Page 17 of Heir to His Court

We have bought ourselves a little.

The words wormed through my mind, adding to the weight already on my shoulders. I clutched the edge of my bathroom sink, taking a moment to breathe deeply, to ward off the customary siege of intrusive thoughts. I’d closeted myself away for a day, and my House had allowed it. But the final day of negotiations loomed, and I needed to pull myself together.

I loathed that I felt every blow so keenly. That I could not even control the twisted whispers in my own mind trying to convince me of everything wrong that could happen, remind me of every mistake I had ever made, have me in a curled up mess in a corner somewhere with nothing but wine and tears to drown them out.

Aerinne.Not really my name, but a wordless offer of comfort. It steadied me.

“There will always be a crisis,” I told the haunted halfling in the mirror. “This is nothing new. You will survive. Those you love will survive. Breathe.”

I stood there, saying these words over again until I believed them, and my muscles relaxed to a more normal level of tension. I was never not tense, but sometimes I could set aside the triple burden of past, present, and future and simply exist in the moment.

Which was what I intended tonight.

I intended to forget my life for a few hours, or I would go mad. An hour or two to myself, or the brittle shell of my calm would fracture. How did the Fae endure thousands of years of this? Of course, many didn't. I couldn't forget that even though I was a halfling, my responsibilities and social circles forced me to rub elbows with High Fae. With political games, and political powers. It wasn't as if mine was a simple life.

Running away wouldn't release me either. Raniel had tried, abandoning Ninephe to establish Everenne. And how well was that working out for him?

The Courts of Everenne are nothing like the Courts of Ninephe,Renaud said. I recognized the chill possessiveness of his mental voice.

Of course he was listening.Do you havenothingbetter to do?

You still have no true understanding of how tightly entwined we are. Though I wonder how you managed to block me so completely before, that you were attacked and I felt nothing.

I checked my mental barriers.

What are you hiding, halfling?Silence weighted with his disapproval, then his withdrawal.As you wish. I will try to give you the privacy you seek for tonight. Don't do anything stupid, girl.

Andthatwas all Darkan.Whatever.

When he faded, and I was certain he truly was back in his own mind where he belonged, damnit, I let my thoughts flutter around the edges of the encounter with. . .her. I would not think her name. Renaud might hear it and abandon that grudging attempt to give me privacy. And surely, she would hear it as well.

I could not forget that for all of Raniel and Nayya’s—and mine, I suspected—affinity for dreamscapes,shewas the source of it all. We wereherdescents.

My mother’s face swam to the forefront of my mind, sharper than it had been in a long time. My memory was not mortal, but even with time the Fae could choose to let go. I understood from watching those older than I that letting go was often the only way to survive the interminable years. Even the High Fae, cold and emotionless and impervious as they seemed, must endure their pain. For what other reason was there but pain, to form so impenetrable an outer defense? But if life was nothing but pain, what was the purpose inlivingit?

Service. Service to those weaker, and protection of those beloved. A goal outside of oneself. Something to cling to, to force the mind from grief and impotent rage.

Maybe that was the mistake of the High Fae, the cause of their slow decline into madness—they served nothing but themselves. Even Raniel. He wanted Avallonne, but why? To assuage his childhood grief? It wouldn’t reclaim his sister from the dead.

Not that I had any room to criticize. My feud against Montague would not bring back my mother. It might even cost me my brother.

Smiling bitterly, I rinsed my mouth out, turned the shower on full blast, stripped out of my clothing and stepped under the icy spray. I counted down two minutes, then put the water on hot.

I alternated between hot and cold until I felt like my mind and body were my own again. I washed, conditioned my hair, going through the motions as I worked on thinking happy thoughts.

I shouldn't sneer. I understood the value of the mental exercises Susenne insisted helped manage intrusive thoughts and prevent a depressive or manic spiral. It had been at least a year since one. . .but the last few weeks had been nothing but one trigger after another, including the giant walking trigger that was Renaud.

A half hour later I left my room dressed in dark, nondescript clothing—fitted black pants, a thin long sleeved black cotton shirt, ankle boots with a stacked heel. My hair was still damp, but I took a minute to slather cream and gel through the curls that left them defined but not crunchy.

“Nya,” a deep voice called out as I skirted the courtyard. “Uhoro waku?”

I paused and turned. A match flared in a shadowed corner, briefly highlighting my cousin's narrow dark face, then fragrant smoke drifted. I approached Murungaru and sat on the bench next to him. He offered a rolled herbal smoke and I accepted, taking a long drag.

“You still refuse to tell me where you get your blend?” I asked, sliding into Kikuyu.

“If I did, I couldn't lure you to spend more time with me. Besides, I add my own little something to it.”

I bet he did. A warlock, he had an entire converted closet in the basement devoted to his supplies. I took another drag and handed it back to him. “You don't have to lure me. I always have time for you.”

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