Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

“It is a name I use.” She tilted her head at an odd angle and glanced at Aislinn. “And you are the ash-girl, the missing Summer Queen, the one who would bring peace.”

“I am.” Aislinn could feel the heat of the fire as it grew wider still.

Bananach’s expression became hopeful: eyes wide, lips parted. “I could like you if you would step willingly to the pyre. Let them blame each other…. It’s a little thing really. It mightn’t even hurt. Sunlight and fire, much the same.”

Aislinn trembled. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I would dance to your screams. You wouldn’t be alone,” she said cajolingly.

“No.” Aislinn stood very still, sensing from Bananach’s predatory gaze that sudden movement might be unwise. “I think you should go.”

“Don’t you want me to answer your questions, little ash-girl? I know much.”

“Is there a right response?” Aislinn’s words weren’t wavering, but she felt certain that the faery knew how intimidating she was. Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, Aislinn added, “Tell me what you will.”

The word will felt awkward, but want was too open and can was too limited. Semantics was one of the weird parts of dealing with centuries-old creatures. Aislinn hoped she’d phrased it right this time.

The raven-faery brushed her hands on her pants and stood. “Once, after chaos but before you, I advised. I could make war games as a tableau for monarchs on the edge of war. I can show the what-ifs when we are near the precipice.”

Aislinn stared, speechless for several moments. The ash in the air felt like it had coated her tongue, prohibiting speech. None of the other faeries saw Bananach. They weren’t reacting at all—to Bananach or to the fire that had grown immense in their park.

Bananach sauntered through the center of the pyre; flames brushed against her like the hands of grateful supplicants. “You see my what-if dreams…. We draw nearer the war, little ash-queen. You made that happen.”

The flames surged toward Bananach, following in her wake, singeing her feathers. “You give me hope, so I give you fair warning. You and I are in balance now. Follow your path, and I will owe you. I’ve missed my discord.”

As Bananach paused in front of Aislinn, the caustic scent of burned flesh and feathers mingled with the soothing scent of burning wood. It was a disturbing combination—almost as disturbing as the chaos that suddenly spread throughout the Summer Court faeries as whatever illusion the war-faery had woven drifted away in the smoke.

They all saw Bananach then, saw War standing face-to-face with their queen. Guards rushed to Aislinn’s side. Summer Girls clustered together. Aobheall beckoned them to her fountain.

Bananach cackled, but she didn’t flinch.

She wouldn’t.

The war faery leaned close to Aislinn and whispered her words against Aislinn’s cheek. “Shall I break them? Snap the bark people. Make kindling for your pyre, ash-girl?”

“No.”

“Shame.” Bananach sighed. “You give me a gift, a war on our horizon…and we will need fodder for the bloodbath to come…still…”

In a blur of feather and limbs, she kicked and punched and stabbed several guards. She stopped then, as suddenly as she’d begun to move. Most of the guards were coming to their feet; some were battered but still standing. One wasn’t moving.

Bananach looked at the sky. “It grows late, and I have others to see. My king will expect me to come soon.”

And with that, the war faery left them in the park reeling in disorder and panic.

Keenan. Niall. Donia. Where was she going? War. Aislinn didn’t want war. The idea terrified her. Too many reminders of death and what I have to lose. She thought of Grams and Seth and her mortal friends. Grams was under constant watch; so too was Seth. She’d lose them eventually. Mortals died—but not now, not soon. She’d barely begun to discover the beauty that the earth could offer now that the long years of endless winter were past. This was her world. It was a world that should teem with life and possibilities, even if those possibilities were sometimes finite.

She was in love; she was loved; and she was part of something incredible. Many mortals and faeries were. All of that would be destroyed if there was a war. With no worry over the consequences of angering other courts, with no restraints, with rulers and guards too busy to respond to small indiscretions…aside from the reclusive High Court, the mortal and faery worlds would be dealing with two—or possibly three—Faerie courts in opposition, as well as solitaries who’d no doubt take advantage of the chaos. Aislinn felt sick thinking of it—and desperate to talk to Seth.

She needed to hear his voice; she needed to hear him tell her he forgave her. They’d had a lot against them, but they could work past it. They had so far. He was the cord that kept her together. His faith gave her strength when she thought she couldn’t bear up under a challenge; that was the core of what made him irreplaceable. The passion and the romance were incredible, but the center of it was that he made her want to be a better person. He made her believe she could do the impossible. She could, with him in her life. They’d only been officially together a few months, but she knew he was the only one she’d ever love like this. He was it, her forever.

She called him again—and still had no answer. She left another voice mail, “Call me. Please? I love you.”

With a glance around the park, she found the rowans on duty, saw them collecting their faeries and steering them toward the loft. They were efficient even in their injured state.

She called Keenan and said, “I met Bananach…. We are mostly uninjured, but I need you to come home. Now.”

CHAPTER 18