Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception

He reached up behind my neck, his fingers too hot on my skin, and untied the cloth string that held the key.

No. Crap, no.

I summoned the dark outside, gathering it into me, intending to push it into his face. Anything to keep him away from Luke’s secret.

“No, Deirdre Monaghan,” the Queen said flatly. “I don’t think so.”

And just like that, as soon as she said my name, I went empty inside, like a balloon deflated in an instant.

The key clattered on the floor at Aodhan’s feet. And I just felt limp, drained, captive. So, this was why the faeries kept their names secret.

“May I play with her now?” Aodhan’s words were directed at the Queen, but his eyes never left my face.

“He’s worked quite hard enough for it,” Eleanor suggested.

The Queen made a vague gesture—like a teen’s whatever—and instantly Aodhan was clambering up the side of the stage to cut the snare. My mind raced through possible plans, but my thoughts seemed to slip away like water, pumped out of my brain by my pounding heart.

And then I was falling. I barely had time to wheel my arms out when pain seared through me—the back of my head first, then my left hand. I gasped for breath and consciousness, lying in the same rubble as James. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. And my hand was killing me.

Oh, God. My eyes drifted to my hand and my stomach turned. Driven through the back of my hand was a long nail. The point protruded several inches from my palm, with almost no blood around its base.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Aodhan leapt on top of me, pinning my other arm to the ground, not worrying with the one nailed to the stubby board. He grinned down at me, his eyes bright. His body was too hot, burning me, and his thyme-scented breath invaded my nostrils. I should have been afraid, but all I could think of was how glad I was that Luke wasn’t here to see me, pinned beneath Freckle Freak. The thought pricked tears of shame at the corners of my eyes. “I think I’ll enjoy you quite a bit.”

At his words, James shifted on the rubble near me. His teeth gritted, and his voice was barely audible. “Get off her.”

Aodhan told me, “You’ll have to wait a minute, lovely.” He reached to his waist and unsheathed his knife. “I have to take care of this first.”

Okay. This was enough. As Aodhan lifted his knife, I summoned every bit of physical strength I had and swung my left hand—nail, board, and all—at Freckle Freak’s pretty face. There was no time for him to jerk away, and the nail stabbed into his cheek.

The knife dropped from his hand.

Aodhan wrenched his cheek from the nail and stumbled off of me. Staring at me, he touched the wound with his fingers. It was no worse than the wound on my hand, certainly not enough to kill him, but his eyes told me otherwise.

And then, bursting from the hole the iron had made, a new, green bud surged forth, unfolding into a delicate leaf. And then another, and another still. The fresh growth spread across his cheek, exploding into beautiful white flowers with yellow stamen, and purple daisies with deep black centers, and small, pink bleeding hearts that bobbed as he stumbled back again. In seconds, endless beauty erupted from the filth that was Aodhan, consuming him with life and promise. He fell back, but before he hit the floor, it was only a cascade of flowers that spilled across the stage, making no more sound than a whisper.

I wrenched my hand from the nail and grasped my key. My hand was bloody but had stopped hurting; was that a bad thing? The Queen looked at the pile of flowers that was Freckle Freak and then looked at Eleanor. “The time for sport is over. Bring me Luke Dillon.”

I stopped breathing.

“With pleasure,” Eleanor said, sweeping over the petals as if they meant nothing to her. I crept over to James’ side, crouching protectively between him and the Queen, though who knew what I could do against her if she tried to kill him. She had my name. The power to stop me in my tracks. A small part of me wished that Luke would whirl in and rescue me again, but I didn’t really think it was going to go down like that.

The Queen looked at me, her eyes flitting over the bloody key and over James, behind me. “You aren’t strong enough, you know. Not to kill me. Not to rule Them.”

I cradled my hand in my lap, shoulders hunched, and gazed back at her. “I don’t want to rule Them.”

She shrugged. “Then They will kill you. Haven’t you heard the legends? Don’t you know what happens to cloverhands who cannot control the fey? Eyes gouged out. Paralyzed. Killed.”

Her words rang true, echoing faerie tales from my childhood. But my mind slipped away from her, escaping into a memory of Luke’s—him playing a wild reel in a circle of faeries who bent bows and pounded drums. I recognized Brendan, saw Una’s smile, heard the feral beauty of the tune. It was one of the most beautiful memories I’d gotten from Luke, the only one I’d wished I’d been there for.

“Deirdre,” snapped the Queen, and my attention focused back on her. “You have already given up. Lay down your key and I promise it will be quick.”

I frowned at her. Something in her words reminded me of that breathy voice singing the legend of the other Deirdre—the third Deirdre—in my ear this morning.

But before I could think why it was important, the Queen looked at Eleanor, who had returned to the stage alone. God. Where was Luke? Dead?

Eleanor’s expression was unfathomable. “The Daoine Sidhe are outside, my Queen.” She raised a delicate eyebrow and I could have sworn that she nearly smiled. “They demand an audience.”

The Queen looked surprised, but then scoffed. “The Daoine Sidhe are nothing. They have no power to demand anything.”

“And I told them that, my Queen. But they said the cloverhand saved the life of one of theirs, the tarbh uisge, and that the law demanded she be given a gift in return.”

My eyes darted to the Queen.

Her expression was dark, but she didn’t disagree with Eleanor. “The Sidhe are too weak to come here without being called, even on this night. Who has called them? It is forbidden. Who has called them?”

“I have.”

A shiver ran through me—my body telling me who had spoken before I even turned to look.

“Luke Dillon!” If I had thought the Queen’s expression was dark before, now it was awful to see.

Eleanor stepped aside, letting Luke step up onto the stage. His eyes found me, and I saw pain in them. I couldn’t stop staring at him standing there, his hair bright under the stage lights, his face pale against his black T-shirt, his shoulders square but his eyes defeated.

“Luke Dillon,” the Queen said again. “It is forbidden to call the Daoine Sidhe. Would you see your soul in hell?”

“It’s over,” Luke said, and dropped his dagger onto the stage. It clattered across the shiny floor with ringing finality. “I’m done doing your bidding. Do with me what you will, but I am done.”

The Queen glowed with fury; I saw the setting sun in her eyes. “Gallowglass, you have so much to lose. How can you deny me?”

Though Luke spoke to her, he looked at me as he said, “T mo chr i istigh inti.”

“How can you love her?” screamed the Queen. “She is nothing.”

And then, with Luke’s pale eyes soaking me up, saying sorry, this is all I can do, I remembered—God, I’m a moron!

“I’m not nothing.” I stood up. “I’m not nothing, Deirdre O’Brien.”

The Queen turned her perfect face to me in disbelief.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I took a step toward her. I didn’t need her to answer; I could feel the truth of it. I could feel the power it contained. Power over her. Combined with the thundering darkness outside, I felt invincible. I knew I was stronger than she was. It was well past sunset.

I looked at her old snake-eyes, and as I did, I saw one of Luke’s memories behind my own eyes. This Luke, hundreds of years younger but wearing the same face, stood before the queen, his clothing strange. The Queen, too, was unchanged, her eyes already the ancient ones that I saw today.

“I will not love you,” Luke said. “I won’t lie. I will not love you.”

The Queen didn’t look surprised. Instead, she circled him once, her massive dress dragging behind her and catching on his ankle. He stood stock still, silently waiting for her anger. If he was afraid, I couldn’t feel it in the memory. The Queen ran a finger around his biceps where his torc now was, her face calculating, and then she smiled at him. “You will wish that you had.”

Anger pushed me from the memory to the present. I could hurt her. I could let myself remember every cruel thing she’d done to Luke, and I could use the darkness to absolutely destroy her.

I wanted to. I wanted to stomp her and then say something pithy as she curled up and died like a spider.

As if reading my mind—maybe she was—the Queen said, scornfully, “You are still not strong enough to control the fey. You are weak unless it is full dark. But we don’t have to do battle … I can teach you. I can teach you how to find the darkness that hides in the corners of rooms. To harness the night that is caught beneath the tangled branches of a tree. To find the darkness that’s in you all the time. I can make you more than you are.”

As she spoke, I saw the evening unfolding in her eyes, the summer folding flowers along her skin, ever blooming but not consuming her as they had Aodhan. Her hair cascaded in rivers of laughing summer waterfalls, never reaching the stage. Her fingers reached toward me, vines and roots striving for the stage lights through the tips of them.

“No.” I held my hand out toward Luke, and he walked wordlessly over to me, twining my fingers tightly in his. God, his hands were cold. Like he was already dead. “No, I don’t think so. I want to see the Daoine Sidhe.”

The glorious evening retreated into the Queen abruptly. Fury rolled off of her in vicious waves, but she couldn’t refuse—we were two equal pieces circling on the chess board. She turned to Eleanor. “Get Luke Dillon’s soul.”

twenty-one

The parking lot was full of faeries of every shape and size. Bonfires climbed high into the night sky, sending sparks and embers whirling toward the stars. I saw faeries in the shape of birds, their massive beaks stretching three feet away from their bodies, and faeries more striking than the most beautiful models. There were men who looked like they’d been pulled from the water, and tiny faerie children who looked as if they’d been knocked from the sky. Music poured from every corner and everyone was dancing, spinning, singing.

We stood just outside the propped exit door to the auditorium, for all the world like a dysfunctional family. Luke pressed against my arm, his features hawk-like as his gaze flitted around the lot. The Queen stood a few feet away from us, supremely out of place on the dirty asphalt, and looking the more impressive for it.

Thomas Rhymer emerged from the crowd, curls bouncing, and stood before the Queen.

“Good Solstice, my lady.” His voice was solicitous, if not sincere.

“Get away from me, Rhymer. You have chosen your side.” Casually, the Queen lifted a hand, not looking away from the crowd, and Thomas tumbled next to my feet. “I will deal with you and your tongue later.”