“I look out for her, you know? She’s a wonderful person. Gentle. Good.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and stared down at her.
“If anyone tried to hurt her”—he paused, scowled, and continued—“there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.”
“Right. Glad I could help with that the other day.” Distracted, she nodded. Verbena, Saint-John’s-wort, what’s he doing with those? They were chief among the list of herbs thought to give a mortal faery sight.
Then he left, trailed by several of Keenan’s girls. I wonder if they’ll notice what he carries in his bag. She doubted it.
Once the door swung shut behind Seth and the Summer Girls, Donia sat down at the terminal and pulled up his search history: Faeries, Glamour, Herbs for Seeing, Summer King.
“Oh,” she whispered. That couldn’t be good.
When Keenan got to his loft on the outskirts of the city, Niall and Tavish were waiting. They lounged as if they were relaxing, but he didn’t miss the assessing looks they gave him when he walked in.
“Well?” Tavish asked as he muted the television, silencing the weather report about a freak hailstorm.
Beira must have heard I spent the day with Aislinn. She often snarled over any progress he made with the mortal girls, but she couldn’t—by rules of the contest—actively interfere.
“Not great.” Keenan was loath to admit it, but Aislinn’s resistance was wearing on him. “She doesn’t react as they usually do.”
Niall flopped into an overstuffed chair and grabbed a controller for one of the game systems. “Did you ask her out?”
“Already?” Keenan picked up a half-eaten slice of pizza from the box on one of the geode tables scattered around the room. He sniffed it and took a bite. Not too old. “Isn’t that too soon? The last girl…”
Niall glanced up from the TV. “Mortal habits change faster than ours. Try a casual ‘friends’ approach.”
“He doesn’t want to be her friend. That’s not what the girls are for,” Tavish insisted in his usual stiff manner. He turned and held out a hand for the box of leftover pizza. “You need protein, not that. Why you two insist on eating mortal food is beyond me.”
Because I’ve had to live so long among them? But Keenan didn’t say it. He handed over the pizza and sat down, trying to relax. It was easier here than most places they’d lived. Tall leafy plants dominated every possible space in the loft. A number of birds flitted through the room, squawking at him and retreating to nooks in the columns that supported the high ceilings. It made the room seem open, more like being outside. “So casual’s what they like now?”
“It’s worth a try,” Niall said, his attention still on the screen. With a muttered curse, he tilted to one side and then the other in the chair—as if that would make the on-screen image move. It was hard to believe he could speak more languages than a faery would ever need: give him a toy, and he was hopeless. “Or perhaps try aggressive—tell her you’re taking her out. Some of them like that.”
Tavish returned with one of the green concoctions he was forever insisting Keenan drink. He nodded approvingly. “That sounds more fitting.”
“Well, there you have it: sure wisdom on which to try”—Niall paused and shot a grin at Tavish—“casual.”
“Indeed.” Keenan laughed.
“How is this amusing?” Tavish sat the green protein drink on the table. His lengthy silver braid fell over his shoulder as he moved; he flicked it back with an impatient gesture, a telltale sign that he was agitated. He didn’t let his temper slip, though. He never did anymore.
“When’s the last time you dated?” Niall asked, still not looking away from the screen.
“The girls are more than adequate company—”
Niall interrupted, “You see? He’s rusty.”
“I am the Summer King’s oldest advisor, and”—Tavish stopped himself, sighing as he realized that he was only underlining Niall’s point—“try the boy’s advice first, my liege.”
And with the impeccable dignity he wore like a comfortable cloak, Tavish retired to the study.
Keenan watched him go with more than a little sadness. “One of these years, he’s going to strike you for your belligerence. He is still summer fey, Niall.”
“Good. He needs to find some passion in his old bones.” Niall’s humor fled, replaced with the cunning that made him every bit as important as Tavish in advising Keenan these past centuries. “Summer fey are made for strong passions. If he doesn’t loosen up, we’ll lose him to Sorcha’s High Court.”
“The search is hard on him. He longs for what the court was like under my father.” Feeling every bit as somber as Tavish, Keenan let his gaze drop to the park across the street.
One of his rowan-men saluted.
Glancing back at Niall, Keenan added, “What it still should be.”