“Nimai was wrong, to imply your actions might lead to retaliation against me. You are not…” he trailed off, struggling to explain. To beclear.“Nimai was speaking of you as a kept thing. Assuming I would bring you to Faerie under my name. In such a case, yes, your actions would be my responsibility. But I’ve no intention of claiming you thus. You’re my bond and Talia’s guardian and a human. There is no Protocol for you. That offers a modicum of protection, at least. Is that clearer?”
“Yeah,” Bo answered, his fingers carding lightly through Everil’s hair. “A lot clearer. Thanks for calling him out on that. It’d probably have said a couple things we didn’t want if I went in thinking I needed to act like a kept thing to keep you from getting hurt.”
“Fae do enjoy ascribing meaning to every lifted eyebrow and twitching finger. But you needn’t worry in this. I’m in no physical danger, and my social standing is non-existent.” Everil shook his head against Bo’s shoulder, a hint of laughter in his voice. “This is becoming no clearer, is it? Apologies.”
“Nah, you’re doing good. It helps a fucking lot to know my rude ass likely won’t make or break shit. If I start sounding like I’m assuming shit wrong, I won’t get mad if you add more information. Puppets at hand or not.”
They had gotten into the habit of having conversations in the most ridiculous of arrangements. Surely, this could all be more easily discussed if Everil weren’t pressed to Bo, speaking mostly to his neck and shoulder. But at least some of the ill feeling, rind-bitter between them, had given way to ease.
“I’m sure Talia would be delighted if we took her puppet shopping.”
Bo snickered at that, his fingers continuing their careful stroking. “There’s a couple things that’ll keep me from losing my absolute fucking mind once we’re in the thick of things. That was a big one.”
“What else?”
“Just–” The silence stretched again. “If things don’t fall in our favor, don’t let Nimai be the one to kill me. And somehow let my family know?” Bo’s words came quick and tight, at odds with his continued slow touch. “Do what you did with the dryad or, fuck, I don’t know. Literally anything quick and by someone not that asshole. Make sure my family doesn’t think I abandoned them–” he cut himself off, swallowed, then continued just as quickly. “I’m not going into this prepared to die. But I can’t face these fuckers if I’m worried the last thing I’m going to see is his smug fucking face. And Robin, I need to know he won’t have to wonder if he missed signs that I needed help. Wonder if he could’ve stopped me.”
Everil tightened his grip on Bo’s neck and back, a protective, possessive hold. He wanted to let his claws show and tear into anyone who offered Bo harm.
But Bo hadn’t asked for protection; he wanted assurance. And hadn’t Everil already had a like discussion with Declan? Suggested it might be best to take Bo to the river rather than let him fall into Nimai’s grip? It didn’t feel so simple a solution now.
“As you wish,” he said, not entirely keeping the low rumble of threat from his voice. “I swear, I’ll do all that is within my power to keep you from injury. But should it come to that, it will be painless and by my hand. Your family won’t be left to wonder.”
“Thanks,” Bo murmured, his lips against Everil’s hair. “I appreciate you.”
“You ask very little,” he murmured, rather than further discuss the possibility of Bo’s death at his hands. “I believe the tradition runs toward gold and magic slippers.”
“Don’t think slippers are my style.” Bo sighed, the heat of his breath ruffling Everil’s hair. “What happens with the Council?”
Another question that was owed a full explanation. Everil would try.
“In sum, there will be trials. Ordeals. Two or three or nine, depending on how thoroughly Nimai’s poisoned the waters.” Reluctantly, he eased his hold on Bo and raised his head. “And the focus of said trials will depend on what, exactly, has been argued. This might best be discussed while sitting.”
This wasn’t a matter to be explained while wrapped in each other’s arms. It would take time. And it may well decide whether he was forced to make good on his promise to kiss the air from Bo’s lungs.
Faerie. Forever changing andchangeless, static as it was unpredictable.
The landscape was nebulous and ill defined, caught by mist and memory. The rolling, desert hills Everil’s mother had come to favor after his father’s death. Scrub and rock. The twilight sky, with the stars just emerging, while the moon moved through its phases without the interruption of the sun.
It’d been a century since Everil last felt the clinging resistance of the veil give way at a Gate’s command. That last time, Everil had been ready to beg or bribe the House’s Gate. But unlike Everil’s friends, his parents, and everyone who’d dropped by to see him after he broke his bond with Nimai, the Gate had looked at him with sympathy. He’d asked no questions, only sent Everil on his way.
Now, Everil was back. And the estate was his, now his mother was dead.
Dead. That awareness brought only the same dull defeat as it had when he heard the news. They had stopped mattering to each other a long time ago. And he had never been more than her greatest disappointment.
The local magic, recognizing Everil, swirled around him. A strange, exhilarating feeling to be embraced by Faerie, frisky as a puppy and ready to play.
Everil’s glamour fell away while grass pushed up under their feet, the scent of new growth clashing with the dry smell of sagebrush. Fireflies flickered into being, little flashes of multi-colored light.
“Welcome to Faerie,” Everil said, turning to Bo. It was just the two of them, yet, while Talia managed the veil. “I wish I might have shown it to you under better circumstances.”
Bo answered him with bright, half-wild laughter and a crooked grin.
“Why we’re here fucking blows,” he said, smiling at the estate, at the sky, atEveril,in a way that made his chest tight. “But holy shit, this is awesome. It feels like– Fuck. I don’t know. Static? Being watched? But not in a shitty, about to pounce way.”
“Faerie is the very essence of magic. It is aware, though not as we are. It has moods and opinions. And it seeks to adjust itself to suit its people, though its ideas of suitability are often idiosyncratic.” Everil stepped behind Bo, reaching to curve one arm around his waist. “May I show you?”
It was a daring request, but being back on his lands tempted his nature to the surface.
