With an arm securely around her waist and a hand between her shoulder blades, Keenan dipped her backward. “Once more around the faire?”
Her hair fell onto the dew-damp grass as she looked up at him—the faery king who held her in his arms—and wondered that she was having so much fun.
He swung her back up and whispered, “Dance with me, Aislinn, my love.”
Her legs ached; her head spun. She hadn’t had so much fun since…ever. “Definitely.”
On every side, faeries laughed—dancing in ways that were graceful, wild, and sometimes shocking. Earlier they’d seemed sedate, like couples in old black-and-white movies, but as the night wore on, it had changed. When only the fey remained.
Keenan swung her up into his embrace and kissed her neck. “I could spend eternity doing this.”
“No”—she pushed him away—“no kissing, no…”
Then they were moving again. The world spun by, a blur of strange faces lost in a cloud of music. The sawdust-covered paths of the carnival were hidden under shadows; the lights of the rides were darkened.
But dawn was coming, light spilling out over the sky. How long have we danced?
“I need to sit down. Seriously.”
“Whatever my lady wants.” Keenan lifted her into his arms again. His doing so had stopped seeming strange several drinks ago.
One of the men with skin like bark spread out a blanket by the water. Another brought over a picnic basket. “Good morrow, Keenan. My lady.”
Then, with a bow, they left.
Keenan opened the basket and pulled out another bottle of wine, as well as cheese and strange little fruit. “Our first breakfast.”
Definitely not carnival food. Oops, faire food. She giggled. Then she looked up—behind him the carnival was gone. As if they’d never been there, all the faeries had left. It was just the two of them. “Where did they all go?”
Keenan held out the goblet again, filled with the same liquid sunrise. “It’s just us here. Later, after you’ve rested, we’ll talk. Then we can dance every night if you will it. Travel. It’ll all be different now.”
She didn’t even see the invisible faeries that always lingered at the river. They were truly alone. “Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.” He held a piece of fruit up to her lips. “Bite.”
Aislinn leaned in—almost toppling over as she did—but she didn’t bite the strange fruit. Instead she whispered, “Why don’t all the other faeries glow like you do?”
Keenan lowered his hand. “All the other what?”
“Faeries.” She gestured around them, but it was as empty of faeries as it was of humans. She closed her eyes to try to stop the world from spinning so madly and whispered, “You know, fey things, like the ones dancing with us all night, like you and Donia.”
“Fey things?” he murmured. His copper hair glittered in the light that was creeping over the sky.
“Yeah.” She laid down on the ground. “Like you.”
It sounded like he said, “And soon, like you…” But she wasn’t sure. Everything was blurry.
He bent over her where she lay on the ground. His lips brushed hers, tasting like sunshine and sugar. His hair fell onto her face.
It’s soft, not like metal at all.
She meant to say stop, to tell him she was dizzy, but before she could speak, everything went dark.
CHAPTER 18
They are not subject to sore Sicknesses, but dwindle and decay at a certain Period…. Some say their continual Sadness is because of their pendulous state.
—The Secret Commonwealth by Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang (1893)