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Catriona was laughing, and there was a light in her face that Uthe thought should never be extinguished, that could never be extinguished.
"Her father does not realize what a gift he denied himself. Or gave to you."
"Yes. She had trouble readjusting after her ordeal in the human world. Della helped her find her way back." At Uthe's puzzled look, Keldwyn frowned. "Lyssa did not tell you of this?"
"You have come up in conversation, my lord. Never your ward. Lyssa and I...we are close, but not in the manner of casual conversation, like you and I share."
Keldwyn inclined his head. "I was not sure how much Lyssa told you. She gained entry to our world by rescuing Catriona from yours. She'd been trapped in a tree for twenty years, because she went too deeply into an urban area that saps a young Fae's strength, and she was being chased by criminals. She saved herself by locking herself into a tree, as a dryad can do, but she did not have the strength to free herself. Nor could any of us free her, until Lady Lyssa...the details are not important now. It is done and over, and she is back here."
Keldwyn glanced at Uthe. "Though passage is limited between our worlds, Catriona's mother was permitted occasional excursions there. She had a great fondness for your world, which she passed on to her daughter. She was killed by two vampires. I will not go into details here, but it was based in the long enmity between our species."
Uthe grimaced. "It surprises me that Catriona would be so welcoming. Or interested enough in our world to go there at all."
"I think her mother's life, short though it was, made a stronger impression than the circumstances of her death. Catriona was very young then. However, she has not been as successful in overcoming the trials of the past twenty years." Keldwyn's voice held his concern for his ward. "Before she was imprisoned, Catriona would have given her heart wherever it is needed, and never think of any danger to herself. She is more cautious now, a little sadder and wiser than she once was. I am glad for the wisdom, not for the sadness. There are times I miss her carefree recklessness, though I know she is safer without its impulsiveness."
Uthe felt a surge of anger, thinking of the young Fae trapped as Keldwyn described. "Could no one do anything to rescue her before twenty years had passed?"
"I was magic-bound, specifically prohibited from helping or being anywhere near her, though I kept as close a watch on her as the field around her permitted. The Queen was teaching a lesson to our other young, and Catriona was the example. Though I do understand Rhoswen's motives and knew it was not a simple decision for her, it made for an uneasy twenty years between us. I think her willingness to give Catriona access to Della was a way of balancing the scales."
"Did it?"
"The scales between me and the Queen have gone up and down so often it wearies me to keep track of who is seated where, and whose turn it is to be on top and whose it is to hold anchor at the bottom. Catriona is back, she is safe, she is wiser and she is not irreparably broken. We live a long, long time, Lord Uthe. Often that is all that is necessary for things to be forgiven, if not forgotten. Life goes on, with all its priorities."
"Yes." Uthe cocked his head. "Do you have blood-related children?"
"I have had seven," Keldwyn said absently. "Four males, three females."
"Really?" Uthe was intrigued enough to leave the tree and sink cross-legged in the grass next to him. "Seven mothers? Wives?"
Keldwyn shot him an amused look. "While we don't suffer from fertility issues to the extent vampires do, high Fae do not reproduce frequently. Because of that, like vampires, we do not use birth control. Every child produced is a gift. If a parent like Catriona's father is not cognizant of that, there are plenty willing to step in to take in a babe. Maysie would have raised her in a heartbeat if I could not. In my case, the five women in question, for two bore twins, were not mated to me. They were affectionate yet casual couplings. And they were good mothers. They loved my children and I...loved them."
The truth of it jolted Uthe. "They're gone."
Keldwyn's expression emptied, the black gaze an abyss that Uthe thought might reflect the deepest well of the male's soul. "They did not have your longevity?" Uthe ventured, his voice low. He didn't want to ripple those depths if Kel didn't wish them disturbed.
"The twins might have lived to my age, because they were born of high Fae mothers. The others...they would not have lived as long, but they would have had a few hundred years. War took all of them. My first two sons died at my side in battle, one of the conflicts within factions of the Seelie Fae. Then there was the Great War between the Unseelie and Seelie, prompted by King Tabor's brother and Rhoswen's mother. That one took one daughter, one son. Graenad fought like a dancer, such grace and beauty in wielding sword and magic. But it could not save her."
Keldwyn kept his gaze on Catriona. "Like the humans and their WWI, we supposed that war would end all of them, because it was so horrific, but the one thing that links all humanoid species is our hunger for conflict. We had a usurper to the throne of the Seelie, and once again a civil war resulted that divided the Fae. I fought on the opposite side from my remaining three children. All three were killed, their cause defeated. I was able to see my last surviving daughter before she succumbed. She spat on me, cursed me as a traitor. And died."
His melodious voice didn't falter in the telling, yet when Keldwyn fell silent, Uthe could hear the discordant keys and notes of a broken song in the absence of words. He remembered the bitterness in Kel's voice on the plane. He'd attributed any dark corners in Kel's personality to the conflict and loss of Reghan, but that was far too narrow of a view. Tragedy and loss wasn't a singular occurrence in a mortal life, let alone an immortal one. And to lose seven children...
Uthe shifted, his side brushing the Fae Lord's tense shoulder. They sat that way for some time without speaking.
"Until this journey began, you did not ask me much about myself," Keldwyn said suddenly. "You asked me about my world, my relationship with the courts, all the things it is good and prudent for a Council member to know about the Fae liaison."
"You've placed a binding on me that's personal. Perhaps it's my way of evening the playing field."
"You told me I may have your body, that it is just ashes and dust. You deliberately indicated it wasn't personal."
"So I did."
"I could make you acknowledge differently."
"I think I just did that myself, my lord." Uthe met his gaze. Keldwyn's flickered, and then he sat up, propping himself on one arm. When he leaned toward Uthe, Uthe tensed. Keldwyn paused.
"A male brave enough to risk incineration to save a squire cannot fear a kiss made with open heart and clear eyes."
"Nothing is more personal or unpredictable as fear, my lord."
"Perhaps that is why I feel a need to challenge it now. To show you this is nothing to fear." But Keldwyn held still. "What is your greatest fear, Lord Uthe?"
"To not complete the task set before me." His gaze strayed over Keldwyn's mouth. "Everything that challenges that is something to be feared."
"Very well then." Keldwyn touched his jaw. "Should you falter in this quest--and I
have no reason to think you will--I will bring it to fruition for you, using whatever resources I can compel or command to serve it. You have my promise and my oath."
Kel's eyes were so dark against that moonlit luminescence. How could one trust a being of light and shadow, one so ethereal and beautiful he seemed a walking fantasy? But the Fae had just spoken an oath that grounded him in Uthe's reality. It filled his heart with pain and need, and he wanted to reach out and touch. He didn't, his fingers curling into a prohibitive fist.
"You trust my oath to you, do you not?" Keldwyn asked.
"I do." Uthe said it without hesitation, which made the Fae's eyes warm, though his lips remained set in a thin line.
"But you do not trust me in other ways. You are wary of me having the upper hand." Keldwyn chuckled, sat back. "Nothing so suspicious as two males who have spent decades mired in politics.
"Sometimes warfare seems preferable, doesn't it?" Uthe mused. "The other can be wearying."
"It does. Until you're in the midst of bloodshed."
Studying the Fae's elegant profile, the resilient line of jaw and chiseled cheek bone, Uthe thought of what he'd learned about the Fae's manner of communicating. He was fluent in almost every language of diplomacy Uthe knew, plus some he'd taught Uthe since they'd become acquainted. He suspected he'd done the same for Kel, since Uthe had seen him use a few deft twists from Uthe's own arsenal. Lyssa had warned them the Fae were elusive in their motives, that they could turn a situation around and make you believe it was your idea. Or they could pull an unexpected outcome or direction from a carefully planned strategy. Probably because their strategy was more carefully planned, or had a wider view of the playing field and beyond.
Uthe remembered Kel's quick, raw declaration in the sorceress's cave, when he'd stated his reasons for accompanying Uthe were all his own. And now, he'd told him of his children. Uthe didn't think Kel had revealed those things as part of ulterior motives. The Fae had given him truth, opening his soul as Uthe had.
"I'm surprised you'd entrust me with such a personal recollection as your children, my lord," he said carefully, his mind spinning at the implications.
