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“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Let her be,” Moira says. “She’ll be fine.”
“Of course I will,” Siobhan says, continuing to feign disinterest, but I sense something, even if I can’t put my finger on what.
I walk back to stand in front of her. Moira trails in my wake.
“What’s the matter, Siobhan?” I ask.
“The matter?” she says, picking at a hanging piece of skin or something at the side of one fingernail. “Nothing, of course. Why would anything be the matter?”
“You can wait here if you want,” I say.
“I do, and I will,” she says, her eyes darting from her fingers to me. “And I don’t need your permission.”
“But I don’t want you to be here because you don’t feel wanted,” I continue, ignoring her jab.
She stops inspecting her nails and her eyes raise to meet mine. I don’t like her, not really, but I have grown to respect her. She’s smart and I know she can fight. If nothing else, I need all the allies I can gather.
“Don’t be droll,” she says, but our eyes bore into one another.
“I don’t think I understand that word the way you’re using it,” I say. “But I’m not trying to be anything. I want you at my side. No.” I shake my head and chuckle, if ruefully. “I need you.”
“Of course you do,” she says dismissively, but the gleam in her eyes is the true answer.
The way her face lights up tells a much different tale than her words. She drops her arms to her sides, looking from me to Moira.
“Well?” she asks. “What are we waiting for?”
I smile, then turn and catch up to Dugald who is waiting close to the Tree. He’s staring at the branches, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. The dim light of the tree is chilling. It’s clear the darkness is overwhelming the tree and it’s only a matter of time before it will be completely dark. And what happens then I don’t know.
The trunk of the tree, once silvery white, is dominated by black veins. The same manifestation is in every branch. Reaching out I touch a leaf, turning it over and see that it’s the same. My fingers tingle as cold streams up my arm and coalesces in my chest.
“It is best not to touch it.” The Queen’s voice is musical, lilting despite the horrors around us.
Dugald jerks to attention, spinning on his heel and bowing to his Queen. Moira bows her head; Siobhan meets the Queen defiant as ever, but even she gives the slightest of nods in recognition. I curtsy before the Queen, who smiles, but her smile is wan. Her face is paler than before, her cheeks sunken, and her eyes have dark circles under them.
“My Queen,” Dugald says, holding his bow.
“Rise, Knight,” she says, gesturing. “Now is not the time for formality.”
She gestures and we follow her deeper into the village. Shadows dance between buildings, held at bay by fires that seem to struggle to remain alight. In my peripheral I recognize Caill’s hovel, which is now a pile of ruins. The building looks like it collapsed in on itself. The rubble is overgrown with thick vines that look black from this distance.
The different races of Fae I see as we walk are subdued. The tiny flyers do not dart around but move with a languidness that fills my heart with sadness. One for one they all have the same haunted, resigned look on their faces. Almost no one looks directly at our group, each casting their eyes away as we come close and pass.
A grove of trees takes shape ahead and this is where the Fae Queen leads us. She passes through an arch formed by the branches of the surrounding trees. We emerge inside into a large oval that is formed by the trees. A throne of intricately woven wood, vines, and dead flowers looks like it grows right from the forest floor. The Queen walks to it, touching the armrest and running her fingers over it and up the tall back before she turns and sits.
“Quinn,” she says. “You have returned.”
In her simple statement lies the weight of the world and I can’t help but feel it crash onto me. All of this—the decay, the rot, the loss of hope in her lands—is a direct result of my decisions. If I hadn’t lost my temper, hadn’t tried to destroy the darkness, none of this would have happened.
“I have,” I say. Dugald elbows my ribs; I give him a sharp look then remember to add an honorific. “My Queen.”
She smiles and shakes her head.
“My dear knight,” she says. “Did I not say the time for formality has passed? Though I appreciate your care, it is unnecessary.”
“As you command, my Queen,” he says.
