Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

“Maybe. Right now, I don’t…it’s private. I’ve only ever shared it with one person.”

“Donia.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “She was mortal the first time. Afterward, I took her to some of the places over the years when I needed to talk to her, but I didn’t tell her why I went there…. I went to her today. We talked.”

“And?”

“We’re going to sort it all out. We’ll work around the pull between us. It’ll all be manageable. We just can’t let ourselves forget.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever we do, it’s going to be something we both agree on. I held hope that our friendship would grow, that you’d choose to be with me, but…”

She took a deep breath and asked again, “Will you help me find a way to change Seth?”

“No.” Keenan paused. “We’re still learning, Aislinn. The approach of full summer for the first time in either of our lifetimes is intoxicating. It’ll get easier for you and for him.”

“Promise?” She worried her lip.

“And we’ll get stronger.”

“Go tend your orchard. I’m going to go try to reach Seth again.”

“Tell him I’m sorry too…for what it’s worth. I’m done pushing you,” Keenan added. “Summer’s about passion, Aislinn. It’s what we are. Take yours with him, and I’ll enjoy my time with Don.”

After he disconnected, Aislinn smiled. Even with the pressure of summer, they could all find a way to make this work now that she and Keenan were in accord.

Aislinn ate, dressed, and left the loft. She needed to go find Seth so things could get set right, but when she crossed into the park, she stopped in horror.

The Summer Girls were all bleeding or moving with broken limbs. Their own vines choked them. Rowan guards were set afire. Aobheall in her fountain was solidified into a sculpture. Her mouth was open in a soundless shriek. Smoke

lay low in the air, twisting up from the decimated trees and from the bodies of the rowan. Aislinn could taste it. Ashes rained down like gray snow.

One woman, a raven-haired faery, walked through the destruction. A carved bone knife was strapped to her thigh, the white of it standing out starkly against gray camouflage pants. A tattered black cloak, damp with fresh blood, fluttered as she moved. Aislinn was struck by the oddity of a cape over military fatigues until she realized that it wasn’t a cloak at all: the woman had feather-hair that fell down her back and seemed to thicken to form dense wings as Aislinn watched her.

“Pretty pictures all for you,” the faery said. She made a sweeping gesture across the air in front of her. Unfamiliar patterns were painted on her arms with woad, ash, and blood.

Aislinn looked at her faeries. She’d thought she hated them just a few months ago; she still feared them sometimes. It wasn’t hate or fear of them she felt just now though: it was terror and heartbreak.

The faery slid an arm around Aislinn’s waist. “It’s for all of us, really.”

“What have you done?” Aislinn whispered.

Tracey was dancing, but one arm hung at an unnatural angle as if it’d been torn from the socket.

Aislinn shoved the raven-haired faery away. “What have you done to my faeries?”

“Nothing.” She waved her hand again and the park looked as it should: the Summer Girls and the rowan and Aobheall were all fine. A fire burned in the clearing, though, flames wavered in the center of the circle where the Summer Court typically held its revels. It wasn’t a small campfire but a raging blaze.

“Shall I tell you a story, my little queen?” The faery had eyes like Irial and Niall—eternal black—but hers shimmered with a hint of madness. “Shall I tell about what-ifs and what-nows?”

“Who are you?” Aislinn backed away from her as she asked, but she was near certain who she was—Bananach, the essence of war and bloodshed. It couldn’t be anyone else.

“Once upon a time, the world was mine. It was a lovely place. Chaos danced with me, and our children ate the living. Far-Dorcha himself dined at my table.” Bananach squatted down in front of the fire. It was midday, but the sky was dark with ash and smoke.

Is that an illusion too? Aislinn wasn’t sure what to do. Faeries’ glamours shouldn’t work on her. Why does hers?

“Bananach?” Aislinn asked. “That’s your name, right?”