Ever
Three weeks later, we sit at the kitchen bench that Lara’s family call the island even though I’ve explained many times it doesn’t fit the definition. One edge of the long rectangle is attached to a wall, which makes it either a peninsula or a headland. Each time I remind them, they only laugh.
I like much about this human world, camping in the woods with Lara, fast cars, and Netflix, and Max’s Vinyl City where I eat a lot of fried food. But so much of this realm is nonsensical, especially the many untrue things that come out of mortals’ mouths. Most times they speak, I have to hide my laughter, so I don’t look demented as Lara calls it when I crack up.
For example, if I ask Clare to do something simple such as pass the salt, she says, ‘that’s a piece of cake, honey’ as if she’s about to turn the salt-shaker into rose petal scones. The first few times, I waited with great interest, but she couldn’t make the transformation happen, even after I begged her to try.
If Isla doesn’t want to go out with her boyfriend—that’s a strange word in itself—she tells Sam she’ll take a rain check and then doesn’t even bother to look out the window or phone him back.
Isla and Lara like to shoot the breeze, which I imagined would be some version of human archery. Turns out it means talking about unimportant things for endless periods, and it’s nowhere near as exciting as hunting draygonets with a bow and arrow.
Friends often tell Lara to break a leg before choir performances, sounding meaner than my mother. And even though I check each time I visit one, I’m yet to witness a mortal relaxing in a public restroom.
Needless to say, I’m not fond of cell phones or computers, because they only remind me of the Merits. I miss Balor, and Jinn, and fae with green skin, needle-sharp fangs, and rainbow-colored wings.
But because this is Lara’s world, it’s the best one in all the seven realms. And though I harbor many dislikes about mortal cities, I’ve never known such happiness as I’ve experienced here with her. No poison. No pain. Only love. And love is everything good.
“You’re thinking about home again, aren’t you?” Lara nudges my knee with hers, jolting me back to the kitchen peninsula.
“Yes.” I admit. “I worry for Raff. I must return soon and find a way to help him.”
She pats her belly. “And what about us? Can we come too?”
A smile tugs my lips. “You would truly return after what happened with Aer?”
“As long as your mother won’t throw our baby in the soup pot, of course.” She points at her throat. “And I have my not-so-secret-weapon, remember.”
“My mother wishes me home. She’s promised not to harm you and vowed to keep the Merits away. We can do this if you wish it. When the child is strong enough, we’ll go back to the Land of Five. And, even though you insist it’s not necessary, we must marry before we leave—the bond of the vows will provide additional protection for you in Faery.”
“I’ve been wondering about that hnefatafl bargain we made. How did you know you’d need the word yes to make me leave your land?”
I smile. “At that point, I had no idea what I’d use the word for, but I knew I’d need to make you do something for your own good that you wouldn’t want to do before too long. You are headstrong, my little troll, and I love you for it.”
“Troll!” She smacks me, then kisses me, and my black heart sings.
Wrapped in a towel, Isla pads into the kitchen and opens the cupboard—which actually stores many items besides the cups its name advertises—and reaches for a glass. She fills it with water, takes a sip, and then says, “The wall between here and the bathroom is really quite thin. I heard almost every word you said. I know you’re planning to leave us as soon as you can.”
Lara’s mouth drops open, and Isla smirks, banging the glass on the countertop. She pinches both our cheeks as she passes us on her way to the door. My attention snags on the still-wet skin of her upper back, my eyes burning into her tattoo.
At the threshold, she turns, and I flick my gaze to her face.
“Don’t think you can have all the adventures while I stay here bored in Crapbrook. If you go back to Faery, I’m coming too.” She offers another smirk, then disappears.
“Lara,” I say. “Her tattoo—”
“But it’s not a garnet dragonfly and—”
I press a finger to her lips. “Each chosen one bears a different mark. And nothing would suit Raff better than a phoenix rising from the ashes. It seems your mother paid Aer dearly for the price of her return—not one, but two females of her line sacrificed to our kingdom.”
Lara laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “Isla? Raff’s match? No way. She’s a raging spitfire, not queen material. And, plus, she has a boyfriend.”
My gut tightens, dread thrumming through it. “Probably not for much longer.”
“Well, that settles it. She’s definitely not coming to Talamh Cúig with us.”
My eyes narrow as I contemplate what it means if Isla is Raff’s queen. I think she may definitely need to come to Faery.
A frown creasing her brow, Lara says, “Ever? Please tell me she can stay here and be safe?”
I love this girl’s freckles. I love her smile. I love everything about her. “Be at ease, my formidable wasp, I will consider the problem. We shall talk more on the subject before long.”
Determination glints in her green eyes as her fingers entwine behind my neck—a clever distraction from my worries. “So,” she begins, her thumbs stroking the base of my skull. “What will our child look like? Will he or she have pointy ears and have to learn to glamor them away before Aunt Clare calls an exorcist?”
“Half-fae children usually look more faery than human. He may have gills like my brother Rain had.”
“Good grief. Maybe we’d better hurry back to Faery so the baby can be born at the Emerald Castle, then.”
“Perhaps we had better.”
Then she kisses me, soft and sweet and slow, the firebird’s bright wings flickering at the corner of my mind. Be gone. I make them flap and flutter then fly through the open window straight into the bright burning globe of the midday sun.
Burning. Burning. Until it’s consumed.
When will it rise from the charred ashes?
Hopefully, it will not take long.
There are only two things Raff is lacking—time, and his fiery queen.
