She gave in. I always do.

"I will." She pulled him closer. They were mud-caked and as tangled up as they could be without hurting each other. "But that means that until he's gone, you're mine only. I don't want to see you here with her."

"Or meddling in your court. I know. Your court, your rules. No meddling or manipulation." He gave a wry grin at the surprised expression she wore. "I was listening, Don. I'll apologize to Evan, follow your rules-and you'll stop stabbing members of my court?"

She smiled. "For now."

"I'll settle for it," he whispered against her lips. "For now."

"Even if you are mine, even if this thing with Ash is not between us, I still need you to understand that I am not your subject. You cannot try to influence my court." She needed that made clear. It wasn't simply his relationship with his queen that was the problem. There were two issues before them.

"I loved you when you were a mortal. I loved you when you were the Winter Girl who existed to oppose me, telling tales of how awful it was to trust me." He sprinkled kisses over her throat and collarbone between words. "I'm not here now because you are the Winter Queen, but despite that, I'll do my best. And when I slip..."

"I won't show you any mercy just because I love you." She meant it and was grateful that faeries couldn't lie because for the first time in longer than she wanted to recall, they were being completely open with each other. "But I will try to keep my heartbreak from making me vengeful when Seth dies and you-"

He stopped her with a kiss, and then whispered, "Can we not talk about the end of us? We're at the beginning today. I'm yours. Wholly without reservation. I won't try to interfere with your court. Can you kiss me now?"

She smiled. "I can do that."

It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared. It wasn't about trying to consume each other, or comfort, or tinged with sorrow. It was slow and careful-and over far too soon.

He leaned against the tree and stared at her with the love she'd dreamed of forever written plainly on his face. "In a few months, I'll be able to spend several days in your arms, but right now"-he carefully stepped farther away-"I've reached the edge of my self-control...which I'm admitting. You see? We can do this. We can be together."

"On Solstice"-she let a tiny shower of snow fall over them-"there won't be any stepping away."

"Solstice can't come soon enough." He darted forward and kissed a snowflake from her lips, and then he was gone.

He's a fool. She smiled to herself. He's my fool, though. For now. Eventually, he'd be in Aislinn's arms-that, Donia was near certain of. When Seth was gone, Donia would need to let go of Keenan. It might mean moving away from Huntsdale for a few decades when that happened, but until then, she had reason to hope.

Maybe Bananach's visions of war were wrong. She and Keenan had only needed to move forward. War's visions-like Sorcha's reputed far-seeing-were about probabilities, not certainties.

And those probabilities just changed.

Chapter 17.

Aislinn woke by midday. She was alone in Keenan's room. Her clothes were laid out on an ottoman that someone had brought to sit beside the bed. A tray with breakfast foods sat on the bedside table. Before she dealt with food or dressing, though, she called Seth-twice-but he didn't pick up.

She called Keenan.

"How are you?" were his first words. He sounded calm, friendly, like nothing had happened.

She sighed in relief. "Better. I'm better."

"There's food"-his voice was tentative then-"beside the bed. I had them bring new trays every half hour so it'd be warm for you."

"I could warm it. Sunlight, remember?" She felt relieved that they were able to talk, that they could feel comfortable with each other. "Where are you?"

"The orchards outside the city. It's beautiful here. They're healthy now."

"So you're there because...?"

"I just wanted to give them a little extra attention. Check on them." Warm currents thrummed in his voice. He rarely sounded so at peace.

The depth of his joy at seeing the earth thrive again wasn't something she could quite reach, but she shared it to a lesser degree. She'd known less than two decades of bitter cold; he'd known centuries of it-and had felt responsible for not being able to end it. The truth of that was epiphanic. "That's where you go when I'm in school, isn't it?"

"To the orchard? Not always." His tone grew evasive.

"But other places like it." She uncovered her plate. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't steaming hot either. She let a little heat into her fingertips and warmed the plate and its contents.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She took a bite of the omelet-spinach, cheese, and tomato-one of her favorites.

"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 pa.s.sion, 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 cl.u.s.tered 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..."

In a blur of feather and limbs, she kicked and punched and stabbed several guards. She stopped then, as suddenly as she'd begun to move. Most of the guards were coming to their feet; some were battered but still standing. One wasn't moving.

Bananach looked at the sky. "It grows late, and I have others to see. My king will expect me to come soon."

And with that, the war faery left them in the park reeling in disorder and panic.

Keenan. Niall. Donia. Where was she going? War. Aislinn didn't want war. The idea terrified her. Too many reminders of death and what I have to lose. She thought of Grams and Seth and her mortal friends. Grams was under constant watch; so too was Seth. She'd lose them eventually. Mortals died-but not now, not soon. She'd barely begun to discover the beauty that the earth could offer now that the long years of endless winter were past. This was her world. It was a world that should teem with life and possibilities, even if those possibilities were sometimes finite.

She was in love; she was loved; and she was part of something incredible. Many mortals and faeries were. All of that would be destroyed if there was a war. With no worry over the consequences of angering other courts, with no restraints, with rulers and guards too busy to respond to small indiscretions...aside from the reclusive High Court, the mortal and faery worlds would be dealing with two-or possibly three-Faerie courts in opposition, as well as solitaries who'd no doubt take advantage of the chaos. Aislinn felt sick thinking of it-and desperate to talk to Seth.

She needed to hear his voice; she needed to hear him tell her he forgave her. They'd had a lot against them, but they could work past it. They had so far. He was the cord that kept her together. His faith gave her strength when she thought she couldn't bear up under a challenge; that was the core of what made him irreplaceable. The pa.s.sion and the romance were incredible, but the center of it was that he made her want to be a better person. He made her believe she could do the impossible. She could, with him in her life. They'd only been officially together a few months, but she knew he was the only one she'd ever love like this. He was it, her forever.

She called him again-and still had no answer. She left another voice mail, "Call me. Please? I love you."

With a glance around the park, she found the rowans on duty, saw them collecting their faeries and steering them toward the loft. They were efficient even in their injured state.

She called Keenan and said, "I met Bananach.... We are mostly uninjured, but I need you to come home. Now."