Lily slipped her shoes off for a few minutes, tilted her face to the sky, and let the sun and air calm her. Like a plant, she’d wither and sicken without the elements against her skin, so she walked toward the sea, under the sun, and with the wind. If she was to move out of the comfort of her home, she’d need to find a way to balance her need for nature with the illusion of being mundane. She’d do so. She was an Abernathy, and that meant knowing how to survive in a treacherous world. Being sent to school was, in some ways, a test of her readiness to be an adult. Lily wouldn’t fail.
She followed the pull of the sea, and in no time at all, she was in downtown Belfoure. All told, it was about two miles from campus to the town, and in town there was a harbor. She could feel it tugging her close, as water always did.
Belfoure wasn’t the sort of city where a girl walking alone drew awkward attention. It was overcrowded, and she suspected that there were talented pickpockets in the morass of people that wound their way through the streets. All things considered, it was cleaner than most cities. Even if it had been dangerous, it was no matter. Lily had been taught to defend herself. If she happened to be unarmed, she’d had some interesting teachers who’d taught her how to look at the environment around her to select weapons.
Ignoring the people who clustered the streets and milled in and out of stores, Lily walked to the end of the pier. She couldn’t touch the water, but the wooden pier felt comforting under her feet and the air was relaxing on her skin.
Hector would come, but unlike her, he’d have to ask someone where the nearest body of water was—and ask it in a way that wouldn’t reveal her secret. She didn’t ever need words to find the water, so she had a few minutes of peace. The tightness in her chest that had started to seize her when she was in the St. Columba’s administration hall released as she stood with toes just over the edge.
If she had her way, she’d live on the beach, near one of the clear water zones that Daidí took her to see every year. In a lot of places the pollution was horrible, but some countries had instituted plans to keep beaches open. They’d positioned massive turbines both above and below the water to keep the debris and stench out, and they’d installed huge purification systems. Belfoure wasn’t as clean as a few of the places she’d visited, but it was better than most.
She had only been on this stretch of the harbor about ten minutes when she heard footfalls on the wooden pier.
“That was fast, Hec . . .” Her words faded when she glanced to her right and saw not Hector, but Zephyr Waters.
“Not really,” he said.
Her shoulders tensed, and she hoped she was wrong about the identity of the boy who stood beside her. After almost a minute passed, she peered at him out of the corner of her eye.
It was definitely Zephyr. She felt like her body was humming again as she stood next to him—just like it had with Creed. Something in her had reverberated like a beacon when she’d first seen the two boys in the media. She’d wondered why, had suspicions, but then she’d met Creed. Now, she knew: they were both fae-bloods. It was the only logical answer . . . and
that
meant that she needed to get out of here. She didn’t want to have a second stranger know her secret.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Zephyr said casually, as if they were friends catching up. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get in, but I had a surprise planned. I thought you might come to the water.”
Calmly, she glanced at Zephyr and said, “I think you must be looking for someone else. I don’t know you.”
He smiled.
The tension in her shoulders grew almost painful. Her hand went to the short knife she had concealed in her pocket. There was no way he could’ve been waiting for
her
. She wasn’t in the magazines like him. Perhaps Creed had mentioned her. It was the only answer that wasn’t completely troubling. The obvious alternative was that Zephyr could recognize her as fae-blood.
He held out a hand. “Zephyr Waters.”
“I still don’t
know
you,” Lily said, but she accepted his hand briefly.
Being this close to him made her realize that his photos weren’t touched up before they were published. Even more so than Creed, Zephyr really was flawless, so much so that she wondered how he’d escaped accusations of being a fae-blood. He had his mother’s shockingly blue eyes and 1940s starlet lips, but those combined with his slash of cheekbones and raven-wing hair practically screamed “fae ancestry.”
It wasn’t Lily’s business though.
Abernathy Commandment #13: Don’t ask questions when you’d rather not know the answers.
She concentrated on watching a ship heading in toward the harbor. Being here at the pier should’ve been a moment of peace before she had to figure out how to live around several hundred people. It
had
been . . . up until Zephyr freaking Waters decided to stand at her side and act like they were old friends.
“Perhaps you should go look for whoever it was you intended to meet,” Lily suggested. Unfortunately, the lilt at the end of her sentence made her words sound more like a question than she’d intended them to be.
“I’ve
been
looking . . . for years actually.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No, I’m not,” he said just as decisively.
Alarm bells sounded in her mind. Creed had said that he took the job at her party to meet her. Now Zephyr claimed he also had wanted to meet her.
“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m really
not
her.”
“Oh, I know who you are, Lilywhite,” he said softly. “I know exactly who and
what
you are.”
She was about to argue, but an explosion rocked the pier. The hull of a cruise ship exploded into flame.
Zephyr’s arm snaked around her waist, keeping her from tumbling to the pier or falling into the murky water.
Ships canted wildly as the waves from the explosion battered them. People yelled, both in the street and on other boats. The pier itself shuddered as Lily dragged her attention from the smoke pouring from the cruise liner to Zephyr.
“Welcome to the team,” he whispered against her ear.
She tensed, her hand wrapped around the knife. She withdrew it and flicked it open.
But Zephyr spun her around to face him and leaned down. His lips pressed against hers.
Lily jerked away. She waved her hand around, trying to encapsulate the ship, the people running, the sirens, the chaos of it all. She couldn’t even begin to deal with the kissing part. “
Seriously?
This? You . . . what are you doing? Are you
insane
?”
Zephyr’s expression shifted. “You
are
Lilywhite Abernathy, aren’t you?” He glanced at the knife in her hand, but it
didn’t deter him. He grabbed her again. This time, his hand was on her shoulder, turning her to face him. With his other hand, he gripped Lily’s chin and tilted her head, staring at her intently the whole time. “You look like her.”
“Of course I’m
me
!” She shoved him away with one hand and took a step backward. “But just because my father is an
accused
criminal doesn’t mean I’m some sort of fan of random violence.”
Zephyr looked pointedly at the weapon she still clutched in her hand. “Really?”
“Yes,
really
! You grabbed me. I’m defending myself.” She was sick of the way everyone judged her. Daidí had often explained that he only engaged in violence for a
reason
. Lily agreed with that approach, although it had been a point of contention with Erik on several occasions.
Lily closed her knife with a
snick
and glared at Zephyr. “You can’t go around blowing things up. There are people on those boats, and—”
“It was empty,” he interrupted.
“But you . . . I . . . You can’t just go around blowing things up and . . . and
kissing
people
.”
“It was a welcome gift,” he said, staring at her in obvious confusion.
“Just stay away from me.” She shivered, both from the intensity of his stare and her body’s response to his kiss.
“You don’t know,” he whispered. His eyes widened, and his lips parted. “Holy Ninian! You don’t even know.”
His reference to the old Pictish saint, said to have been
fae, unnerved her further, but she still asked, “Know what?”
“Who you are,” Zephyr said quietly. “You have no idea. That’s why you didn’t seek us out. That’s why you . . .” He snagged her around the waist again, but this time his hold was so tight that she couldn’t escape.
Lily tried to yank away. She knew what she was, knew that the blood of the fae was in her not-too-distant ancestry. That didn’t mean she was admitting a thing.
“I thought you were just too Seelie for us,” Zephyr murmured.
“Too
what
?” She took a step back. That was even more dangerous than invoking Ninian. Seelie was an illegal word, one not used casually in public. Lily needed to get the hell away from Zephyr. Blowing things up, kissing her, accusing her of being fae, he was frightening. He could get them killed . . . or worse.
“Seelie.” He started walking, propelling Lily with him along the pier. “Come on. We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” She pulled out of his hold. “I don’t have
any
thing to say to you.”
They were still. Then, after several moments, Zephyr nodded. “I’ll see you around, Lilywhite.”
He walked away. She returned to campus in hopes that her room was ready. She’d been here not even an hour, and she’d been accused of being fae, kissed, and witnessed a bombing. She wasn’t entirely sure which was the most disturbing. Any of them were dangerous.
As she walked the couple of miles back to campus,
Lily debated what to do. Zephyr was clearly involved in something—either as a fae sympathizer or zealously anti-fae. Either option wasn’t one she wanted any part of, but there were such similarities in what both Creed and Zephyr had said to her that she wasn’t sure she could stay clear of it without more information. Both knew about her, her ancestry, and seemed to have been “waiting” for her. How that was possible, she didn’t know.
However, what she
did
know was that it was better that Daidí not hear about her “welcome surprise” from Zephyr until she investigated.
Abernathy Commandment #4: Weigh the consequences before beginning a course of action.
Eilidh was grateful that Rhys had decided to help her, to protect her and potentially Torquil. She knew that he was limited in what he could do, but knowing that she had an ally was a relief she hadn’t expected. Of course, none of that made it easier to face him or Torquil. She’d admitted that the missing child had survived, been raised in the human world, and had a life there for years.
“Who are you?” a ten-year-old Eilidh asked the woman standing inside the Hidden Lands.
“Iana.” The woman looked around the somewhat bleak landscape. “Where am I?”
“Hidden Lands.” Eilidh walked closer to her. “You look like Mother.”
The woman squatted down in front of Eilidh. She didn’t stare at her in horror the way some of the Seelie did, and she didn’t ease
away as if she couldn’t see Eilidh the way a lot of the Unseelie did. They weren’t
technically
to use those terms any longer. The courts were one. They were simply . . . fae.
“Who is your mother?” she asked.
“Endellion, Queen of Blood and Rage, once queen of only the Unseelie, but now . . . she protects
all
of us.” Eilidh was proud of her mother. The queen was their guardian, the warrior who would keep the humans from destroying them all. “She had no sisters. So how can you . . .”
“Do you have sisters . . . ?”
“Eilidh. I’m Eilidh.” She sounded her name out carefully—
Ay-leigh
—for the woman. “I had a sister. She died in the sea, and Mother had to kill the bad men.”
“Oh.” The woman brushed Eilidh’s hair back. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t
know
her. She was a baby, waaaay before I was born.” Eilidh smiled at the woman.
She looked like Mother would if she was happy sometimes. Her hair was night-dark, and when she moved, it looked like tiny stars glimmered in it. The woman’s skin was more like the king’s though. Leith looked like he’d been forever in the sun and was as dark as bog-soaked wood.
Quietly, Eilidh told her, “You look like Mother’s face, but you have Father’s skin.”
Over the years, Iana and Eilidh had become close, and by the time that Iana confessed that she’d been plucked from the sea and raised by human parents, a fisherman and his wife, Eilidh had already figured it out. She kept that secret—and the secret that Iana had a daughter.
As Eilidh told the story to her brother and betrothed, Torquil interrupted, “The missing heir to the fae kingdom was raised
where
?”
“In a small village on one of the islands.”
“How did she hide what she was?” Rhys asked.
“Her mother—”
“
Foster
mother,” Rhys interjected with more anger than was typical of him.
“They found someone, a faery, who helped and taught her everything she needed to know. She learned it all, everything but who she
is
.” Eilidh got up and paced to the edge of the room. Down below her, faeries stared up at the tower. They didn’t usually watch her this closely, but then again, she didn’t usually have the queen’s son
or
one of the most sought-after pureblooded fae in her home. Having either of them in the tower was new; having
both
here was drawing a disturbing degree of attention.
“They’ll think we’re plotting against our queen,” Rhys said.
“I know.”
“She will ask questions of me,” he continued.
“I know.”
“And I will lie.”
Eilidh looked over her shoulder at him.
“But we
aren’t
plotting against the queen . . . are we?” Torquil asked.
Neither Eilidh nor Rhys answered.
After several moments passed, Eilidh looked back out
the window of the tower, staring at the dozens of fae who unabashedly gazed up at her. Quietly, she offered, “I will accept the withdrawal of your betrothal should you see fit to change your mind.”
“And I will slide the knife across your throat if you go to Mother with what has been spoken here,” Rhys added conversationally.
“Is your family always like this?” Torquil sighed. “No. To both of you,
no
.”
He stood. Eilidh knew without looking that it was Torquil and not Rhys approaching her. Rhys was too silent to move so obviously through the sitting room. He had to make a conscious effort not to move like shadows.
She didn’t turn around.
“I’ve held your secrets our whole life, Eilidh. Why would that change now that you’re my betrothed?” His hands landed on her shoulders as they had often in their years as friends.
She felt his breath stir her hair as he stood behind her. Quietly, she told him, “We won’t ever be wed. You can withdraw now or later, but we won’t have a bonding ceremony.”
“Endellion accepted my choice.”
“No,” Rhys said, drawing their attention back to him. “Endellion allowed you to be Eilidh’s betrothed. There will be no wedding. She won’t risk Eilidh’s life that way. The heir is too important.”
Eilidh slipped out of Torquil’s hands and walked back over to her brother. “Is he in danger?” she asked Rhys.
Rhys was still as he thought. It was a look Eilidh had seen on their mother’s face often as she weighed the consequences of various plans of action. After several moments, Rhys said, “Not from Nacton or Calder. They’d like you to die. If there were a living child, the infant would be at grave risk, but for their purposes,
you
must die and leave no young.” Rhys glanced at Torquil. “You are not to bed the heir. Not now or ever . . . unless Iana’s daughter comes home. Then you are no longer of any concern.”
“Her life is worthless then?” Torquil came to stand at Eilidh’s side. He didn’t quite step in front of her, and no weapons were drawn, but the aggression in his posture was enough to make it clear that he wouldn’t restrain if he thought his betrothed was threatened.
“Stop.” Eilidh grabbed Torquil’s wrist and stepped in front of him. She was facing him, her back to Rhys. “He’s stating the truth. This is what it means to be the heir: always knowing that there are those who would have me dead, and . . . those who would use me.”
If she’d revealed his motive for their betrothal, Torquil showed no sign of it. All he said was, “Then why not let Iana’s child take her rightful place?”
“Because she’s been raised away from this place. Because she’s not meant for this life.” Eilidh shook her head at how obvious it was that Torquil had never loved anyone. How could she wish
this
fate on someone she loved? How could he think that being bonded to a faery not of her choosing and living in a glass tower would be satisfying to a woman
raised in the human world?
Eilidh turned to face her brother. “There is no risk of a child being born to me.”
Rhys nodded. “Keep it so.”
Torquil tensed behind her, and she squeezed the wrist she still held.
“I must go, and he can’t stay here if you have no chaperone,” Rhys announced with all the finality of a father.
Her own father never fussed overmuch about such things, not with her or with his sons. Nacton and Calder were both older than Rhys, and they’d been raised to believe that the world was theirs. Until the unification of the courts, it
had
been.
“I am immeasurably pleased to hear you speak of my safety, but the walls are transparent and our people watch,” Eilidh reminded her brother. “If Torquil is to be my betrothed, he will visit me.”
“Only in this room.”
Torquil’s voice was sharp as blades as he said, “You have no right to tell—”
“There are those who
would
kill him before they would see you with child.” Rhys spoke over Torquil as if he wasn’t there, speaking only to her, dismissing her betrothed pointedly. “And if Mother thinks he has bed you, I will be sent to remove him. There is no way to refuse that order once she has issued it. If you care for him at all, you will not allow him where the people cannot see him. They must know that you are inviolate.”
Eilidh nodded. “He will only be here when in this room, but I’m not so young that I need a chaperone beyond”—she gestured to the glass wall—“our people’s watchful gaze.”
Rhys looked at her like he might consider some form of parting affection, but then he simply said, “Never forget that you will be watched constantly now—by her people, by mine, by Nacton’s. Act accordingly.”
She nodded again, and then Rhys left, and Eilidh was alone with her betrothed for the first time since his impulsivity had put them in this ridiculous position.