But it wouldn’t help, and Bo would feel it. Talia might well already be spying.
“So that’s it then?” he asked, shoulders falling in defeat. He wanted to bury his face in his hands. He wanted to scream. He drank tea. “Nimai finds him, regardless?” Everil could taste him, orange and vanilla. Summer nights. “It would be far kinder if I handled it myself.”
It wouldn’t be difficult, holding Bo under until those tired blue eyes saw nothing. Everil would be able to feel it, that first breath of water, mouth parting as if for a kiss. It would go quickly. He could keep him close, while it happened. Bo liked being close.
“That’s certainly a choice you could make, aye. An understandable option. I’d not judge.” Declan shrugged, his gaze measuring. “Or if you want to not drown your wee foulmouthed, temperamental, kind human, perhaps instead of ‘Bo must be gone by midnight,’ you change it to ‘wemust be gone by midnight.’ As you say, Nimai is no barghest. The ways to find you are limited, once you are no longer in the place the whole of Faerie thinks you are.”
Declan’s suggestion was tempting. More tempting, certainly, than drowning Bo. Kindness or no, the idea wasn’t a pleasant one. That fool who’d trespassed earlier, he’d gladly take for a walk down to the river. But Bo, with his old hurts and his half-buried wonder, was another matter.
“Nimai would only follow. I left him with a piece of my soul.”
“It would delay things,” Declan replied. “Take your oaths. Leave here before midnight. If Nimai is informed prior to the anointed hour by a credible witness such as a certainsluagh, he’ll have a dreadful go of it to come up with a socially acceptable reason he ought to pursue. It will give you all time. Or you could kill Nimai for threatening your bondmate. Can brownies breathe underwater?”
Entirely inappropriate. And Everil had missed him.
“It would be murder, Declan. No one will recognize a human as a legitimate bond. And Nimai’s friends are people of consequence.” Everil smiled, the expression as tired as he felt. “He’s always been good at getting along with the right sorts.”
Everil had spent far too many evenings in the company of Nimai’s friends, listening to them opine about therightsort of fae and uncomfortably aware of how miserably he met that standard.
“You’ve at least one fae recognizing it as legitimate. And as I am now a person of moderate consequence, it means you’re not in the negatives. Though I’ve not the pull of Nimai’s collective, I’ll grant you.”
“You would do this for me?” Even if it wouldn’t fix things, it would buy time. A chance to think. “It would be your reputation at risk.”
Declan raised his cup a few inches in a toast, his smile wry.
“I would not have offered it if unwilling. No matter how Nimai spins it, you are currently unavailable to bond. He’ll need to get creative.” There was a beat of hesitation, rare for Declan. “We both acted rashly, the last we spoke. I’m glad you sent for me.”
This was a terrible idea. At best, it would delay Nimai by a few days. And Nimai wouldn’t be pleased with such defiance.
He’d hoped it might be better this time. But he always hoped that, didn’t he?
Everil set down his cup, which obligingly returned to wherever it’d come from.
“Who else would I call, when setting out to offend the sensibilities of all of Faerie? You’re the worst of influences, Declan.” He reached out to the sluagh, offering of a hand up. “And I’ve missed you terribly.”
With Declan insisting onspeaking further with Talia, Everil was left to entertain himself. Well, if running down an ever-diminishing list of excuses for avoiding Bo could be called entertainment.
One could only stare wistfullyout a window for so long.
Finally, Everil found himself standing just within the entryway, knowing full well that Bo was just beyond the door. Hedidneed to speak with him. It wouldn’t be long now, before they would have to take their oaths to Talia.
The last ridiculous action in a ridiculous day. The first step in an equally ridiculous plan. More of a rough sketch, if he were being honest. But it was a decided improvement over drowning Bo.
A point he would be surenotto raise with the human.
Everil pushed open the door at last, finding Bo just where he expected him to be. The man’s back was to the house, and his attention seemed to be entirely taken by the play of golden light through red and orange leaves. Trees. Humans. Endlessly changing and lovely.
Everil allowed himself the indulgence of studying the man, memorizing the lines of him. He could just picture him, crowned in oak leaves, a king in the old style.
Of course, Summer’s Lord always fell to Winter. A sacrifice to please Faerie and sweeten the turning of the year.Sacrifice.When it came to the old magics, there was more to spill than blood.
The stress and exhaustion were going to his head. Or perhaps it was only the scent of vanilla, that haunting sweetness, which grew stronger when Bo was near.
“Am I interrupting?” Everil asked, letting the door close behind him. “I was hoping we might speak.”
“Usually, I’d make a wiseass joke about talking to the trees,” Bo said, a smile fading from his lips as he turned. “I get the feeling they’d tell you I was a fucking liar, though. We probably should, yeah.”
“For the best you haven’t been. The birch are foul-mouthed enough without your influence.” Everil flinched, clasping his hands behind his back. “A poor joke. Apologies.”
