“That’s a horrifying turn of phrase,” Declan observed. “It’s interesting, though, isn’t it? What happens to all their arguments when a ‘cut flower’ doesn’t fade?”
Everil glanced at Bo, all solid humanity in the fluid timelessness of Faerie. “I fear the question is immaterial until these trials are complete.”
“The question isfascinating, regardless,” Declan corrected. “It seems you still want to go forward. Excellent.”
Declan stood upright at last, the flowers falling from his hand and disappearing before they reached his feet.
“I’m pretty sure the choice is keep going, or I die.” Bo tightened his grip as he spoke. “So, you know, onward and all that fuckery.”
“ ‘Onward,’ indeed.” Declan gestured behind him with a flick of the wrists. Two paths, one on each side of the large maple tree. Each looked the same as the other, alder trees pressing close to a dirt track. “You must both walk a path. Whichever side you’d like, but they cannot be the same one. Try to stay out of the trees. And no, Bo, before you ask, I am not taking questions.”
“I see.” Everil’s frozen shock burnt away in the wake of Bo’s apprehension. “Thank you, Declan.”
“I hope to see you both at the end.”
“I’m alright to pick which side we each take,” Bo offered, turning to face him. “That okay?”
Everil wanted to draw the man into his arms. To murmur reassurances into his hair. To believe that holding him might somehow chase away the fear he tasted. But what if it didn’t? He was so very out of practice with this. And he’d never been much use as a partner.
Boyfriend, that’s what Bo had called him. Everil hadn’t the first clue how one acted as a boyfriend. It probably involved significantly less freezing up and quite a bit more … whatever it was that pleased Bo best.
Cursing?
“Please.” He allowed his thumb to trace the side of Bo’s palm before letting go. “Bo, the trials are at the whim of the judges, but they are intentional. Whatever happens, it will measure the truth of our bond and our resolve to maintain it. And I meant my promise. Your life isn’t in the balance. Not while I stand.”
“I know you meant it.” And Bo, sweet Bo, reached up. Caressed Everil’s cheeks, then caught hold of his hair. “I trust you. And we’ve got this. You go left. I go right.”
“As you wish,” Everil answered, voice barely steady.
A tug at his hair and Bo’s lips on his. All of Everil’s unease, swept away by Bo’s conviction. By his trust and his kindness. The way he held on so that Everil knew that he was wanted, that he was permitted this. That he could take and take all that Bo offered, drink him in like sunlight and heat.
Until Bo’s grip eased, and Everil stood, dizzy in the aftermath. Wanting to lean in, take more.
“My badass kelpie. Your Bo. Got it?”
“My sweet Bo.” A whisper, like an unsteady step into the dark. Everil reached, hesitantly taking Bo’s hand, raising rough knuckles to his lips. “Your kelpie. Remember what you’re capable of. Don’t hesitate to use what you need of me.”
“We got this, pretty kelpie.”
Everil released Bo’s hand, turning his attention back to Declan, who’d seen rather more than Everil would usually allow. The man was smirking.
“We’re ready.”
Walk the path, avoidthe trees, and the trial was done. Simple. But paths in Faerie were only as straight as the heart wished. And the heart, as Everil well knew, was impossible to command.
Everil replayed Declan’s words with every step. A few hundred years. More time than he’d dreamed of being allowed with Bo. But in exchange, Everil would lose the possibility of eternity. Of course, few fae could claim more than a millennium, immortal or not. Long lives meant old grudges coming due.
And still, to sacrifice even the hope?
It didn’t matter. Only Bo mattered. Everil wouldn’t give into his usual selfish instincts. Not in this. Reaching up, he plucked an alder leaf from one of the sheltering trees, running his fingers along the veins of it.
Eyes on the path. Feel the tug of the bond, bright with trust and sharp with apprehension. Walk forward. Everil made it only a few steps more before he heard the crunch of footsteps on dried leaves from behind him.
“Wow.” The voice was close, only a few steps back. “You’re really out of his league.”
Everil turned to find himself facing a human man, his resemblance to Bo unmistakable. Sharper features, light olive skin, curling dark hair, and slimmer than Bo’s pleasing solidity. But behind his glasses, his eyes were that same tired blue, and his lips twisted in that familiar half-bitter way.
Everil reached out with a cautious tendril of power, meeting only absence. There was no one there.
