. Her best bet would be a move to the South Continent, and being there would be safest if she stayed with Erik’s family. She might not want to become the next Señora Gaviria, but she trusted Erik and his father. Even if she outright told Señor Gaviria that she would never marry Erik, he would still take her in and keep her safe—and the Gavirias were even more intense about security than Daidí.
Inside the garden, Lily turned to Creed. “There’s no one here.”
“Wait,” he said quietly. He looked around and led Lily toward a ring of stones and what appeared to be toadstools.
Lily’s panic level shot up. There was only one reason to wait beside a ring, and that was because you were waiting for someone to come through from the Hidden Lands. She swallowed, the sound seeming loud in the dark garden.
Zephyr stepped up so he was on Lily’s other side. He looked at Creed and muttered, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
They stood in awkward silence for another three or four minutes before the ground seemed to shimmer off to the side of them. The gateway to the Hidden Lands was opening, and with it came a burst of sugar-scented air. Acrid tinges wove throughout the sweet notes, and Lily couldn’t help but think of the single-malt that her father sometimes sipped. He’d told her once that the burnt scent was peat, and that it reminded him of her mother. As she stood here tonight inhaling that very aroma, she had to wonder if his
late-night admission had meant more than she’d realized.
As the shimmer solidified, the scent faded, and there in front of them were three actual, true fae. They were obviously of the purest fae lines, as they were all preternaturally tall and terrifyingly gorgeous. Nothing in humanity could compare to them. It was why being beautiful was often the first reason people were accused of being fae-blood. If money or other excuses couldn’t explain the beauty, it could earn a person the sort of attention that led to imprisonment.
Lily gasped, not because of their beauty, but because of the three faeries who stepped out of the circle, not all were unknown to her. Only two were strangers. Aside from being well over six feet in height, both boys were filled with light. Both bowed, to her specifically, and then they stepped backward one step.
There, between them and slightly in front of them, stood a third faery, someone Lily had thought existed only in her mind. She was older now, but there was no doubt that the faery in front of them was a grown-up version of Lily’s childhood playmate—her
imaginary
friend.
“Patches?” Lily asked, even though it
had
to be her. No one else had the same strange weblike pattern over her skin. She looked like she’d been broken into tiny pieces and reassembled, her seams left visible in the process.
“Lily,” she said softly.
Lily stared at her, and then looked at Creed. “You know my . . . You know her?”
“I do.” He kneeled.
Zephyr was already on his knees, head bowed. He had been since the moment the faeries took shape. He glanced up at her and ordered, “Kneel, Lilywhite.”
Before Lily could point out that she owed no loyalty to these three, Patches said, “No. Lily is not to kneel before me. Ever.”
Lily folded her arms over her chest and glared at the girl she’d thought was imaginary. “
You
have some explaining to do.”
Patches laughed, and for a fraction of a moment, Lily wanted to hug her. This was her oldest, her
only
female friend until meeting Alkamy and Violet. With Patches, Lily had felt free and safe and
normal
. With her, Lily had felt like she was invincible, despite the fear she had over the strange things she could do, things that Daidí and Patches both made her swear to hide.
But this wasn’t the child who had played hide-and-seek in the garden at the Abernathy Estate. This was a
faery
. This was someone who had made her believe things that weren’t true, who had lied to her and left her. Lily squeezed her arms tighter to her chest and frowned.
“Please rise,” Patches said to Zephyr and Creed. Then she glanced at the taller of the two fae boys with her. “Are we safe here?”
He was as intensely alert in the way of all of the bodyguards that Lily had known over the years, and she knew for certain that he was a guard or militia of some sort. He
was also frighteningly beautiful: eyes that could be mistaken for ice chips, a face more suited to gods than mortals, and muscles that spoke of hours of training every day. He looked at Patches and nodded. The movement made his pale-blond hair slide forward. It was so pale that, from a distance, Lily suspected that his hair would look like a halo.
“Would you sit with me?” Patches asked.
As she spoke, vines rose up, twisted and braided until flowering chairs were sprouting from the garden. Forming seats from earth was something Lily had managed, but not six chairs simultaneously.
At Lily’s side, Zephyr was glaring at Creed like he was a stranger. Both boys came to their feet, standing on either side of Lily much as Patches’ fae boys flanked her. It was all so very formal, reminding Lily of the sort of contract negotiations she’d attended with her father. When both houses wanted to establish their authority, every word mattered; every gesture spoke.
When she glanced at Zephyr, though, she saw that his eyes were full of accusations and betrayal. All he managed to say was, “Do you know who she
is
?”
“Eilidh. Rhymes with Kayley and Bailey. Apparently not a fan of her royal entity of vengeance.” Creed shrugged, but Lily heard the tension in his voice that he was trying to hide.
Creed was nervous, but Zephyr obviously couldn’t see it. He snapped, “How could you keep this from me?”
In the next heartbeat, Zephyr punched him hard enough
that Creed stumbled back.
Creed raised his hand to his jaw, winced slightly, and told Zephyr, “First one’s free. After that . . .”
“You disrespected our queen. You have no right to speak to the—”
“She’s not my queen,” Creed interrupted.
“Or mine,” Lily added.
“You’re all wrong,” Eilidh said. “But only as much as you’re right.” She sighed quietly. “Creed said you needed to see me, Lily, that you were ready for the answers I have.”
Everyone had remained standing, even though there were braided chairs of vine and root there beside them. The two fae boys watched them all intently.
“Please.” Patches gestured for Lily to sit first.
Zephyr tried to catch Lily’s hand to stop her, but she jerked away. He explained, “In fae culture, the highest ranked sits first. Eilidh is the
heir
to both the Seelie and Unseelie courts. She was born to take the Hidden Throne.”
But Patches offered her a small, sad smile and said, “Zephyr is correct. The highest ranking among us sits first. It is a court tradition that has resulted in many frivolous quarrels.” Then she met Lily’s gaze and said, “Take your seat, Lilywhite, so we can all sit as well.”
Both of the fae boys gaped at Patches. The guard looked at Lily again and then at Patches. “Is this . . . ? This is our sister’s
child
? You didn’t think to share your knowledge of her?”
Lily lowered herself into the chair, not sure if shock
was settling in or if she was imagining the implications of the guard’s words. “Your sister?” she echoed in a voice that cracked.
“You see why I protected her secrets, Rhys?” Eilidh said, taking her seat.
“Does Mother know?” the guard, Rhys, asked. He and the other fae boy sat in almost perfect synchronicity.
Lily was still trying to sort out a different explanation in the words that she was hearing. Patches
couldn’t
be her aunt. For that to be true, her mother would have to be . . .
the
baby, the one whose death started the long years of attacks on humanity by order of the Queen of Blood and Rage.
“The queen’s baby died,” Lily said. “Everyone says as much. Even in the book my mother left . . .”
Patches shot her a sympathetic glance. “No, the book says that the queen believed the baby dead. She never found her daughter.”
“My mother.” Lily felt like her lungs couldn’t fill. “My mother is the baby who started the war?
She
is the lost heir?”
“I’m sorry for keeping so much from you.” Patches motioned to the guard, who sat on her left. “This is Rhys. My brother. Before my sister was born, Rhys would’ve been the King of Unseelie.” She motioned to the fae on her right. “This is my betrothed, Torquil.”
Lily swallowed, her mind racing to process everything she’d been told. “And what are
we
, Patches?”
“I am your aunt. My sister was your mother.”
The thought that her childhood friend was her aunt was almost too much to process. This stern faery was her
uncle
, and the queen . . . Lily stopped herself, not willing to finish the thought. Being the granddaughter of the woman who had shed so much blood was something she couldn’t begin to fathom.
While Lily sat silently, Eilidh glanced briefly at the boys. “I don’t know who
your
parents were, so I cannot tell you which of you is of higher rank.”
“That’s not why we’re . . .” Zephyr started, stopped, and sat. He looked over at Creed. “Did you know?”
He shook his head. “I just knew Eilidh because she came to me and asked that I attend Lily’s birthday party. She’d brought me an invitation from Lily’s dad.”
“
You
sent him?” Lily asked her aunt. “I thought Daidí . . .” Her words drifted off as pieces clicked into place for her. “Daidí
knows
you. He knew you were real when I was a child, and . . .” She shook her head, as if the motion would help her sort the facts into the right order. “I don’t understand.”
Creed ignored the chairs entirely and stayed standing at Lily’s side, despite Zephyr’s glare and Torquil’s slight tilt of head indicating that he found the action curious.
“Stand down, child. I mean my niece nothing but amity,” Rhys said quietly. “There are those who will want to kill her. I am not one of them.”
“Child?” Lily echoed. “How old are you?”
“Age is relative to the fae, niece.” His lips curved in
a slight smile. “We’ll simply say that I remember the day Mother decided to kill every human standing on the sand. I remember when your mother was a child new in my mother’s womb and the queen had another name. I remember before that when I was her heir for many years, back when the thought of allying with the Seelie Court would have been called treason.” He looked back at Creed. “Sit. Your point is made.”
“His point?” Lily felt foolish repeating everything, but there were too many new truths to accept so quickly.
“He has just declared his loyalty,” Eilidh said. “Not to the queen. Not to her named heir.” She pointed at herself and then to Rhys as she added, “Or to the Unseelie prince. Creed has declared that his fealty is to
you
, Lilywhite. Should there be a drawing of sides, his is already stated.”
“No! We’re not familiar with fae customs, and—”
Creed cut her off, “I am quite familiar, Lily. You might not be, but every Sleeper was taught about fae customs and culture.”
“I want no part of this,” Lily told Eilidh and Rhys. “I want to be at home with my father. He
is
my father, isn’t he?”
“Iana would never answer that,” Eilidh said. “I asked.”
“But if I am Daidí’s, then I’m only half-fae . . . you’re still the heir, right?” Lily reached out and took Creed’s hand. Despite everything she’d decided, right now Lily needed his support.
At her touch, Creed sat on the empty chair beside her,
keeping her hand in his. “I didn’t know about this, Lily,” he whispered. “I promise. I didn’t know you knew her or any of it.”
She nodded. “Eilidh?”
“Creed does not lie,” Rhys said.
“The Queen of Blood and Rage knew you by name, knew you were one of her Seven Black Diamonds. She summoned you, Lily. If there’s anyone who has more answers, it’s our queen,” Zephyr said firmly.