There was nothing to say, no comfort to give.Declan settled on, “I remember.”
Everil didn’t seem to hear him.He’d gone still and quiet, like Nimai’s shadow still loomed nearby.
“Once my … deficiencies became apparent, my mother began to press for another attempt.It was their greatest argument.My father would say that she couldn’t be trusted to do what was necessary.And she would say that he could do it himself for a change.I always assumed it was a cruel sort of joke about her failing to carry to term.I believe I understand better, now.”
Declan hissed, slow and sharp.They’d blamedEverilfor it.For not being seelie.For being another kelpie, only born far enough down the line that his mother had tired of faces gone entirely blue and refused to dowhat was necessary.
“Voids, Everil.I don’t recall wedding vows including caveats about selective infanticide.”
“They often include a line about upholding the honor of the House.”Everil lifted his eyes to meet Declan’s.The rest of him remained in that eerie stillness.“The same vows Suire invoked when she made her attempt on Bo’s life.”
Suddenly, fiercely, Declan wished they were the sort of people who hugged.Everil, still and carefully blank, looked much the way Declan had felt himself, finding out.But he’d had Antonio to cling to.
Sluagh no more offered physical contact than they called specific souls to speak, or sold their services to do so.It would be offensive to extend that ask.So he hissed and raked a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair, ankles crossed together.
“It can’t go on, Everil.You’re right.The Convergence happened.And I’ve no hunger for power nor desire to take on the Monarchs.But I have to do something.”
“So you play politics.”
“Perhaps, if a sluagh is on the council, unseelie infants won’t be seen as disposable.If nothing else, it opens a window for others and pisses off the ones with a price on my head.”Declan wasn’t made for this, the grand, sweeping political games, the historical moves.“Would you have me give up?Accept this?Hope someone makes a stand as we dwindle each year, and the Council makes moves against our bonds?If you have a better option, Everil, please, tell me.Sincerely.”
The shift in tension was subtle, with Everil.It generally was.A straightening of his shoulders.A tension just there, about his jaw.A glint of moonlight in dark eyes.Everil always did take it poorly, when he perceived Bo to be under threat.
And now he knew that Bo had a target on his back, each time he stepped into Faerie with that handsome crown on his head.
“I wish very much I could tell you to let them all hang,” Everil answered.“I find very little worth saving among the fae these days.But if what you’ve been told is true, Bo and I may owe some debt of loyalty to Faerie itself.”
“But?”Declan prompted.
Everil shook his head.“No ‘but.’I cannot tell you how to proceed, Declan.You and Nimai were always the savvy ones.Though for what little it’s worth, I can imagine no one more suited to take a stand than you.You have myself, and what little remains of my House, behind you.”
Once upon a time, Everil nearly filled Declan’s whole world.There, over cooling cups of tea, exchanging reassurances and quiet horrors, he remembered why.
“In the immediate, we need a place to stay so I can recover.”He offered Everil a small smile, weak though it was in the face of their newly rewritten history.“You underestimate how much I value your friendship, Everil.Your regard is worth far more than you give credit for.”
“I haven’t always been a good friend to you, but you may trust that my good opinion of you remained a constant, even while I was locked in my own grief.”Everil rose to his feet, slender hands smoothing the non-existent wrinkles of his shirt.“And, as your bond would surely attest, I mislike it when my guests are troubled.You will both be safe here.”
That, said so matter-of-fact, was not a statement Declan found himself willing to argue against.
Chapter Fifteen
Antonio
Itturnedout,theonly problem with bonding a revolutionary sluagh Murderpunk wasfindingthe asshole.In the dark.In a forest outside Bo and Everil’s place.With only the bond as a guide.
Well, that and Declan’s vague proclamation that he would heal faster if he “got in touch with his aspect.”Antonio hadn’t taken him up on his invitation to follow, because he was an idiot.An idiot who’d really wanted to take a shower without having to ask Declan to fix the temperature because in Faerie, water adjusted to your thoughts.Unless, of course, you were Antonio.
(At least he no longer had to ask Declan to make them ice cold.)
The shower had been fucking fantastic.But you could only stand under a stream of hot water for so long before it lost its novelty, and the anxiety came back.
He’d tried to stay in the house.Hehad.He’d grabbed a snack, chatted with Bo, and tried not to roll his eyes when the guy fawned over Everil, all brief little touches and affectionate pet names.
Only, it sucked.Holding still sucked.Waiting sucked.The memory of Declan crumpled on the ground, not moving, that terrible gash in his side,really sucked.
Unfortunately, wandering through a forest in the dark wasn’t great either.Still, the moon and stars were reassuringly familiar, and each breath tasted a little more like smoke and lilacs.
Finally, he saw the light of candles, there on a low, crumbling stone wall.And lit by them, Declan.
