Episode Eighty-Seven

FAE QUARREL

When I accidentally faced my fae brother in the mortal courthouse not that long ago, he overpowered me easily. I'm not so foolish now. I know better than to go toe-to-toe with him without a plan. Which means I need something else, an edge over him, even if I have been unbound and now have an unwieldy winter power that seems to have no qualms about harming anyone in its path.

I find myself, yet again, with a power I don't know how to use properly or control when I need it. So it's not a viable weapon.

I have the vampires and the shifters on my side, but they're the muscle. My best bet is witch or fae magic.

Which is why Bianca and Baspin are now sitting in the Duval House library at my invitation. Bran and Cal are with me. Cal is sitting in one of the leather chairs on my left enjoying a beer someone fetched for him. Bran is on my right, arms crossed over his chest. He's already drank two glasses of bourbon, and he doesn't seem any less settled. If given the chance, I think he would tear Arion's head from his shoulders just for having the audacity to come after me.

"I need something that will help me kidnap Arion," I tell Bianca and Baspin.

Bianca's eyes get big. "Arion, as in the Lord of the Summer Court?"

"You know him?" I ask her.

"Of course. I did an exchange term with the fae in eleventh grade. I worked beneath him for months. He is extremely powerful."

"He's my brother," I tell her. "Half, actually."

"No fucking way." Her eyes get bigger and her mouth drops open. She looks at Baspin for confirmation.

"The girl tells the truth." Baspin has his legs crossed, one hand curled around the side of his face with his elbow propped on the arm of the chair. He seems bored, but I think that's just the way he is.

"How do I best him?" I ask them both.

"It won't be easy," Baspin says.

"I need everyone to stop telling me things will be easy or hard." I give Bran and Cal a pointed look.

Cal laughs through his nose and shakes his head. Bran just scowls at me.

"What would either stop Arion or subdue him?" I ask.

"I wish I could tell you I could help you with witch magic." Bianca frowns, her perfectly shaped brows sinking over her green eyes. "But if I'm being totally honest, witch magic is beneath fae magic. We usually need something to draw from. Blood, plants, elements. Fae magic can function on its own. It needs no source. It is the source."

I had no idea. And having no idea how the different magics even work is an embarrassing underscore on just how much I don't know about who and what I am. Or what I'm capable of.

"Okay." I glance at Baspin. "You got anything?"

"Well." He pulls his hand away from his face and straightens in the chair. "Weapons used against other fae are crafted with fae magic. There are lots of fae weapons in our realm and in yours. Obviously retrieving one from your side would be easier than journeying into the fae realm. So my question would be, do you know of anyone in Midnight who possesses objects crafted by the fae?"

My mind goes to Stanley first. Maybe he has weapons hiding in the diner? But no, I don't think so. It's not like he crafted a magical spatula in his spare time. And what would I do with that anyway? Tempt Arion out of hiding with a magical grilled cheese?

So Stanley is out.

And then I remember something I spotted on Rita's shelves in her office in the back of the coffee shop when I confronted her about the amulet.

"What about a red flower called fae quarrel?" I ask.

Baspin sits upright. "Are you sure it wasn't Qua rrel?"

When he pronounces it, it sounds like two words, not one, with a roll of his tongue on the R.

"Maybe?" I admit. The label on Rita's jar was peeling and faded, the handwriting hasty. "Why?"

He narrows his eyes. "Where do you have a Qua rrel?"

"Tell me what it is first."

With a sigh, he says, "The fae Qua rrel is typically crafted from faerie botanica rubrum and if the one you have is red, then it sounds authentic. But the rubrum were destroyed in the Autumn Revolt."

"Why?" I ask.

"The Royal line from the Winter Court has the ability to control with their voice. But many years ago, they learned that if they put their magic into the rubrum flower, they could cast their control."

"So the flower is like a speaker or something?"

Baspin shakes his head. "It emits no sound. It's nearly undetectable. You merely speak into it what you want done and then place it wherever needed. In this case, you'd want it in the same room with Arion for it to work."

Despite the fact that I haven't set eyes on this flower in weeks, and don't even know if Rita would give it to me, or if I have the ability needed to put my magic into it, I ask Baspin, "Would you be willing to take it to Arion?"

He grins a smug, crooked grin. "Of course, Your Highness."

I still have keys to the coffee shop so when I call Rita to ask her if I can have the flower, she says, "I was wondering when you'd ask," and then tells me to go ahead and let myself in.

Bran and Cal and Keiko and Baspin all come to the coffee shop with me. It's late now and most of the shops on the street are closed, so we don't look too out of place, a merry band of vampire, shifter, and fae entering a witch's coffee shop.

The others wait in the front while Bran and I make our way to the back. I find the jar right where I spotted it before, tucked in between books and other jars full of various witchy goodies.

Gingerly, I bring the jar down and inspect the flower inside. The petals look just as velvety as I remember them, but the stamen has a slight glow to it that I didn't notice before.

"You haven't said much about this plan." I look up at Bran, hovering by the doorway.

"All of it is a risk to you and so I am worried about every part of it."

There's no emotion in his voice, but his words are telling enough. Bran has gotten really good over the years at hiding his emotions, but I like that he doesn't mince words with me anymore.

He tells me like it is, even if it shows his vulnerabilities.

"Just think of how amazing our lives will be if we can get over this hump."

He snorts. "You say that like it's a flat tire or an unwanted bill."

"I'm optimistic."

"I've never had patience for optimism."

"I know." I go to him, clutching the flower jar close to my chest, almost like it's a baby. "You're more pragmatic. Just stab people who don't agree with you."

He tries to pretend like that doesn't amuse him, but it does. I can see the glint in his eye.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"Yes, fine, little mouse. I like killing people who get in my way. If that makes me pragmatic, then so be it."

I grow serious. "I don't want to kill Arion. He's the only real family I have left."

Bran tilts his head, examining me. "You do know that blood means nothing when one is trying to kill you."

"You can't tell me you and Damien haven't tried to kill each other once or twice."

"Of course we have. The difference is, he and I are immortal, and we are very hard to kill for real. You age slowly and heal quicker than mortals. But you are not invincible. Not like a vampire."

"Thanks for pointing out my deficiencies."

"I'm serious, Mouse. One must always know their limitations. You can't win a war by pretending you have none."

For a second I fall into his trap and I believe him. After all, I've spent most of my life believing I had many, many limitations in a town full of supernatural beings that had none.

But I'm not that girl anymore.

Like Bran already told me, I never was her.

I was always a fae princess, always careening toward war, whether I knew it or not.

"Do you believe in me?" I ask him.

He uncrosses his arms. "I believe in your determination," he admits. "I worry about your recklessness." His gaze goes distant, like he's trapped by a thought.

"And?" I prompt.

"And—" His eyes dart back to me, irises just beginning to glow amber. "And if I lost you, I would come undone. So I worry about your recklessness, about you getting hurt. And most of all, I worry about who I would become if I lost you."

My heart squeezes in my chest, hearing his admission.

I set the jar down on Rita's desk and then lunge at Bran, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely.

He sinks into the kiss easily with a welcoming ferocity, his hands griping the backs of my thighs, hoisting me up into his arms.

When we break the kiss, I tell him, "You've taught me how to be calculated."

He kisses me again, slipping me his tongue.

I pull back. "And you've taught me how to be brave."

He grumbles. "Should have never done that."

"And most importantly, you've taught me how to be fierce."

He spins me around and presses me against the doorframe, planting another kiss on my mouth. And all of his love and worry and fear for us makes me fizzy with happiness, but it also makes me bold.

"I want to take my rightful place in the court," I confess.

Our mouths linger, just an inch apart. My hair spills forward as I press my forehead against his.

"Whatever will come of me, I need to do it, Bran."

He closes his eyes, stealing the amber glow for a split second. His shoulders rise with a deep breath and then he expels it, ruffling my hair.

When he opens his eyes again, he nods against me. "You must do what you must do. No one knows better than me that regret will haunt you like a ghost."

I don't need him to tell me he's referring to his little sister and I don't want to press him for more of it.

"Thank you." I kiss him with a quick peck and then he lets me down to retrieve the flower.

Is it reckless to put so much faith in a flower trapped in a jar?

Maybe. But this is about more than defeating the Summer Queen.

It's as much about her as it is about saving my brother.

And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get him on my side.