“It’s perfect.” She glanced down at the pin, and while the impulsiveness was riding her, she blurted out, “I don’t want you to leave. What if they harm you? What if you need me? What if—”

“Mother.” He smiled, peaceful and so very beautiful to her. “I’ll be a faery. Under the Dark Court’s protection, beloved by the Summer Queen, made strong by your gift. I’ll be safe.”

“But Bananach…and Winter…and…” She actually felt her heart beating uncomfortably fast. She’d known she’d feel something when he left, but this degree of worry and sadness was unexpected. “You could stay. We’ll send Devlin to fetch your Summer Queen to us and—”

“No. I’m not going to ask her to abandon her court for me.” He led her to the seat that looked out into the garden where they’d walked. She sat down, and he sat on the floor beside her feet.

“I need to go. I want to go. It’ll feel like a breath, and I’ll be back…home,” he assured her.

“I think I might hate your other queen right now.” She scowled.

Actual tears were building in her eyes. It was a simple physiological reaction; logic explained it away. The tears still fell.

“And I’m afraid. If my sister hurts you, I’ll…” She took a steadying breath. “Bananach is not to be trusted, Seth. Not ever. Never go with her anywhere again. Promise me you’ll stay away from her. She has only one goal—violence.”

“So why did she bring me to you?”

Sorcha shook her head. “In order to provoke someone. In order to get me to make a choice that would allow her to lay blame at my feet. I don’t truly know. I’ve spent eternity trying to guess her next move. It’s always about machinations for another war. I am left trying to make the right choices.”

“Did you make the right choice this time?”

“Yes.” She stroked his face. “Whatever happens next, this was the right choice.”

“Even if war comes…”

“The alternative was your death.” She swallowed a sob at the thought. “When you left with her there were two paths you could’ve ended up on—this one or left dead for your Summer Queen to find. Either Niall’s court or mine would have been thought responsible. Perhaps Winter. War would have had her wish.”

It felt strange to talk of such things to anyone other than Devlin, but her son would have a voice in her court when he was ready. He could be fully faery if she wanted it so, but that would free him to leave her. Their bargain made him need to stay with her. If he was fully faery, would he remain over there? That wasn’t something they needed to discuss. He wouldn’t ever be High King: she was eternal, the Unchanging Queen. He would, however, be an influence, a voice, a power. He would stand equal to Devlin. Sorcha wondered how well both her son and her brother would accept that.

Seth didn’t speak; he merely waited, patient as befit her son.

“If I keep you here, the likelihood of war is still strong. Sooner or later, Keenan would be unable to hide where you were. Aislinn would try to bend my will to her wishes. She is not strong enough to do that, and I would not”—Sorcha paused, weighing the words carefully—“react well. If your beloved came seeking retribution, I’d nullify the threat.”

“You’d kill her.”

“If discussion wasn’t effective, yes. I’ll eliminate anyone who threatens what I love. Or who I love. If Aislinn came against my court, I’d have to stop her…although I’d regret that you’d mourn.” She wondered, briefly, if this mortal change inside her would be for the betterment of her court or not. She felt emotions driving her actions; she felt tenderness for her son that was tinged with loss and fear. Such untidiness was not of the High Court. Will it change my court? It didn’t matter. She might have changed, but…the thought was one that had no completion. What does it mean when the Unchanging Queen changes? Sorcha shook her head. Pondering thusly was illogical. What was simply—was. She and her court would adjust. That was logical.

She spoke her next words with a finality that felt like a vow: “I won’t allow Aislinn or Bananach or anyone else to take you from me. I won’t allow them to endanger my court or my son.”

And she knew as she said it that her court would come second to her son should the choice be before her. Somewhere inside she wondered if this was precisely what Bananach had intended, but that too was immaterial. After centuries of small victories back and forth, Sorcha knew enough to realize that every choice would echo through the tapestries of time. Her choices would change her sister’s warmongering; Bananach’s actions would shift to counter those ripples; so it had been for centuries.

“Is it acceptable to say I’ll worry too?” He looked young as he asked her. “I don’t want what you gave me to make you vulnerable. I didn’t think…I want you safe. If Bananach is such a threat, she should be stopped. Some in the other courts are friends to me. If I can keep you safe—”

“Children aren’t to worry about their parents, Seth. I’m fine.” Sorcha affixed her court smile, giving him what reassurances she could offer. “I have been fighting her since I first existed. The only thing new is that I have a child to protect now. You are a gift. She just didn’t realize that when she brought you to me.”

He nodded, but worry was still plain in his eyes.

“Come,” she said. “Let us see what you need to pack.”

Aislinn sat in the study, curled into Keenan’s embrace with a discomfort she couldn’t quite erase. Tavish had given them approving glances as he’d shooed the Summer Girls away. The loft was peaceful, and she knew that her decisiveness was responsible for it. She dared a glance at him. This was it: her future. One way or another, they were bound together.

“…after lunch?”

“What?” She blushed.

He laughed. “Would you like to do something after lunch? A walk? A film? Shopping?”

“Yes?”

The look he gave her was new, or maybe just the openness of it was new. “Formal? Dine in? Picnic? Go to New York for pizza?” he added.

She scowled. “Now you’re just being foolish.”

“Why?” He moved around so he was facing her. “You’re a faery queen, Aislinn. The world is yours. A few moments and we’d be there. I’m not a mortal. Neither are you.”

She paused. The words she wanted to say weren’t there. There were no reasons not to. I am not a mortal. She took a deep breath. “Can you figure out this dating thing? I’ve dated one person and…”

He brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “Be ready in an hour?”

She nodded, and Keenan left.

I can do this. The step from friendship to love isn’t that far. It hadn’t been with Seth. She forced thoughts of him away. He was gone, and she was moving on with her life.

As Seth stepped through the moonlit veil, the world around him changed. It wasn’t as simple as going from the peace and perfection of his mother’s side to the harsh and jarring mortal world. In that single step, he was changed. The bargain he’d made was manifest. Seth was not mortal on this side of the veil: he was fey.

The world shifted under his feet. He felt it, the thrum of life that burrowed and nested in the soil. Wings from a far-off egret sent gusts of air that swirled into the currents in the sky.

Sorcha took his hand in hers. “It’s strange at first. I’ve watched the mortals in the Summer Court change. Let the difference find its place inside you.”

He couldn’t speak. His senses—and not just the same five he’d had before—were flooded. As a mortal, his understanding of the world was restricted to a basic comprehension. Now, he knew things that had no physical sensory source. He could feel what was in order. He could feel the rightness of what was and what should be.

“Do they—we—all feel like this?” His words felt too melodic, like his voice was reflected back through some filter that was softening sound.