Desert Tales (17 page)

This time the Winter Queen
did
speak. “Don't touch her again.”

The possessive anger in Donia's voice made Rika grateful that the Winter Queen knew that Rika no longer loved the flirtatious Summer King. He was not made for constancy; his court was one of frolicking, not faithfulness. When Rika had been forced to spend decades in his company watching him woo mortal after mortal, knowing that he spoke words of forever to them as he once had to her, she'd hated him. She'd hated herself more for having once believed that he meant those pretty promises. Since then, she'd thought that he could not mean them, had never meant them, but as Keenan's gaze fell on Donia, Rika realized that she'd been wrong. Every beautiful dream Keenan had ever whispered was true—just not for the hundreds of girls before Donia. The Summer King truly loved the Winter Queen.

Rika would never tell him, but if he would have still smiled at her that way when she had been filled with ice—
or even last year
, she reluctantly admitted to herself—she would've said yes to most any question he asked. There were very few things in the world as beautiful as the Summer King's smile when he was in love. Even still, Rika wished she could save Donia from the hurt of being loved by Keenan. Unfortunately, she'd been unable to do that when Donia was a mortal, and she certainly couldn't do it now.

“I'm sorry, Donia,” she whispered. “I'm so very sorry I couldn't protect you from this life.”

In a blink, Donia was standing behind her, gently squeezing her hand in acknowledgment of those whispered words.

“Go home, Rika,” her queen said evenly. Her gaze was still fastened on Keenan, and it was very clear that she still loved the Summer King, despite being cursed to be Winter Girl and now being the regent of his opposing court. Without looking away from Keenan, the Winter Queen added, “If you need anything, my court—and my allies who
can
enter the desert to aid you—will be here to call upon.”

Silently, Rika walked toward the house. The door opened at her approach, and another Hawthorn Girl stepped aside to let her pass.

From the relative shelter of the doorway, Rika glanced back to see Keenan brush his hand over Donia's hair. At his touch, the Winter Queen's hair became soft blond instead of ice-white. She leaned into his caress for a heartbeat, face flushed and steam rising from her skin. He was no better off: ice clung to his hair, his fingertips, and his lips. The curse had been cruelest to these two. Despite not being the Summer Queen he'd sought, Donia was someone he loved. Rika's heart hurt for both of them when she realized that, despite everything, the two regents were in love—and no more likely to find a future than they had been when she'd been first cursed.

 

Donia stayed still until Rika was gone. She knew well that her court would relax now that the former Winter Girl and her mortal were safely away. The stakes in her quarrels with Keenan had always been high, and not too many decades ago, faeries had died when her temper was left unchecked. No one save another regent could survive if they were caught between Summer and Winter in true conflict—and Donia wasn't sure how angry the Summer King was.

“The desert wasn't yours to take,” Keenan said. His hand was next to her face, not touching, but near enough that his hand almost caressed Donia's cheek. She'd settled for these half touches for so long, dreamed they could be more, and then he'd found his queen.

And I am an afterthought yet again.

She turned and kissed the palm of his hand; as she did so, her hair brushed against his arm, and even that brief caress left frost-flowers traced on his skin. “You're wrong. It's
all
mine to take, Keenan . . . especially if it brings you to my step.”

The sky grew gray, and a fierce shriek from a sudden storm gave voice to the hurt Donia couldn't. The air became snow-filled. Still, glowing at the center was Keenan, illuminated in sunlight, still smiling at the faery who stood against him. All around him was a blizzard, but he looked happy.

He'd broken her heart time and again, but all Donia could think was that he was here and he was hers in this instant.
Not Rika's. Not Ash's. Not any of the former Winter Girls or current Summer Girls.
He smiled, and she shoved a torrent of ice at him. His answering flare of sunlight turned every bit of ice into steam.

She knew that her court was inside the safety of her home and would turn their faces away. Like her, they too often looked on him with affection. Centuries ago, he'd been a child who'd played in this Winter Garden, the son of another queen, a queen he'd killed. The woman who'd cursed him and her both had bid them to cherish him, and they still did.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the storm.

“Yet you curl up with your queen and leave me alone,” she reminded him.

“Don—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I know every objection, every word, every wish you'll utter, Keenan. I've heard them for decades.”

“You
know
I never wanted this,” he swore. His sunlit skin glowed as he walked toward her, stalking her like she was something he could capture.

Embarrassingly, she wanted to be captured.

When she stayed still, letting the ice roll out across the ground but not striking him, he paused. His eyes widened slightly. “Don?”

“This doesn't mean I forgive you,” she whispered, and then she pulled him to her, unmindful of the burns his sunlight left on her skin and the frostbite she left on his. They'd obliterate each other one day if they kept this up, but she couldn't step away any more than he could.

This is who we are. This is how we destroy everything.
He'd turned away from her, abandoned her for his Summer Queen. Even now that he was back, he was trying his damnedest to convince his queen to accept him.
Aislinn is his queen; he should be with her.
Donia understood everything he'd done—why he'd rejected her, why he'd tried to romance his queen. She could even admit that she might've done the same things in his position.
We're wrong together.
He was the embodiment of Summer, and she was Winter. Everything about them was in opposition.

This will end badly.

But when he kissed her it was hard to remember why it was so wrong, and when she pressed her body to his, she couldn't help but wonder if the cost was worth it.

C
HAPTER
20

Sionnach sat atop the roof of one of the dilapidated buildings. Beneath him a broken door hung crookedly in the frame. A few years ago, Sionnach had replaced the hinges, but he wasn't a carpenter, so it sagged oddly. On either side of the door was a window frame. One had dirty glass with a spiderweb crack running through it. The other frame was open; no glass remained where the window should be.

Across from him were the remains of other buildings, and over top that the sky was a riot of colors as the sun rose. Below him he could see the faeries who were walking through the deserted streets, clustering in groups on the porches, sitting in window frames, perched on other railings. None were brazen enough to climb up as high as he was. His position was a statement, and they knew it.

The view from the roof of this building was among the best, and the view of him was imposing. Part of being Alpha was simply a game: show the others that he was the most daunting faery here. He wasn't, hadn't been so since Rika had arrived in the desert, but she'd disdained anything that had a taint of the political to it. He couldn't blame her, not really. The Summer King and the now-dead Winter Queen had both done their level best to destroy her. It wasn't personal; she was just one of the many pawns in their conflict.

Sionnach ignored the faeries milling about, instead studying the dusty streets and scrubby plants that grew alongside sagging porches and storefronts. One porch had a dry-rotted plank, but after the first faery stepped on it and put his foot through the wood, the others realized not to step there.

For now, he didn't move from his position. He didn't glance at them, even though they were staring at him. Some were openly curious, but still he waited, letting the tension build.

Finally, a faery who was leaning against a railing kitty-corner from the building he was on called out, “Sionnach?”

He let his gaze drop to the crowd of faeries, taking their measure, dragging it out to keep the tension high. “Well then . . .” he drawled. “Are we having a party I didn't know about?”

A few faeries smiled, but no one answered. Instead, there was a restless shifting around, foot shuffling, and downcast gazes. They were nervous. Maili had caused that, sowing seeds of dissention and inviting the Summer King to walk among them. There were reasons they all eschewed the courts; more than a few solitaries had once belonged in one or another court—not all of the solitaries, of course, but at least a few of their number had lived among the stiffer sort of faeries. Some had left on their own; others had been cast out. A few had even lived in Faerie itself, a place ruled by an unchanging queen who—if myths were true—was one of the first fey. Here in the desert was as far from Faerie and the courts as they could get.

And Maili would have a regent come here!

Sionnach remained as still as when he was watching the sky; his expression didn't hint at his thoughts or his feelings about the assembled faeries' scrutiny. His jacket was folded over one leg, and his posture was relaxed. Almost casually, he looked up at the sun. “I've been here far too long to want to move. Things don't often change out here . . . not really. But sometimes, changes
must
happen.”

They waited.

“We need to work on letting the mortals have peace here.”

Grumbling rose up at Sionnach's words.

“Why?”

“Where's the sport in
that
?”

“Just because you're with—”

Sionnach fixed the latter faery with a glare that stopped him mid-sentence. Then, he looked back out at the sky and said, “The new Winter Queen was once a mortal. The missing Summer Queen was a mortal. The new Dark King loved a mortal. Would you have any of the courts come here angry?” He looked at them, allowing his gaze to slowly drift over the crowd, before adding, “Or would you keep your freedom?”

A few nodded. Some exchanged looks with one another. They knew; they mightn't like it, but they knew that he was right. All things changed in time. As mortals spread over the world, mingling more and more in the matters of faeries, a change was upon them all. Maybe if the courts had never left Faerie things would be different, but they had left. They'd come here, set up their courts and lived among mortals. Now, because of a curse, mortals had become fey, and as the regents loved and lived with mortals, their stances had changed. Sionnach had to do his part to protect those under his sway in the desert.

“I won't let Maili or her ilk take away my right as Alpha in our home.” Sionnach bared his teeth. “Aside from Rika, no one here is strong enough to wrest power from me.”

“And where
is
Rika?” a faery asked.

Sionnach didn't even glance his way, much less answer the question. “You will all follow the new rules or pay the price.”

A faery with a wicked grin said, “Why? I
heard
you were too injured to—”

At that Sionnach was off the roof and in a fraction of a moment had knocked the faery to the sand. The jacket from Sionnach's lap dropped to the ground in the process.

As Sionnach pressed his arm to the faery's throat, he looked over his shoulder at the crowd standing around them in a loose circle now. “I'm feeling quite fine. Good of you to ask. . . .”

The faery grasped at the sand near him, searching for a weapon and finding a piece of broken wood nearby. His fingertips grazed it, and almost immediately, he gripped it and swung.

Seemingly without looking, Sionnach caught the faery's wrist and forced it to the ground. Then, he looked into the faery's face and whispered, “Don't.”

The faery nodded and released the weapon. As soon as he did so, Sionnach let go of him and stood. The faery scrabbled backward and sat so that he was leaning against a building.

“Follow the rules or move on.” Sionnach brushed the sand and dirt off his hands and knees, using the gesture to buy himself time to will away the pain that the moment of conflict had caused. Schooling his features into an approximation of a smile, he stood and looked around at them before adding, “We aren't a court here. You can obey or move on. Your choice. But it might be good to remember that Rika supports my decision. She's not hiding away in her cave anymore, and she is never going to be weak enough for any of you to defeat.”

Several faeries exchanged looks, as if they were debating trying Sionnach.

“I am the Alpha in this desert.” Sionnach kept his spine straight, still hiding the pain that was now flooding him, and doing his best to look unconcerned about another potential altercation. “Don't doubt that.”

Then he bent down, grabbed his jacket from the ground, and slipped it on. “Obey the new rules if you mean to stay here.”

He tucked his hands in the jacket pockets and pulled the jacket closed before he walked through the crowd and away into the desert, consciously avoiding the sort of showmanship of the court fey or blurs of speed, opting for a casual stroll into the wide-open desert.

 

Once he was no longer near them, he glanced down at what his jacket had hidden. The darkness on his shirt made clear that his injury was bleeding again, but he'd successfully covered it with the jacket. The faeries behind him hadn't seen his blood, and his posture gave nothing away. This time, he'd pulled it off, but there was a limit to his skills. If Rika didn't come back soon, he wasn't sure he could manage the growing unease—not without revealing just how injured he was, and an injured Alpha was a quickly replaced Alpha.

Resolutely, Sionnach made his way toward her cave yet again. If she hadn't returned, he'd have to send someone to find her.

When he arrived, he found Rika and Jayce on the far side of the cave. From the look of it, they had only just returned. She dropped her bag to the floor, and he felt like a pressure in his chest vanished.

“She returns,” he murmured.

“Sionnach.” Rika let go of Jayce's hand and turned to look over her shoulder at him. Her expression was as unreadable as any court fey, and he thought for a moment at how much she'd changed—and how little. She was never easy to know, but her emotions were usually more accessible to him.

He leaned on the cave wall at the opening, needing it for support as much as falling onto it in relief at the sight of her. Behind him was the bright light of the desert, making him a silhouette, allowing him to hide the pain in his own expression a little longer. “Do you suppose you'll forgive me?”

“Why?”

“Because you're stronger than the rest of us? Because I need your support?”

“You
lied.
” She folded her arms over her chest. “You
tricked
me. You
set me up
.”

“You know better than that, Rika. I
misled
,” he corrected. “I'm horrible, but you knew that years ago.”

She sighed. “I'm
not
hap—” The word dried up before she finished it.

“You are too. You can't even finish that word because it's a lie, princess. Faeries can't lie.” He shook his head. “You and I both know you're happier than you've been as long as I've known you.”

He glanced at Jayce, who was standing silently beside Rika. “Because of
you
, Jayce.”

Jayce didn't appear moved, didn't seem to appreciate the lengths Sionnach had gone to in order for him to have the privilege of standing at her side. “You were still wrong.”

“By Rika's standards, by mortal standards, I was abhorrent.” Sionnach strode toward them so he was directly in front of Rika; his movements were cautious as much from habit as from injury. Slowly, Sionnach brushed her hair away and cupped her face in his hands. “But you're a stubborn faery, Rika. I needed you alive and involved.”

“You manipulated me. You should've told me.” Her voice was soft, even as she chastised him, but he heard the acceptance too. Rika understood him; she forgave him and challenged him, pushing him to be better—to be worthy of her friendship. He wasn't. He never would be, but he was grateful that he hadn't lost her. He'd known that it was a risk, but he'd hoped against hope that it would turn out well. She'd needed to be nudged into her rightful place, out of her seclusion and into the bright desert light. He'd been willing to risk a lot to see her happy, to see her ruling over the solitaries in the desert, to have her at his side.

“My word, princess. I'll talk to you next time I have plans to manipulate you.” He nodded and kissed her nose in a moment of impertinence. “I'm glad you calmed down and came home. Where were you?”

“Getting help.” Rika shoved him away with a small growl. “Solving the problem
you
created for me.”

Fear crept over him at her words. There weren't a lot of faeries she could seek out to help her in the desert. “What did you do? Rika?”

“I've sworn fealty.” She started to walk past him as if she were utterly unconcerned by her admission.

“You
swore fealty
?” Sionnach grabbed her arm and swung her back to face him. “How could you do that? After everything he's done. . . .”

“But you left me so few choices.”

Sionnach stared at her in horror. He'd arranged everything he could to protect her, and she went to Keenan? He knew his outrage was nowhere near hidden as he asked, “So you gave him an excuse to come to our home? You gave him power over you? How could you do that?”