Fragile Eternity

“Where is she?” Sorcha asked.

“She’s of no influence now….” Bananach fluttered a hand as if to brush webs from in front of her.

“Then why tell me?”

Bananach’s expression was unreadable, but the constellation in her eyes shifted to Gemini, the twins. “I know we’ve shared…much; I thought you should know.”

“I have no need to hear of Irial’s discarded pets. It’s a deplorable habit, but”—Sorcha shrugged as if it didn’t matter—“I ca

“I could…” A yearning sigh followed those words.

“No, you couldn’t. You’d destroy what little self-control they have.”

“Perhaps”—Bananach sighed again—“but the battles we could have…I could come to your step, blood-dressed and—”

“Threatening me isn’t the way to enlist my help,” Sorcha reminded, although the point was moot. Bananach couldn’t help but dream of war any more than Sorcha could resist her inclination toward order.

“Never a threat, sister, just a dream I hold dear.” In a blur too fast for even Sorcha to see clearly, Bananach came to crouch in front of her sister. Her feathers drifted forward to brush against Sorcha’s face. “A dream that keeps me warm at night when I have no blood for my bath.”

The talons that Bananach had tapped so erratically took on a regular cadence as they dug in and out of Sorcha’s arms, pricking the skin with tiny moons.

Sorcha kept to her calm, although her own temper felt close to surfacing. “You ought to leave.”

“I should. Your presence makes my mind blurry.” Bananach kissed Sorcha’s forehead. “The mortal’s name is Seth Morgan. He sees us as we are. He knows much of our courts—even yours. He is strangely…moral.”

Some whisper of fury threatened to surface at the feel of her sister’s feathers drifting around her face; the calm logic that Sorcha embodied was only challenged by the presence of the strongest Dark Court faeries. Neither Summer nor Winter faeries could provoke her. The solitaries couldn’t ripple the calm pool that rested in her spirit. Only the Dark Court made her want to forget herself.

It’s logical. It’s the nature of opposition. It makes perfect sense.

Bananach rubbed her cheek against Sorcha’s.

The High Queen wanted to strike the war-faery. Logic said Bananach would win; she was violence incarnate. Few if any faeries could outlast her in direct battle—and the Queen of Order was not one of them. Yet, in that moment, the temptation to try grew strong.

Just one strike. Something.

The skin of her arms had begun to sting from so many small wounds when Bananach tilted her head in another series of short jerky moves. The feathers seemed to whisper as Bananach pulled back and said, “I tire of seeing you.”

“And I you.” Sorcha didn’t move to stanch the blood that trickled to the floor. Movement would lead to pitting her strength against Bananach or angering her further. Either would result in more injuries.

“True war comes,” Bananach said. Smoke and haze filtered into the room. Half-shadowed figures of faeries and mortals reached out bloodied hands. The sky grew thick with illusory ravens’ wings, rustling like dry corn husks. Bananach smiled. The not-yet-there shape of wings unfolded from her spine. Those wings had spread over battlefields in centuries past; to see them so clearly outside a battlefield did not bode well.

Bananach stretched her shadow-wings as she said, “I follow the rules. I give you warning. Plagues, blood, and cinders will cover their world and yours.”

Sorcha kept her face expressionless, but she saw the threads of possible futures as well. Her sister’s predictions were more probable than not. “I’ll not let you have that sort of war. Not now. Not ever.”

“Really?” Bananach’s shadow spread like a dark stain on the floor. “Well, then…it’s your move, sister mine.”

Chapter 2

Seth watched Aisli

When she sat in Keenan’s loft, with the tall plants and crowds of faeries overfilling the place, it was easy to forget that she hadn’t always been one of them. The plants leaned toward her, blooming in her presence. The birds that roosted in the columns greeted her when she walked into a room. Faeries vied for her attention, seeking a few moments in her presence. After centuries without strength, the Summer Court was begi

“If we assign different regions like this—” She pointed to her diagram again, but Qui

Qui

Qui

Seth simply looked at him.

“What?”

“You think Keenan’s going to tell her no? To anything?” Seth almost laughed aloud at the idea.

Qui

“Wrong.” Seth watched his girlfriend, the queen of the Summer Court, glow like small suns were trapped inside her skin. “You have a lot to learn. Unless Ash changes her mind, Keenan will give her plan a try.”

“But the court has always been run like this,” Tavish, the court’s oldest advisor, was repeating yet again.

“The court has also always been ruled by a monarch, hasn’t it? It still is. You don’t need to agree, but I’m asking for your support.” Aisli

Tavish raised his voice, a habit he’d apparently not been prone to before Aisli

“Don’t ‘my Queen’ me, Tavish.” She poked him in the shoulder. Tiny sparks flickered from her skin.

“I don’t mean to offend you, but the idea of local rulers seems foolish.” Tavish smiled placatingly.

Aisli

But Tavish didn’t back down. “Such a major change…”

Seth tuned them out. He’d hear Aisli

Tavish had a please-help-me look on his face. Seth ignored it, but Qui

Then Keenan walked in the door with several of the Summer Girls beside him. They looked more beautiful by the day. As summer approached—and as Aisli

Tavish immediately began, “Keenan, my King, perhaps you could explain to her grace that…” But his words died after a glimpse at the expression of ire the Summer King wore.