“And we kill them,” she reiterated. “So much blood has already been shed. If Mother would—”
“Eilidh,” he said, drawing her name out slowly. “You cannot keep going over there.”
“She suspects something, then,” Eilidh said, hearing the words he wasn’t saying. She wasn’t ready to deal with her mother. She needed time before she could utilize the secrets she’d collected. “She wants you to watch me because she has doubts about what I’m doing.”
Torquil dropped his arm around her shoulders. “You know I’ve always tried to keep your secrets, but the queen knows that too.”
Eilidh nodded and let him lead her deeper into the shadows of the Hidden Lands. The degree of purity in fae blood determined the ability to lie. Pure lines like his—and hers—felt extreme physical pain upon lying. The Sleepers were able to lie, to a degree at least. That was one of the reasons they’d been created. They could blend, and they could lie. She and Torquil couldn’t have done what the Sleepers were sent to do.
“Just walk with me,” she said. “I’m not asking you to suffer for me.”
“I have. Willingly,” he reminded her.
“But I’ve never asked you to.”
He kept pace with her, shortening his stride so he was matching her much shorter one. Torquil wasn’t unusually tall, just under six and a half feet. Like the light that radiated from his dark skin, his height marked him as belonging to one of the oldest, purest families.
When he finally decided on a bride, he would have his pick of them. Truth be told, even those who were promised already would probably say yes if he chose them. If he desired a man, no one would care—as long as he had a surrogate to carry his ancestry forward. Only someone who sought heartbreak would be foolish enough to seriously fantasize about him. Despite the embarrassing dreams she often had, Eilidh didn’t seek to have her heart broken as her body once was.
Eilidh knew Torquil was as out of her reach as the stars are to the soil. She’d known it since she’d been old enough to realize that no other fae, Seelie or Unseelie, looked like her. The maze of scars that covered her body like a madman’s map assured that no fae looked on her with longing. Only Torquil had ever looked at her with genuine pleasure. How was she to avoid caring for him? How could she not imagine that his friendship was the precursor to love?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For?”
“You being in this position with the queen.” They’d reached the caves where tunnels honeycombed out into routes that led either to disasters or to their homes. Only those who knew the way could safely navigate the tunnels. It was one of the many safety measures the king and queen had instituted to keep the fae safe should humans figure out how to access the Hidden Lands.
Torquil’s luminous skin, as with most fae, lit their way as they stepped into the perpetual gloaming inside the passageways. Despite everything, she still took comfort in that—in their nature, in their very being. She didn’t agree with the war, wouldn’t ever believe that the death of one person legitimized the slaughter of millions. She did, however, understand her mother’s need to save their people.
“The queen tells me you’re to be looking for a bride soon,” she said as they turned from one tunnel into the next. “She warned me that I’d need to find a new playmate once you’re betrothed.”
Torquil snorted, an indelicate sound she’d only ever heard when they were alone. “Playmate? Did you remind her that we’re well past the edge of make-believe in the garden?”
“No.” Eilidh smothered a smile.
“Afraid she’ll put you on the market too?” he teased.
She was quiet long enough that he glanced her way, prompting her to answer, “That won’t happen.”
“Because?”
“Marriage would mean childbirth, and my mother would not risk my death that way.” Eilidh paused, weighing out her words, rejecting and selecting the ones that would sound calmest before continuing, “The healers were shocked that I lived at all. None of the other children after me have. Our queen will order Father to have a daughter who will be raised to bed with Rhys before she agrees to risk me in that way.”
Eilidh’s voice was steady as she outlined the obvious. The king had two sons, Nacton and Calder; the queen had one son, Rhys. Since the queen couldn’t carry another child, logically, the king would have to take Seelie women to his bed until he had a daughter, who—once old enough—would be given to Rhys. The child of their union would then be a child of both courts. Such a child would be able to take the Hidden Throne and rule.
When the two courts had set aside an eternity of conflict, they had agreed that either children of both courts or an heir with blood of both the Seelie and Unseelie would rule. There was no other option. It was the one inviolable term of the unification.
“Right now, Mother fears that something is wrong with me inside,” Eilidh said softly. “She wouldn’t want an even more broken child to take the throne, and she wouldn’t want her only child with Leith to die. I will not have children unless Mother has no other options.”
“Eilidh,” he started.
“Hush.” She looked up at him. “Lying hurts, Torquil. Don’t do it to spare my feelings. I know what my mother thinks. I know what she fears. The broken daughter is only a stand-in until a new heir is born.”
“I don’t think you’re broken.”
Eilidh shook her head and pressed her lips tightly together.
“Are you considering anyone in particular for your bride?” she asked after a time. “I assume you’re selecting a bride, not a groom?”
Torquil tensed. “I’m not considering anyone.”
“No one caught your eye yet, then?” she persisted, perversely needing to hear that there was someone, someone other than her, he truly looked upon with interest.
Coolly, Torquil said, “In exchange for my loyalty, the queen has given me free rein to choose anyone, no restrictions other than not taking a wife who still has young children.”
That was the sort of open choice that was usually only reserved for royals or those to whom the queen felt indebted or deemed so pure as to need every incentive possible to wed. Marriage wasn’t forever among the fae; even when the two courts were separate, the idea of permanent liaisons was odd. The first nearly permanent marriage between the Unseelie Queen and Seelie King would end when their heir took the Hidden Throne.
Eilidh couldn’t say she was surprised. Torquil was among the purest of the fae, and he was trusted by both king and queen. She hoped that the king had given him other restrictions, but it was unlikely. Leith rarely disputed the queen’s choices. Luckily, Torquil wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t attempt to separate a couple in love.
“What generosity,” Eilidh said mildly. “All of both courts open to you for the low price of selling me out.”