Wicked Lovely

CHAPTER 15

When Donia returned home from her evening walk, Beira was waiting on the porch, reclining in a chair fashioned of ice.

Almost idly the Winter Queen sculpted screaming faces on a sheet of ice beside her. It looked like the faeries in the sculpture were trapped alive, writhing and shrieking.

"Donia, darling," Beira gushed, coming to her feet with such grace that it looked like she'd been pulled upright with invisible strings. "I was beginning to wonder if I should send Agatha after you."

The hag in question grinned, exposing gaps where a number of her teeth should've been.

"Beira. How very…" Donia couldn't find a word that wouldn't be a lie. Unexpected? Pleasant? No, neither of those. "What can I do for you?"

"Such a good question, that one." Beira tapped her chin with one finger.

"Now, if only my son had the good manners to ask that" — Beira frowned petulantly—"but he doesn't."

Across the yard, at the edge of the trees, several guards saluted. The rowan-man waved.

"Do you know what that boy did?"

Donia didn't answer; it wasn't really a question. Just like Keenan. It'd be a relief not to be stuck between them.

"He went to the girls school. Enrolled there, like a mortal. Can you imagine?" Beira began pacing, the staccato rhythm of her steps cracking like falling sleet on the battered porch. "He's spent the week with her, trailing behind her like that dog of yours."

"Wolf. Sasha is a wolf."

"Wolf, dog, coyote, whatever. The point" — Beira paused, standing so still she could've been carved of ice— "the point, Donia, is that he's found an in. Do you understand what that means? He is making progress; you are not. You're failing me."

Agatha cackled.

Beira turned, slowly, deliberately. She crooked a finger. "Come here."

Not yet realizing her error, Agatha stepped onto the porch with her grin still in place.

"Is it amusing then that my son could win? That he could undo everything I've built?" Beira put one finger under Agatha's chin, her long manicured fingernail cutting into the hag's skin. A line of blood trickled down her throat. "I don't find it the least bit funny, Aggie dear."

"'S not what I meant, my Queen." Agatha's eyes widened. She glanced at Donia, imploring.

"Aggie, Aggie, Aggie" — Beira tsk-tsked—"Donia won't help you. She couldn't even if she wanted to."

Donia looked away, staring instead at the ever-present rowan-man. He shuddered in sympathy. They'd all seen Beira's temper before, but it was still awful.

Holding the hag tightly in her embrace now, Beira put her lips to Agatha's withered mouth and blew.

All the while Agatha tried to escape, her hands pushed against Beira's shoulder, clutched at the Winter Queen's wrists. Sometimes the Winter Queen relented; sometimes she did not.

Today she did not.

Agatha fought, but it was futile: only another monarch could stand against Beira.

"Well then," Beira murmured as Agatha's body slumped forward, limp in Beira's embrace.

Agatha's spirit—a shade now—stood beside them, wringing her hands, weeping soundlessly.

Beira licked her lips. "I feel better."

She dropped Agatha's body to the ground.

Agatha's shade knelt beside her now lifeless body. Ice crystals fell from the corpse's open mouth, trailed down her sunken cheeks.

"Go on, now." Beira shooed the soundlessly weeping shade with a gesture, like she'd brush off an insect. Then she turned to Donia. "Work faster, girl. My tolerance wears thin."

Without waiting for an answer, Beira walked away—the shade of Agatha trailing behind her—leaving Donia to deal with the corpse on the porch.

Donia stared at Agatha—at the body that used to be Agatha. The ice had melted, leaving a puddle soaking the hag's hair.

That could be me. It will be me someday if I fail Beira…

"May I help?" the rowan-man stood close enough that she should've known he was there long before he spoke.

She glanced up at him. His gray-brown skin and dark-green leafy hair made him almost a shadow in the dark. If it weren't for his bright red eyes, he'd almost blend into the growing evening.

Evening? How long have I been standing here? She sighed.

He gestured to the other guards who waited back at the tree line. "We could take her with us. The soil is moist; her shell would fade quickly in the loam."

Donia swallowed the sickness that threatened to rise.

"Does Keenan know yet?" she whispered, embarrassed that she still worried over how he felt.

"Skelley already went to tell him."

Donia nodded.

Skelley? Which one is he? She tried to focus, think about the guardsmen. Better that than thinking about Agatha.

Skelley, he was one of the court guards, thin, like the Scrimshaw Sisters, gentle. He'd wept when she'd frozen the guards before. Still he stayed, taking his turns guarding her, doing as Keenan ordered.

"Do you need extra guards?" The rowan-man did not wince when he offered, although she knew he remembered the temper tantrums she'd thrown when such a thing was offered in the past. "We could at least come closer."

Frozen tears rolled down her face and landed in the puddle on the porch. I don't weep for her. Would he still offer such kindness if he knew that—that even now with Agatha at my feet, I weep for myself?

She looked away, to where the other guards stood, waiting, ready to protect her even though she'd never shown them a single reason to do so. Of course they would. Keenan wills it.

"Donia?"

She looked up. "That's the first time you've said my name."

With another soft rustling sound, he stepped onto the porch. "Let us take her away."

Still watching him, Donia nodded.

He motioned to the others, and in barely a moment they'd taken the body away, leaving only a giant wet spot where Agatha had lain.

Closing her eyes as if that would shut out the images, Donia drew several deep breaths.

"Shall I stay closer?" the rowan-man whispered. "Just one guard nearer to you. If she returns…"

Eyes still closed, she asked, "What do they call you?"

"Evan."

"Evan," she murmured. "She's going to kill me, Evan, but not tonight. Later. If I let the new girl take up the staff, she'll kill me. I'll join Agatha." She opened her eyes and held his gaze. "I'm afraid."

"Donia, please…"

"No." She turned away. "She won't be back tonight."

"Only one extra guard?" He held an arm as if he'd pull her into an embrace. "If you were harmed…"

"Keenan would get over it. He has a new girl. She'll give in. We all do." She folded her arms over her chest and turned to go back inside. Back still turned, she added softly, "Let me think. Tomorrow I'll figure the rest out."

Then she went inside and closed the door, calling to Sasha, burying her face in his soft fur and trying to breathe.

Keenan was in great spirits when he got home. The guards had already filled in Niall and Tavish, so he wasn't surprised to see them smiling when he walked in the door.

"Almost record time," Tavish nodded approvingly, holding out a glass of summer wine. "I told you: nothing to worry over. Mortals are like that, especially these days. Get her in line, get back to business."

"Get her in line?" Niall laughed and poured himself a glass too. "I'd love to see you say that to a mortal girl."

Tavish scowled and carried the decanter into the living room. Several cockatiels perched on a long tree branch that spanned the left side of the room. "I've spent centuries with the Summer Girls. They were mortals, and they're not that complex."

Niall turned to Tavish and said, slowly, as if the older faery were a very, very young child, "Once they're Summer Girls, their inhibitions are gone. Remember Eliza when she was a mortal? Not the least bit affectionate." He took a long drink and sighed. "Now she's much more receptive."

"Aislinn's different," Keenan interrupted, feeling immeasurably angry over the idea that his Aislinn could be like Eliza, could join the Summer Girls, could warm other faeries' beds. "I can feel it. She could be the one."

Tavish and Niall exchanged a look. They'd heard the selfsame words before, and he knew it.

She could be, though. She could be the one.

He dropped onto the sofa and closed his eyes. I hate this, how damnably important these games are. "I'm going to go grab a shower. Clear my head."

"Relax." With a solemn expression, Tavish topped off his glass and handed it to him. "She might be the one. One of them has to be. Sooner or later."

"Right." Keenan took the glass of wine. If not, I'll spend eternity doing this. "Send a couple of the girls. I could use some help relaxing." A couple hours later Keenan looked at the clock for the third time in the past half hour. Two more hours. This was the first time his people would see them together, the first chance they had to see him speak with the girl who might be the Summer Queen, the girl who might change everything. No matter that there'd been others. It was always the same: that precious bubble of hope that this one would be his queen.

Niall leaned against the wall in the doorway to the bedroom. "Keenan?"

Keenan held up a pair of gray trousers. Too formal. He rummaged in his closet. Jeans. Black ones. She'd like that. It was quicker if he simply became what they wanted, made a few changes to act like what they found appealing. "I need black jeans, not new looking, but not too faded."

"Right." Niall passed the message on to one of the Summer Girls. When she left, he came farther into the room. "Keenan?"

"What?" Keenan found a T-shirt he didn't remember owning. He pulled out a dark blue shirt, silk from the desert spiders, much nicer. He could only change so much.

"The mortal boy that Aislinn…"

"He'll be gone soon." Keenan slipped off his shirt and put on the new one. Then he looked through the jewelry the girls had brought over earlier. It was nice to have a gift handy if things went well. Mortal or fey, they liked that sort of thing.

"I'm sure he will, but in the meantime…"

The tiny heart seemed nice. Too personal, too soon? The sunburst was a nice choice. He set it aside while he looked through the others. "After tonight he'll be busy elsewhere."

"Why?"

"I asked the girls to find someone to distract him. He's in the way." He picked up the gold sunburst. Later, it'll mean more to her if she's the one. He slipped it into his pocket. The sunburst it is.