An Embrace of Citrus & Snow (Fallen for a Fae #1)

17. Everil

Chapter seventeen

Everil

In Faerie, nothing was ever far. A truth that Everil found himself regretting as he followed Yenah and Charil to the first of the three who would judge them. He kept his hand on Bo’s back as they walked through a gilded forest, the reassurance more for himself than for the human. As if, by keeping Bo close enough, he might keep him safe.

The forest opened up into a clearing, as Everil tried not to think on what the Council had said of his damaged soul. A towering maple dominated the space, and lounging against it, their judge, waiting.

Pale skin and a small, knowing smile. A chain of flowers in colorless, thin fingers.

Declan.

“Councilor Yenah, Councilor Charil.” Declan dipped his head in greeting, not moving from his tree. “Everil. Bo. I’d started to think you didn’t want to see me.”

“Declan.” Everil kept his voice flat. It was best not to appear overly familiar with their judge. “We weren’t told who was expecting us.”

“Councilor Fiadh’s noises of disgust didn’t give it away?” Declan asked, his gaze on Yenah, his tone coolly amused.

“No noises,” Yenah answered, tone light. She kept her distance, though. As everyone tended to do with sluagh. “Not from her.”

“Color me impressed,” Declan murmured, sounding anything but. He continued weaving flowers as he spoke.

“Have fun,” Charil said.

With that, the pair stepped back into the forest, away from Declan’s knowing smile. Everil did his best to not take too much pleasure in the nuggle’s hasty retreat .

“What the fuck?” Bo muttered, looking from where the Councilors weren’t to Declan. “Weren’t they supposed to stay?”

“The Councilors were to ensure you arrived here,” Declan answered, his smile deepening. “Dawdling risks courting knowledge they’d rather avoid.”

“Deathsight,” Everil added. “Declan is as much the truth of death as I am the river. When in a sluagh’s presence, one often catches glimpses of fate.”

Everil reluctantly pulled away from Bo to approach Declan. The need to guard him was ended, and only a selfish seeking for reassurance remained. There was such a thing as asking too much.

“Fate?”

“Everil is being kind.” Declan donned his now-finished flower crown, arching a single pale eyebrow. “Deathsight shows inevitable endings. It’s triggered when a loved one is fated to die. It isn’t pleasant. Or possible to control.”

“Well, shit. That fucking sucks.” The man did have a way of cutting to the quick of matters.

“We all have our trials,” Declan’s tone was light, for all the weight deathsight had placed on him over the years. “Some more literally than others. To very gracefully change the subject, you’ve both decided to go forward with this, my friend?”

Everil took a breath, bracing himself to answer. And Bo, sweet Bo, stepped to his side, fingers curving around Everil’s elbow. A tendril of calm curled through Everil’s anxiety, the comfort of Bo’s touch making him want to lean in and take more.

It wasn’t the time. Wasn’t appropriate. But he allowed himself to sink into the safety of Bo’s soul. Firefly summers, the hum of drowsy bees and press of sugared lips.Another breath, less forced than the last.

“Decided implies somewhat more agency than we’ve been permitted.” Everil’s words were as dry as Declan’s. “But it was inevitable that they would take the news ill. I’d not have thought such a bond could be possible myself were I not involved. And now they say the same.”

“Not possible?” Declan asked, that predator’s gaze gone sharp even as he continued to lounge against his tree. The colors of his flower crown shifted slowly, a lazy rainbow in the shadowed quiet of the little clearing.

“Fuckers said our bond didn’t exist Bo bit out, his emotions all lemon-peel sharp and grapefruit bitter. “Because Ever’s bonded before. And that if it did, it wasn’t valid because I’m a vile human, and the idea is gross .

Declan snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Right? Fuck that bullshit.”

Everil held his tongue. He should have guessed the pair would get along.

“From what I’ve found, fae and human bonds have consequences.” Declan’s words took on a lecturing tone that always reminded Everil of the man’s mother. “But lacking the same foundations magically as a solely fae pairing isn’t one of them. Who can quantify a soul, for that matter?”

“I– What?” Bo tightened his grip on Everil’s elbow, wary now. “You’re talking like this has happened before.”

“Mother’s library,” Declan said with a shrug. Of course. It was always Aisling’s library. “She had reason to start collecting any information she could on bonds. I took the liberty of looking through them the past few days. There were pre-convergence accounts of fae-human bonds. Personal ones.”

“And?” Everil prompted.

“This is a complicated situation. I feel obligated to tell you both what I’ve found, but you know how closely Mother guards her information, Everil. It can’t go beyond the three of us, not unless we speak to her first.”

Everil studied Declan. The man was a trusted friend, whatever had passed between them. He was also the arbiter of this trial. A trial that included this conversation if Declan willed it so.

Test or no, Everil couldn’t risk ignorance.

“My word on it,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t dare upset Aisling. She might set her cat on me.”

“Yeah, yes, same. My word on not narcing on your mom or her cat.”

“That creature is a menace.” But Declan met Everil’s smile with his own. “Very well. Most the accounts were similar. Humans entangled with fae, and fae stranding themselves in the human realm to be with their partners. The unusual bit, frequently mentioned, was a lifespan.”

“A– Wait. What?” Bo asked.

“A lifespan,” Declan repeated. “Fae die only at the hands of others or because they’ve tired of living. Usually the former.”

“We do not grow old,” Everil put in softly. “Not as humans do.”

“Generally true, aye.” Declan’s gaze on his was … what? Concerned? Expectant? “But not for those with a human bond. In the accounts, the mortals lived far longer than they would have on their own. But in the end, both partners aged. There’s mentions of ‘a few hundred years.’ One pair reached four hundred, began gradually declining, and died after a handful of decades.”

Everil stilled. He had spent one hundred years grieving a single loss. What was a century when you existed outside of time? He had loved Lawrence. He had lost him. There was nothing to move on to. No graying hair or fading health to threaten his mourning.

It made fae cruel, the loss of time. Cruel to each other, ending lives over festering squabbles. To humans, whom they called pests or pets, pretty cut flowers gathered with the intention of watching them fade.

And yet…

Aging? A lifespan?

Surely, it was worth it. For Bo’s sake. The man would have the years Everil had never been able to offer Lawrence.

He should be pleased. But the air tasted bitter.

“I see,” he said, and no more than that.

“Does this have anything to do with the trial?” Bo asked, his fingers tightening a little on Everil’s arm. “Or is it just a fun way to start? ‘Congrats on your boyfriend, by the way, you’re gonna die’?”

“Information has value here,” Declan replied, frowning. To Everil’s relief, he didn’t sound angry. He had the right to be. “Perhaps in the trials, perhaps not. This is as close to privacy as we may have for quite some time. It’s information that, in the wrong hands, could be used against both of you. There’s value in knowing that the starched sorts are wrong to say humans cannot be a valid bond.”

“Yeah?” Bo’s tone remained skeptical, edging on hostile.

Everil needed to say something. Bo had asked to be informed of any context he missed. It all felt very distant at the moment.

“Bo.” Quiet. Perhaps too detached. Everil looked at the human, remembering his kiss, his rough praise. “Declan’s mother trades in information and debt. Her knowledge of what others only wish to know has allowed her to rise to unusual heights for a banshee. In human terms, Declan has searched the family vaults on our behalf and offered us an heirloom.”

“I…” Bo drew the word out, considering. “My bad. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat.”

“That’s a horrifying turn of phrase,” Declan observed. “It’s interesting, though, isn’t it? What happens to all their arguments when a ‘cut flower’ doesn’t fade?”

Everil glanced at Bo, all solid humanity in the fluid timelessness of Faerie. “I fear the question is immaterial until these trials are complete.”

“The question is fascinating , regardless,” Declan corrected. “It seems you still want to go forward. Excellent.”

Declan stood upright at last, the flowers falling from his hand and disappearing before they reached his feet.

“I’m pretty sure the choice is keep going, or I die.” Bo tightened his grip as he spoke. “So, you know, onward and all that fuckery.”

“ ‘Onward,’ indeed.” Declan gestured behind him with a flick of the wrists. Two paths, one on each side of the large maple tree. Each looked the same as the other, alder trees pressing close to a dirt track. “You must both walk a path. Whichever side you’d like, but they cannot be the same one. Try to stay out of the trees. And no, Bo, before you ask, I am not taking questions.”

“I see.” Everil’s frozen shock burnt away in the wake of Bo’s apprehension. “Thank you, Declan.”

“I hope to see you both at the end.”

“I’m alright to pick which side we each take,” Bo offered, turning to face him. “That okay?”

Everil wanted to draw the man into his arms. To murmur reassurances into his hair. To believe that holding him might somehow chase away the fear he tasted. But what if it didn’t? He was so very out of practice with this. And he’d never been much use as a partner.

Boyfriend, that’s what Bo had called him. Everil hadn’t the first clue how one acted as a boyfriend. It probably involved significantly less freezing up and quite a bit more … whatever it was that pleased Bo best.

Cursing?

“Please.” He allowed his thumb to trace the side of Bo’s palm before letting go. “Bo, the trials are at the whim of the judges, but they are intentional. Whatever happens, it will measure the truth of our bond and our resolve to maintain it. And I meant my promise. Your life isn’t in the balance. Not while I stand.”

“I know you meant it.” And Bo, sweet Bo, reached up. Caressed Everil’s cheeks, then caught hold of his hair. “I trust you. And we’ve got this. You go left. I go right. ”

“As you wish,” Everil answered, voice barely steady.

A tug at his hair and Bo’s lips on his. All of Everil’s unease, swept away by Bo’s conviction. By his trust and his kindness. The way he held on so that Everil knew that he was wanted, that he was permitted this. That he could take and take all that Bo offered, drink him in like sunlight and heat.

Until Bo’s grip eased, and Everil stood, dizzy in the aftermath. Wanting to lean in, take more.

“My badass kelpie. Your Bo. Got it?”

“My sweet Bo.” A whisper, like an unsteady step into the dark. Everil reached, hesitantly taking Bo’s hand, raising rough knuckles to his lips. “Your kelpie. Remember what you’re capable of. Don’t hesitate to use what you need of me.”

“We got this, pretty kelpie.”

Everil released Bo’s hand, turning his attention back to Declan, who’d seen rather more than Everil would usually allow. The man was smirking.

“We’re ready.”

Walk the path, avoid the trees, and the trial was done. Simple. But paths in Faerie were only as straight as the heart wished. And the heart, as Everil well knew, was impossible to command.

Everil replayed Declan’s words with every step. A few hundred years. More time than he’d dreamed of being allowed with Bo. But in exchange, Everil would lose the possibility of eternity. Of course, few fae could claim more than a millennium, immortal or not. Long lives meant old grudges coming due.

And still, to sacrifice even the hope?

It didn’t matter. Only Bo mattered. Everil wouldn’t give into his usual selfish instincts. Not in this. Reaching up, he plucked an alder leaf from one of the sheltering trees, running his fingers along the veins of it.

Eyes on the path. Feel the tug of the bond, bright with trust and sharp with apprehension. Walk forward. Everil made it only a few steps more before he heard the crunch of footsteps on dried leaves from behind him.

“Wow.” The voice was close, only a few steps back. “You’re really out of his league.”

Everil turned to find himself facing a human man, his resemblance to Bo unmistakable. Sharper features, light olive skin, curling dark hair, and slimmer than Bo’s pleasing solidity. But behind his glasses, his eyes were that same tired blue, and his lips twisted in that familiar half-bitter way.

Everil reached out with a cautious tendril of power, meeting only absence. There was no one there.

Trials were old magic, drawing on Faerie’s heart. And Faerie, at its heart, could be distressingly inventive, especially with a clever judge.

Declan was a very clever judge.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Everil said, though he was certain this figment had taken the form of Bo’s brother. “Nor am I familiar with the expression. May I help you in some way?”

In Faerie, it was always safer to offer aid than accept it.

“I mean, this is probably the part where I try to lure you into the woods,” the figment said, head cocked. “But that sounds like a dumb idea on my part.”

“It would, indeed, be an ill use of both our time.”

“I’ll walk with you. You’ve got more than a little bit to get through.” The figment looked away, studying a path that stretched long and longer still, endless alder trees, waiting. “C’mon, let’s go. Just standing here staring at each other gives me the creeps.”

Very well. Everil started walking again. There would be an end. It was only a matter of continuing forward, whatever might intercede.

“You’re Bo’s brother, are you not?” If the figment wouldn’t answer an indirect question, Everil would ask a direct one. “Robin. I cannot see how you’d be served by impeding your brother’s bond.”

It wasn’t Robin. Not really. But it was easier to address the mask the magic wore than twist himself into knots, keeping shape separate from soul.

“Robin, yeah.” The man’s smile was a quick, thin thing. “I’m not here about breaking up your bond. You grow old and die against your will on your own time. Will me being cryptic or critical help any?”

“I think not,” Everil answered, trying not to let those words set hooks in his heart.

Grow old and die on your own time. Robin’s voice was just enough like Bo’s to twist the knife.

Selfish. He was being selfish. Hadn’t he said he would fight and die for Bo? Why should it strike so different, with that death a few centuries on? He should be glad of it.

Always so selfish, my love.

Robin ambled. Everil stood straight, his hands joined behind his back, eyes on the path.

“You know he’s kind of an asshole, right? A little pushy. Can be grabby. A teensy bit of a protective edge on him.” Another quick smile, there and gone. “Stubborn, too. Like toilet paper on a wet shoe. You could do better.”

“I believe you mistake the circumstances. ‘Do better’ implies I have some interest in courting. I don’t. It wasn’t my intention to pursue your brother. Only…” Everil licked his lips, tasting the memory of honey. “He is, as you say, pushy. Not to mention brash and vulgar.” And sweet. So very sweet. “I find it a charming combination.”

“Uh-huh.” Robin watched him sideways as they walked, all skeptical appraisal as the sky darkened above them. “I’d call BS on those things being charming, but you just claimed not to be interested in courting the dude I saw you tonsil deep in a few minutes ago. Maybe getting old changes definitions. Since you’re … what, halfway through life now? Officially.”

Eyes on the path. Keep walking forward. Look away and risk the path disappearing. Stop, and it may be impossible to start again. Everil slowed, though, and watched the figment sideways, his hand tightening on his own wrist.

“And Bo is now only at the start of his. Given all he risks, it seems a fair exchange. He’s too generous with himself, your brother.”

“You’d‘ve said the same thing about Nimai. Age doesn’t seem to have changed the type of guy you bond with. I suppose there’s something to be said for consistency.”

“I think Bo’d take it ill, your comparing him to Nimai.” Important to be polite, but Everil heard the hint of a snarl in his voice. “They are oil and water.”

Honey and smoke.

Robin laughed while the alder trees swayed to the sound, and the hard-packed earth gave way to gravel.

“Wait, really? Wow, okay, so it’s pretty obvious you have a type.” His laughter faded to that thin, quick smile. “Good with people, pushy, protective, stubborn, stuck on you, crass. Nimai talks pretty, but I’m fairly sure insinuating someone’s a temporary, if willing, hole is just as vulgar as using ‘fuck’ like it’s seasoning.”

The gravel seemed to catch at Everil’s feet, attempting to slow him. The branches caught at his hair.

Eyes on the path. Keep walking. Robin was wrong . That, at least, Everil was sure of .

“Do you know what Nimai said to me after we took our oaths?” Everil let the question hang for only a heartbeat. “He said he forgave me for embarrassing him. With what I wore. How I stood. The way I reacted when he touched me. How I tried to hold onto him.” Everil’s voice was flatly calm as he retreated into that safe, internal stillness. “He said he understood that I’d been indulged, and it takes time to break a wild horse. He promised to be patient.”

Nimai had been so very patient. Months of silences. Of Nimai’s iron grip on Everil’s soul, leaving him breathless and faded, reminding him to behave.

“That’s seriously fucked up.” Robin’s voice was as flat as his own. “Nothing more romantic than ‘hey baby, I’m going to break your will, it’ll be hot.’ ”

“I thought it romantic at the time.” Everil’s voice grew quieter, distracted. “I had been a problem and a disappointment for so long. Nimai, at least, saw potential in me. I loved him for that. I wanted to be what he saw in me.”

“Fucked up,” Robin repeated, with rather more force.

“We were suited for a time. Nimai, magnanimous in his acceptance of me, shame that I was. And me so very accustomed to being an embarrassment.” Again, Everil fell silent. Nothing but the crunch of his feet on the gravel. His feet, and his feet alone. “Do I embarrass him, your brother?”

“No. God, no. You don’t embarrass him . But I don’t think he’d be able to forgive you if you stayed with him out of obligation.” His tone lost some of its edge. “Because you think you owe him or because you fell into bed together. That’d be almost as messed up as your first post-oath chat with Nimai.”

“Bo isn’t an obligation. I am, as I’ve just explained, quite good at letting down my obligations. We remain together out of my selfishness, not my generosity.”

“Because of your … What? I think I lost the plot.” Robin reached up, trailing his fingers through the rustling alder leaves. “Not wanting to hurt him to break the bond is selfish?”

“There are ways to break a bond that don’t injure both parties. Indeed, Bo’s refusal to let go would make it easier to keep him safe, not more challenging.” Everil pressed his lips together in what tried, and failed, to be a smile. “It’s the one who holds on tightest who loses the least.”

“Oh, so you only hurt you. You do like that, don’t you? Being the one to make the noble sacrifice. Taking the bond you don’t want. Then dying for him.”

“I want him. ”

“Right. Your ‘sweet Bo.’ Is that what he is? The treat you’ve told yourself you can keep nibbling on forever, even though you’d resigned yourself to eating your vegetables. The inevitable looms, so keep the sugar snack close until it’s taken away. That’s a little selfish; I’ll give you that.”

“Yes. I– You are not incorrect.” Everil’s feet dragged through the gravel. The branches caught at his sweater. “I should do what is right for him and end it. ‘Eat my vegetables.’ But I remain selfish. Say what you wish, but I’ll walk this path until I find my way back to him. You won’t dissuade me from that.”

“And if you change your mind?” Robin watched him, thin eyebrows arched. “If you keep going forward, make it through all the trials, and afterward decide you need more than the four hundred years or so, you’ll break his heart.”

“I–” The gravel covered Everil’s feet. Held him fast. Hadn’t he done that to Nimai? Made a promise and broken it? Betrayed him? “I wouldn’t.”

“Huh.” Robin’s tone was utterly unimpressed. And Everil still wasn’t moving. “You sure? He’s worth sacrificing eternity, cutting your life down to another three hundred, four hundred years?”

Everil studied the man before him. Robin looked so very like Bo. And Bo loved his brother; Everil knew that. Fiercely, desperately, loved him. And, in the way one does with those best loved, he’d made him the vault of all his fears and misplaced guilt.

Ah. Bo was right. Declan really was an asshole.

“This isn’t about sacrifice,” Everil said as the trees ceased their clutching, and the gravel fell from his feet. “I don’t intend to trade my eternity for Bo’s sake but for my own. He isn’t who I should want. And I’ll be thought a fool for my decision. But he’s allowed me more happiness in three days than I’ve known in my three centuries. So yes, I’ll give up eternity for more of him. Gladly.”

It became true with the saying of it. An angle of view so much clearer than the muddle he’d been squinting through.

“See, that’s sweet,” the figment said. “You should tell Bo that if he makes it through his own little wander. Oh, and tell him ‘you’re welcome’ for sending him to the swamp.”

His grin was sharp to Bo’s crooked. White teeth and dark blue eyes that faded to the fall of leaves. Gravel turned to rich, dark dirt, with flowers pushing up in haphazard abundance. The path was gone and Robin with it .

Declan stood in this new clearing, leaning against yet another tree, his flower crown still in place. He met Everil’s gaze, eyebrows arched and put a finger to his lips. “Wait,” he mouthed. “Don’t move.”