“It’s something I’d rather do on my own. I didn’t want to offend you by telling you that you weren’t welcome.”

She paused, unable to say she wasn’t a little hurt. “Why?”

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his voice was hesitant. “When I was bound, I used to see these places, the struggling trees and fields fighting to produce food for the mortals and the animals. I’d try. Little trickles of sunlight. That was all I had. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I have more now.”

“I could help someday.”

“Maybe. Right now, I don’t…it’s private. I’ve only ever shared it with one person.”

“Donia.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “She was mortal the first time. Afterward, I took her to some of the places over the years when I needed to talk to her, but I didn’t tell her why I went there…. I went to her today. We talked.”

“And?”

“We’re going to sort it all out. We’ll work around the pull between us. It’ll all be manageable. We just can’t let ourselves forget.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever we do, it’s going to be something we both agree on. I held hope that our friendship would grow, that you’d choose to be with me, but…”

She took a deep breath and asked again, “Will you help me find a way to change Seth?”

“No.” Keenan paused. “We’re still learning, Aislinn. The approach of full summer for the first time in either of our lifetimes is intoxicating. It’ll get easier for you and for him.”

“Promise?” She worried her lip.

“And we’ll get stronger.”

“Go tend your orchard. I’m going to go try to reach Seth again.”

“Tell him I’m sorry too…for what it’s worth. I’m done pushing you,” Keenan added. “Summer’s about passion, Aislinn. It’s what we are. Take yours with him, and I’ll enjoy my time with Don.”

After he disconnected, Aislinn smiled. Even with the pressure of summer, they could all find a way to make this work now that she and Keenan were in accord.

Aislinn ate, dressed, and left the loft. She needed to go find Seth so things could get set right, but when she crossed into the park, she stopped in horror.

The Summer Girls were all bleeding or moving with broken limbs. Their own vines choked them. Rowan guards were set afire. Aobheall in her fountain was solidified into a sculpture. Her mouth was open in a soundless shriek. Smoke lay low in the air, twisting up from the decimated trees and from the bodies of the rowan. Aislinn could taste it. Ashes rained down like gray snow.

One woman, a raven-haired faery, walked through the destruction. A carved bone knife was strapped to her thigh, the white of it standing out starkly against gray camouflage pants. A tattered black cloak, damp with fresh blood, fluttered as she moved. Aislinn was struck by the oddity of a cape over military fatigues until she realized that it wasn’t a cloak at all: the woman had feather-hair that fell down her back and seemed to thicken to form dense wings as Aislinn watched her.

“Pretty pictures all for you,” the faery said. She made a sweeping gesture across the air in front of her. Unfamiliar patterns were painted on her arms with woad, ash, and blood.

Aislinn looked at her faeries. She’d thought she hated them just a few months ago; she still feared them sometimes. It wasn’t hate or fear of them she felt just now though: it was terror and heartbreak.

The faery slid an arm around Aislinn’s waist. “It’s for all of us, really.”

“What have you done?” Aislinn whispered.

Tracey was dancing, but one arm hung at an unnatural angle as if it’d been torn from the socket.

Aislinn shoved the raven-haired faery away. “What have you done to my faeries?”

“Nothing.” She waved her hand again and the park looked as it should: the Summer Girls and the rowan and Aobheall were all fine. A fire burned in the clearing, though, flames wavered in the center of the circle where the Summer Court typically held its revels. It wasn’t a small campfire but a raging blaze.

“Shall I tell you a story, my little queen?” The faery had eyes like Irial and Niall—eternal black—but hers shimmered with a hint of madness. “Shall I tell about what-ifs and what-nows?”

“Who are you?” Aislinn backed away from her as she asked, but she was near certain who she was—Bananach, the essence of war and bloodshed. It couldn’t be anyone else.

“Once upon a time, the world was mine. It was a lovely place. Chaos danced with me, and our children ate the living. Far-Dorcha himself dined at my table.” Bananach squatted down in front of the fire. It was midday, but the sky was dark with ash and smoke.

Is that an illusion too? Aislinn wasn’t sure what to do. Faeries’ glamours shouldn’t work on her. Why does hers?

“Bananach?” Aislinn asked. “That’s your name, right?”

“It is a name I use.” She tilted her head at an odd angle and glanced at Aislinn. “And you are the ash-girl, the missing Summer Queen, the one who would bring peace.”

“I am.” Aislinn could feel the heat of the fire as it grew wider still.

Bananach’s expression became hopeful: eyes wide, lips parted. “I could like you if you would step willingly to the pyre. Let them blame each other…. It’s a little thing really. It mightn’t even hurt. Sunlight and fire, much the same.”

Aislinn trembled. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I would dance to your screams. You wouldn’t be alone,” she said cajolingly.

“No.” Aislinn stood very still, sensing from Bananach’s predatory gaze that sudden movement might be unwise. “I think you should go.”

“Don’t you want me to answer your questions, little ash-girl? I know much.”

“Is there a right response?” Aislinn’s words weren’t wavering, but she felt certain that the faery knew how intimidating she was. Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, Aislinn added, “Tell me what you will.”

The word will felt awkward, but want was too open and can was too limited. Semantics was one of the weird parts of dealing with centuries-old creatures. Aislinn hoped she’d phrased it right this time.

The raven-faery brushed her hands on her pants and stood. “Once, after chaos but before you, I advised. I could make war games as a tableau for monarchs on the edge of war. I can show the what-ifs when we are near the precipice.”

Aislinn stared, speechless for several moments. The ash in the air felt like it had coated her tongue, prohibiting speech. None of the other faeries saw Bananach. They weren’t reacting at all—to Bananach or to the fire that had grown immense in their park.

Bananach sauntered through the center of the pyre; flames brushed against her like the hands of grateful supplicants. “You see my what-if dreams…. We draw nearer the war, little ash-queen. You made that happen.”

The flames surged toward Bananach, following in her wake, singeing her feathers. “You give me hope, so I give you fair warning. You and I are in balance now. Follow your path, and I will owe you. I’ve missed my discord.”

As Bananach paused in front of Aislinn, the caustic scent of burned flesh and feathers mingled with the soothing scent of burning wood. It was a disturbing combination—almost as disturbing as the chaos that suddenly spread throughout the Summer Court faeries as whatever illusion the war-faery had woven drifted away in the smoke.

They all saw Bananach then, saw War standing face-to-face with their queen. Guards rushed to Aislinn’s side. Summer Girls clustered together. Aobheall beckoned them to her fountain.

Bananach cackled, but she didn’t flinch.

She wouldn’t.

The war faery leaned close to Aislinn and whispered her words against Aislinn’s cheek. “Shall I break them? Snap the bark people. Make kindling for your pyre, ash-girl?”

“No.”

“Shame.” Bananach sighed. “You give me a gift, a war on our horizon…and we will need fodder for the bloodbath to come…still…”