Her mother had shared plenty of stories of what they would do to those who could see faeries when they opted not to be seen. Eyes gouged out. Lives cut short. The fey were notoriously private, not liking their affairs to be the business of mortals. Those who saw them knew not to speak to them, not to spend time with them, not to be near to them at all if possible.
RUN.
She knew what to do. She simply couldn’t.
Irial didn't move any closer. “Fine weather,” he said mildly.
Tam made a noise that was more gurgle than word.
He leaned against a dark brick house. The oil light cast shadows that seemed to squirm to get closer, as if the darkness itself wanted to caress him.
Tam took one step, and then another. She was doing the wise thing, the right thing. She'd stay away from the river, change her path. Stop whatever madness made her think that watching such a creature could be safe at all.
"Twilight is not good for maidens," he said as she started walking past, trying not to glance his way.
"I read that poem," Thelma blurted foolishly, steps halting in the instant. A man who quoted poetry was a rarity, indeed.
"Of course, you did, love."
Thelma considered replying further. He sounded mocking, like he doubted her. She had read it though, and she'd loved it. Some English lady wrote it and wrote about fey things, although she called them “goblins,” and it was published. It had made Thelma feel ordinary for a few moments, seeing truths in a book where people who didn't see the secret creatures could read about them.
"It's not twilight . . . sir. Not now, at least." She didn't look at him. "Dawn is breaking."
"I suppose you're safe with me then," he murmured.
His word felt like a reassurance, not a simple continuation of the conversation, as if he knew she was doubting her safety.
Am I safe?
If he knew that she could see what he was, would he simply have watched her day after day? If he was the threat here, wouldn't he have already done something? Had she somehow revealed her secret?
Thelma lifted her gaze to stare at his face. The only time she'd been this close to something so beautiful was when she stood at the edge of the sea during a storm. The sea that day had a wild beauty to it that made her suspect that some things could only pretend to be tame, that the power in them could rest, but it was never truly safe.
After that day, she’d never looked at the sea the same way. Under the calmest of waters there were deadly currents and powerful waves waiting to pull a body under. The calm was an illusion to draw people near. The worst if it, though, was that she’d wanted to move closer to the sea because of the deadly, powerful force it could wield. She felt alive because the sheer ferocity of it felt like a thing she could lose herself in, surrender to; it called to something deep within her meat and marrow.
This creature pulled at her much the same way. Her sense—or terror—grabbed hold, and Tam knew what to do.
“Good morrow, sir,” Tam whispered, refusing to look back at him, hoping that willpower would grow and prevent any further foolishness.
Then she pulled her coat closer to her and fled.
Niall
Niall watched the city come closer into view as the ship approached dock. The Summer Court might not be at full power, but all the courts were able to exist at the level of comfort that only the wealthiest of mortals could afford. They didn’t always do so, but when traveling, Niall was grateful for his court’s wealth. Thanks to the Summer Court’s money, Niall had a reasonably sized cabin on the ship compared to the masses of mortals in steerage.
It was still difficult to cross the sea, more so because most of the great ships were wrought of iron. Iron and steel didn’t make him as ill as many fey, but it wasn’t pleasant to be trapped in the poisonous metal for roughly a week. Much of the Summer Court simply stayed in the Americas, but Niall and his fellow advisor, Tavish, were the unfortunate souls who would be sent as a forward party when their king thought the future queen was in this or that city.
This time, though, they’d found a suitable ship. He made a mental note that they ought to purchase it for future trips. Keenan, the Summer King, was always resistant to things that implied there would be future journeys in search of his queen, but Niall was more practical.
He had to be.
He’d traveled to Northern Europe where the king had found Rika, the current Winter Girl. With the curse on the court, the world would grow colder and colder until they found the one mortal who—unbeknownst to her--carried sunlight within her body. But Keenan had been looking for her for centuries. The girl in Northern Europe, Rika, was just one of the dozens who weren’t the missing queen. Now, Rika was somewhere on this same ship--which was why the Summer King was not. He was in mourning over her. He’d had such hope that she was his queen--and so had Rika.
The king would arrive on a separate ship, and Niall would be the one to comfort the Winter Girl, if she’d allow it. This, too, Niall did for his king.
“Sir?” a young man called him closer.
Niall carefully tucked his hands in his pockets, even though the common mannerism made him look like he ought not be able to afford the first-class passage he’d bought for himself and for Rika.
“Your lady went overboard,” the young man said awkwardly. He looked down as if unable to meet Niall’s gaze.
“She has difficulty with enclosed spaces,” Niall explained.
The newest Winter Girl was temperamental on the best of days, and currently she was likely out seeking the young woman that had called Keenan to New Orleans before Niall even reached the shore. That was the way it worked: The Winter Girl would try to convince each selected girl to refuse Keenan, and he would try to make the new girl love him enough to risk the test to determine if she was his destined queen.
“I appreciate you telling me that she has departed,” Niall added, smiling at the poor human who looked so distraught.
“We are not . . . her body . . .” The man twisted his hands together. “We might not retrieve her body, sir.”
Niall let out a long breath. “The lady is not dead.”
“Sir!”
With a gentle smile, Niall handed the man a generous tip. “I will attend to it.”
Once he arranged for delivery of his luggage, Niall joined the first group of men and women departing the ship. Another city. Another mass of humanity unaware of the dangers they couldn’t see. For all of their finite beauty, humans were best served by being kept unaware. Some fey saw fit to mingle with them more than was strictly necessary, but Niall was one of the people who argued against such acts. Keeping only the barest contact with mortals was the safest path. He avoided them. He definitely avoided even shaking hands unless he could keep his hands gloved.
He liked to think he would do so even if he wasn’t addictive to them.
A wicked voice somewhere in the back of his mind, the Dark King’s ever-tempting voice, reminded Niall that he hadn’t always thought this way. Images of limbs entangled, more bodies than he could count, more pleasure than he’d felt in years, flooded his mind. There was something precious in human passion, something that felt addictive to him, as well, but they weakened if he touched them.
They died.