18. The Truth

"Why'd you do it, Sam?"

Sam jumped. He hadn't heard Andrew open the back door to Magic's Repair, so when Andrew dropped into the chair next to him and spoke, it was to very unnerving effect.

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Sam sniffed and asked, "Can you be more specific?"

It was several days since Micah had erected the tree ward and cursed Cirrus into obscurity. Things were calm, for the most part, aside from the thrilling chaos of planning a short-notice wedding. Andrew had promised himself he would get some work done for his business, but that wasn't his main reason for coming into the shop.

Sam remained uncharacteristically still, suggesting he knew quite well what Andrew meant. It made him smile faintly.

"You didn't hand over the vial out of spite," Andrew said. He slid his brown bomber jacket off the short sleeve button-up he had underneath, making it so he matched Sam's outfit quite well. Collared shirts with novelty prints and jeans had been their unofficial uniform for seven years, after all, give or take a tastefully clashing necktie, like the one Sam was wearing that was covered in rainbow twenty sided dice. Sam's eyes returned to his computer, scanning the code as he chewed on his lip and tapped the backspace twice.

Andrew pressed, "You could have saved yourself from several lectures from several people if you'd mentioned the fact that you were protecting Julian."

Sam swallowed. "It didn't matter why I did it. I still effectively got Micah killed. Twice." He clicked the run button on his software, and then gave the program a dirty look before returning to the code.

"Did you know that's what she was going to do with it?" Andrew asked.

Sam shook his head, just slightly, barely noticeable.

Arwen jumped up on Sam's end of the desk. She raised her small black nose and sniffed lightly in Andrew's direction before narrowing her eyes. Andrew didn't need Micah to translate the expression: Andrew smelled like dog.

"I'm sorry you were ever put in a position like that because of me," said Andrew.

Sam glanced at him and said quickly, "Don't quit. Please."

Andrew paused. "I—"

Sam stared at his keyboard. "Do you want to, or are you trying to do it to protect me?"

Andrew wheeled closer to him, considering the best way to explain himself.

Glancing over at him, Sam did a double take, peering seriously into his eyes. "You look different."

"How's that?"

"Your eyes used to be gold-brown. Now they're, like…mahogany," Sam said. "And you…I don't know, there's something else. You seem a little blurrier around the edges." When Andrew began to protest, Sam waved a hand. "Anyway, continue."

Resting his cheek on his fist, Andrew said slowly, "I don't want to quit. I put everything on the line when I opened this dumb little shop. You know for the first few years, I only got three customers a day—maybe? And two of them—"

"—Were asking for directions to the convention center," laughed Sam. "I know. You tell that story all the time."

"Sorry. I'm going senile."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Just because my life has changed a lot in the last nine years doesn't mean I don't still want this place."

"Well, that's good," said Sam. "Now save yourself the ‘but.' I'm not accepting your resignation. You're going down with the ship."

Andrew frowned. "I'm afraid my shifted priorities will put you at risk. You said it yourself that I'm different. Now more than ever. What if I keep bringing around trouble like Cirrus?"

Eyes on his screen, Sam's lips twitched. "Cirrus." He shook his head slowly. "Cirrus was a special kind of bitch. I learned a lot from getting screwed over by her, you know?" He glanced sidelong at Andrew with his hazel eyes flashing. "I'm hoping it's improved my judgment. And you know who else improves my judgment?"

"Arwen," said Andrew automatically.

On her bed between the monitors, Arwen lifted her head and blinked slowly, making them both laugh.

"You, ya bloody goof," said Sam, exaggerating Andrew's accent. Andrew socked him in the shoulder, making him grin. "You've always looked out for me." Sam paused, his smile fading. "Kinda like how I wanna look out for Julian."

"He's crazy about you," agreed Andrew.

Sam's lips twitched slightly as he leaned back in his chair, picking a cat hair off his keyboard. "He and I are oddly kind of similar these days, you know?"

Andrew wanted to agree, but confusion furrowed his brow instead, and he waited in silence for Sam to elaborate.

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Sam glanced at Andrew. "We're both in the same orbit, circling around you and Micah, the brightest goddamn sunspots of all time."

Early spring in Micah's back garden normally meant trying not to cross the line by bringing all his perennials back to life too soon after the first thaw. But this year, magenta coneflowers blossomed right before his eyes as soon as he approached. By the time he sat next to Liath in the dry brown grass, fat pink peonies reached for him, tickling his spine through the thin fabric of his striped tee.

Holding a smooth beige stone, Liath stole a glance at him with afternoon sunlight sparkling in her crinkling eyes.

Micah grimaced sheepishly. He stroked the silky petal of a peony with two fingers, and the blossom swelled under his touch. "I usually offer to help the neighbors garden, but this might raise some red flags."

Over their heads on the patio bench, Julian swigged an Arnold Palmer and said brusquely, "Anyone nosy enough to say something would clearly just be jealous." It was so rare that Julian was out in the sun enough to transition the lenses of his glasses that the effect made him ooze confidence. That, or he was trying to impress Liath, which was a delightful development Andrew and Micah had noticed over the last few days. With Fionna staying in Lilydale under the supervision of Nox, Cosmos, and Spirulina until the cairn waypoints were activated, Julian and Liath had been spending most of their quiet time together under the guise of tying up the last of the wedding plans for the grooms.

Dirt smeared Liath's forearms up to her rolled up sweatshirt sleeves. A bandana held her short auburn hair out of her eyes. She knelt on a gardening pad in a well-worn pair of jeans and her feet bare, despite the nip still in the air. Slowly, she laid the twelfth stone on the top of the child-sized tower in the corner of Micah's garden under the shadow of the patio overhead. It was a surreptitious monument, unlikely to attract attention any more than Micah's superb gardening did.

"So—" Micah looked up as Julian leaned between his knees to peer at them through the slats of the wooden deck. "Are there going to be Folk busting through there around the clock now?"

Urgently, Micah waved both hands. "Absolutely not. It's mostly for me, Andrew, and Fi. The Folk have been told to still generally use the shadows or travel in and out of Lilydale on foot."

"Oh." Julian frowned.

Cocking his head, Micah smiled faintly. "Did you…want visitors from Lilydale, Dad?"

Julian turned his head deliberately to glare inside, away from Micah. "N-no."

Micah's smile widened. "I'm sure if you ever want to leave out any food for the Folk, they'd be happy to stop for a snack. We didn't get any of our engagement cake leftovers. It was spirited away. They loved it."

Julian looked down through the slats. "Really?"

"Really." Micah savored the pleased smile Julian tried to suppress before returning his attention to Liath. "What's next, ma'am?"

Liath shook her head. "Nothing except to test it."

"It just works, just like that?"

"Aye. You created a leyline," Liath told him.

Micah stared blankly at her. She didn't know him well enough to identify the confusion on his face; to her, he just looked a little ditzy, so she stared back at him without supplying more explanation.

"He doesn't know what that is." Julian's amusement was stuffed aggressively out of his voice to avoid riling his son up. Based on the sharp nightshade glare Micah sent up between Julian's feet, that was unsuccessful.

Liath patiently set her hands in her lap. "Whatever you did to anoint your home has the same magic as your tree circle in Lilydale, so there's now a sort of…energetic string stretching out between here and there. So I merely used the stones as a doorknob."

"Ma'am, all due respect, but how can you do this stuff?" Micah demanded, equal parts impressed by her wisdom and humiliated by his own ignorance. He settled himself by pruning a dried iris bud off the stalk at his hip. As soon as he snipped off the tip with his fingernails, an infant bud unfurled like a sleepy purple bird between the pads of his fingers.

"What do you mean by ‘this stuff'?" She was as exacting as her son.

"Magic." Micah carefully plucked free the new blossom and held it out to Liath. "I've seen what witches have to do in order to access magic. Borrowing from powers already there and bending it to their will with spells and demands. You don't quite do magic like a faerie, but you don't do it like them. And Andrew—" When Liath gently took the iris from his fingers, she lifted it to her slender nose and breathed in its sweet, fresh scent. "Andrew seems to get some benefit from using my staff." To ensure there was no double entêndre, Micah pulled the birchwood off his wrist and extended it to its full length before laying it at his knees between him and Liath. "But my understanding is that, to someone with no magical inclination like Sam, this would be no more useful than a walking stick. It's an enhancement to magic. A paintbrush to an artist—useless without ability. But it's helped Andrew heal on two occasions so far, which means it's enhanced an ability that's already there. How? What am I missing about Druids?"

Liath shifted uneasily. "There are books that might answer your question, Lord Heartwood."

"So you're hiding something."

"No! No—" Liath held up both hands, eyes wide. "No. Not to be deceptive." When she paused, Micah stared her down until she swallowed. "I—I grew up burdened by the knowledge. My Ma told me when I was a girl about our Druid lineage. It was at times a boon, but when it wasn't, it made my mistakes go septic. I resented it and myself. It often took away my sense of agency, making me feel as if I failed to live up to some higher purpose. I never wanted to do that to my son. So I never disclosed it. But I would never have lied if he'd asked."

Realization dawned on Micah like a sunrise. His lips parted. Everything aligned like a solar eclipse. Chamomile called Andrew ‘Tall One' the moment they met. His easy grace with a blade…his use of runes of protection…his lanky elegance, unnatural stillness, how much he looked and acted like Ingrid. Eda had almost told Andrew a few weeks ago. "Druids are descendants of the Folk. Aren't you?"

Liath's pink tongue darted out to moisten her slender lips. She dropped her eyes, her shoulders sagging as she wrung her hands together. Relief, shame—Micah couldn't be sure what he saw. "Aye."

Micah sat back heavily, the peonies eagerly clambering about his shoulders like a rustling shawl so fragrant he could taste them. "Whoa."

She swallowed. "Was I wrong? To withhold that."

Andrew Vidasche, descendant of Fair Folk. Micah wanted him home this instant, but to blurt out this news? Not necessarily. "N…No, actually. I think he…at least—at least some part of him would be glad he didn't know."

True relief brought glittering tears to Liath's lashes. "Aye?"

Micah nodded. "He said on the way home from the hospital that he wasn't looking for answers. He just knew what he could see, and that was all he said he needed to know." He brushed a speck of soil off his staff. "But, Miss Ryan, I'm not sure I can…just…not tell him. Honesty is humanity to me."

"I'm sorry," said Liath.

"It's all right."

They both jumped. Micah followed the elegant line of Liath's throat and her tipped back chin to the balcony over their head, where Andrew stood in a bomber jacket and a button-down, gripping the railing with white knuckles, auburn hair billowing around his shoulders. Julian, always minding his business, focused on a pointedly long pull of his Arnold Palmer.

"Child—"

"Really." Andrew tucked his hair behind his ear before he thumped slowly down the steps to the garden where his mother and fiancé sat in the grass. Micah gaped silently at him as the peonies shifted toward Andrew as if he brought the sunlight with him. Andrew stopped next to Micah, leg brushing his shoulder. Micah twined his arm around Andrew's calf. They shouldn't have, but those lean runner's muscles felt different now. Andrew had a composed, intellectual look on his alabaster features suggesting to Micah that this would be something processed slowly, probably later tonight in the dark in their room, and that Andrew was firmly shielding himself with neutrality.

Liath grimaced. "Forgive us for discussing you without you."

Shrugging, Andrew carded his fingers through Micah's hair. "I know this one wanted some answers. Best they came before I married a faerie prince, I suppose. Might I ask some more questions?"

"Of course. Anything you'd like."

Andrew remained silent, jaw working. His hand fell away from Micah's head as he slowly curled his fingers into fists, eyes round, looking lost. "I…I don't actually know, at the moment." Micah rubbed the back of his thigh with a reassuring smile when Andrew glanced down at him.

Liath leaned into the grass and started to rise. Quickly, Andrew helped her up with his hand on her bicep. She gave him a shy, appreciative smile before stooping to brush off her knees and ankles. Lifting her eyes to study Andrew's face, she held her dirt-caked hands as if she was trying her hardest to abstain from offering him a comforting touch.

"This has always been the truth for you and it always will be. You needn't push yourself to form an opinion or know your feelings in any sort of rush."

Andrew nodded, blinking several times. Distantly, he gestured toward the cairn. "Can I help?"

"It's done." Liath was about to prop her hands on her hips before she noticed her dirty hands. "Right. I'm going to go wash up. Excuse me, lads." She slipped around them and thudded quietly on the stairs, pausing to speak to Julian, who prompted an immediate laugh from her.

Julian tapped his foot against the wood over their heads. "Make sure you're back in time for dinner, and bring Fionna!"

"Yes, Dad." Standing and tucking his staff under his armpit, Micah clasped Andrew's hand before looking up and quickly calling to the woman before she could disappear inside. "Liath, how do we do this?"

"Draw a circle round yourselves in the dirt, and then step toward the cairn." Liath had her own glass of Arnold Palmer—either that, or Julian had given her his. Saluting her and winking at his father, Micah obeyed using the end of his staff in the dirt. When he completed the circle, he urged Andrew forward with an arm around his narrow waist. And just like that—no racing over the land or tripping out again, no jerking or vertigo—they were in Lilydale. Like stepping through a doorway. The upper cairn was right outside Micah and Andrew's hut, so it was almost like they could have been inside it the whole time. Micah sneezed enormously, while Andrew sniffed as if trying to fight his back.

Andrew took a step, faltered, and then fat, gleaming tears leaked from his eyes. They raced down his cheeks as his mouth screwed up and his eyes squeezed closed. Nearby, Ingrid, Chamomile and Fiona looked over from the basket of flowers they were stringing together. Fiona yelped and scampered over, throwing herself around Andrew's waist with a whimper of concern.

"Look at me," choked Andrew. He rubbed at his eyes with his jacket sleeve while tangling his fingers in Fionna's coarse hair. His stomach cramped as if the new information clattering in his brain wanted to expel itself out of his body. "I'd rather cry in Lilydale than in front of my own mother."

"But why, Dad-Andrew? Why are you sad?" Fionna nuzzled his stomach.

Andrew dropped himself onto the rug outside their hut. Fionna crowded into his lap while Micah stepped inside to fetch one of the water bottles from their nightstand. "I–I'm not sad, pup…I just…" He took the bottle from Micah, but his hands trembled so badly that he couldn't unscrew the cap.

Micah laid his hand over Andrew's and held them there. "Some part of you knew." He kept his voice a low purr in Andrew's ear, lips ghosting over his soft earlobe before he laid his chin on Andrew's shoulder. "Just breathe, babe. You've got plenty of time."

Andrew took a few hiccupping breaths before he gave up and focused on Micah's warm hand cupping his, and the heavy weight of the girl curled up in his lap, clinging to his chest, golden eyes on his face. The air up here smelled like Micah's newly grown trees, like summer, like venison stew cooking in a cauldron. Andrew slowly unscrewed his water and took a few small sips, holding the cold on his tongue. After he swallowed, he sighed and shut his eyes. "My ancestors were Fae." Saying it aloud cemented it, assured him he didn't imagine the whole conversation between Lord Heartwood and his mother.

"You know?" Chamomile's songbird voice drilled directly into his teeth, loud and sharp.

Andrew opened one eye and glared at the goblin, who was throwing flower stems into the air with glee.

Ingrid pressed her hand to her breast. "Ugh, finally."

Micah groaned, and then he and Andrew both started to laugh.