27. Tate

Tate

He'd known the moment he'd stepped into the hallway, after he'd extricated himself from a conversation with the traveling troll couple and several others, leaving the ballroom to travel the short distance to the outer doors, what would be waiting for him on the other side.

The smell of smoke drifted in the air, pushed by some invisible breeze, tickling at his nose, even through the winery's heavy oaken doors. As he stepped out of the reception hall, Tate closed his eyes, nearly able to pick out the sound of faraway pipes.

The mortals on this side of the veil viewed the fae world as wild, unpredictable, unknowable. They were wrong. As Tate pushed the doors open, finding himself surrounded by the trees of a regrettably familiar forest, he rolled his eyes. They were entirely predictable.

The forest was lit with eyes that night. Beady and small, glowing red from low bushes and in the black branches of trees, watching and waiting. He did not need to walk far before finding him.

Cadoc stood beside the crystal pool of water, looking up at the moon with his hands clasped behind his back, turning as Tate approached as if he were startled to find him there. Tate rolled his eyes again. He could very much do without the theatrics. He stopped, a few feet away from the pool. Stopped, and waited.

The fae man cocked his head, luminescent beneath the moon, but said nothing, doing his own waiting, his lips pressed tight in a smile that crinkled his honey-gold eyes. All around them the forest held its breath, red eyes unblinking.

Tate sighed. "If you're just going to stand here staring all fucking night, I have better things to do, you know."

At that, the other man's smile split. Sharp and jagged, an endless maw of knife-like teeth, stretching and unfathomable, his soft laughter like the tinkling of a tiny bell. All around the clearing Tate merely rolled his eyes again, as more than half of the watching eyes vanished from sight, pulling away at the sound of his voice.

Cadoc considered him, cocking his head, gruesome smile never slipping. "You've been gone for a very long time," said suddenly, his voice light and his tone conversational, as if the thought had only just occurred to him and he was discussing something as inconsequential and uninteresting as the weather.

"Have I? I suppose I hadn't noticed." Tate patted his jacket pocket, feeling for and finding his cigarettes. He didn't enjoy smoking, took no enjoyment from the taste or the effects of the nicotine, but he liked having empty hands less. He took his time lighting the thing, sliding the lighter back in his pocket before taking a deep drag. Only then did he turn back to the conversation. "What exactly is a long time to you?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question, he thought.

After all, time meant nothing to them. Time was not a concept they understood, and as a consequence, they cared not at all about it. It was always night at the Court of Autumn. The Bonfire Queen presided over an endless night of revelry, the celebration of the final harvest, of hunting and feasting and dancing, bonfire flames flickering to the sky, a celebration of the end of life, a breath before death blanketed the woods in a frozen winter stasis.

How could they possibly understand that while they drank their honeyed wine and hunted beasts through the forest, that somewhere else, the sun was rising? That the sun would rise and set, over and over, making an endless journey across the sky, marking the passage of that one thing of which they had no comprehension. They did not age like mortals. Their bodies did not break down, their cells slowing and freezing once they fully developed, keeping them locked in place, forever young and beautiful. How could they know that outside of this black wood, the beings who walked on the other side of the veil lived and died, the consequence of time?

The elves used to be the same, Tate thought with a pang. The preferred consorts to the high fae, once upon a time ago, chosen for their vicious, bloodthirsty nature and beauty. Mixing Elvish blood with fae blood had resulted in Elvish blood lines that flourished for centuries, living for more than a thousand years, perfect and untouchable. Silva had the spirit of one of those ancient Elvish warriors, but too many generations of intermingling the blood with lesser species had diminished the effect of the fae completely. Instead, his vicious little dove would live a whole lifetime without him, there in the sun. She might live her entire life before he made it back to her.

Tate sucked on the end of his cigarette, pushing all thoughts of Silva out of his mind. Not now. Not here.

Cadoc laughed at the question, as if it were a jape. He seemed in a merry mood. Tate knew from experience that boded ill for anyone in his path.

"You know," he said at last, consideringly, "I have no idea." Another laugh, as if the mere notion of asking him to consider time to be too preposterous for words. "Just one minute you were there, and poof." Another cheerful chuckle. "The next minute you weren't. You do have a way of finding hidden corners, don't you . . . still." His demeanor changed, spine straightening, his smile stretching into one devoid of humor, his eyes lethal. "Your absence has been noted, dear heart. Our Lady wishes for your immediate return. Your presence is requested back at court."

Tate took his time, blowing out a slow lungful of smoke in the other man's direction. "Is that what you are now? Errand boy?"

For the briefest instant, Cadoc froze. His grin hardened into a grimace as Tate looked around in disinterest, before mirth returned to his features, his low laugh a deadly warning. All around them, the trees had gone black, the watching beasts fleeing from the silky menace in his laughter.

Tate didn't move, as Cadoc approached. Didn't stiffen his stance or shift his weight, stayed exactly as he was, as if the other man were merely a gnat, circling him slowly. When the fae man leaned in, plucking a stray lock of Tate's silky black hair, he held it to his nose for a minute, rubbing smoothness between his fingers before letting it drop. When he laughed again, sounding delighted. Tate tightened. Anger was predictable. Glee was far more dangerous.

"Sometimes, dear heart, things have a way of happening in just the right order, don't you think?" He looked at Tate a bit closer, his eyes squinting as he did so. "You're looking quite unwell. This mortal life does not agree with you, sweetling. Come. It's time to get back to where you belong." He held out a hand, beckoning, reaching, waiting for Tate to reach back, to take his hand and follow him down the path.

He had replayed that moment in his head time after time after time. Wanting to scream at the boy he'd been. They don't understand you, sweetling. They couldn't possibly, how could they? This is where you belong, dear heart. Haven't you always wanted to belong? It was all he'd wanted, all he'd ever wanted. And somehow, this cunt had known exactly where his weakness was.

"That's not going to work this time." Tate kept his voice even and bored-sounding. Just a predictable cunt. All he ever was. "I'm not a child you can lead away with pretty words, not anymore."

The blade was out and pressed to his throat in the blink of an eye, even faster, faster for him to have registered the other man's hand moving to the scabbard at his hip. Tate smiled. Leaned into the tip, allowing it to pierce his skin, not stopping until he knew a drop of blood was welling there.

"That's not going to work either. D'you think I'm afraid to die, you miserable cunt? You must be codding." A smile of his own, just as terrible. "That's the thing about leaving someone with nothin' left to lose. You don't give a fuck. So you go ahead and do whatever it is you want to do, errand boy. It'll not bother me either way."

Cadoc smiled again, a slow scratch of teeth and menace. His eyes danced with merriment. Tate swallowed hard as the blade was removed just as quickly as it had been pressed to his skin. His grandfather leaned in closely, lips nearly touching the shell of his ear.

"Oh, but you do, dear heart. I think you have much to lose." Another smile, this one lit with delight, the cat who knows it has its prey cornered. "Come. Her Majesty awaits."

He had taken several steps back up the path, leaving Tate fuming there, trying to calculate the footsteps, and if he moved quickly enough, would he be able to simply step back through to her.

Cadoc stopped. Turned his head. "Bring the girl."

Tate froze. Cadoc grinned again.

His mind could not work fast enough. He could not keep her safe. He could not keep her close and keep her safe. Not like this.

"I can't go with you just yet." He kept his voice as unaffected as he could, but Tate was trembling in rage, a clarion call of warning screaming through his brain, reminding him of the importance to keep the upper hand. He could feel his grandfather there beside him, his real grandfather, the man who'd raised him, who'd loved him, like a shade at his elbow, as he'd been his entire life.

They were leaning over the billiard table in the parlour, and he was staring down his first tricky combination shot. There's no need to act hasty now, lad. You only get one shot. Don't waste it on nerves. Make sure it counts. He breathed, low and slow, centering himself. That was how he won at the tables. He kept him self centered and slow. Breathe. "I have a few things to tie up first. You'd not understand, but it's quite unavoidable. No matter, it won't take me long. Besides," Tate spat out. "You cannot rush me. I'll do what I fuckin' want. You want to chuck that blade through my eye? Go right ahead. We'll see our lady appreciates you bloodying one of her favorite pets. Again," he added, gratified when the other man scowled.

"I won't wait long," Cadoc sniffed. "And if you don't bring the girl on your own accord, no worries, dear heart." He produced a golden coin, large and shining, flipping it through his fingers like a parlor trick, letting it spin on his long, sharp nail before snatching it out of the air with another one of those blistering smiles. "I won't have trouble finding her. After all, she invited me. I do love elves. They're always fighters."

Tate froze again, feeling the blood leeching out of him, leaving him a frozen, empty husk. The coin. That fucking wishing well. He'd told her . . . but he'd been too late to stop her. Tate recovered a heartbeat later, nodding carelessly and turning away, giving the beast ample time to attack from behind, if he were inclined to do so.

The forest melted away as he stepped through a cluster of trees, pulling open the open door to Talontail Winery. He needed to get her out of here. He could not keep her close and keep her safe. Keeping her safe was paramount, even if it cost him everything. It has already, boyo.

He would bring her home and kiss her goodbye for the last time.

What you should've done a year ago. What you should've done that very first weekend. You've always known this was going to happen eventually. He would bring her home and set her free, her and all of his closely held dreams. He needs to get back to the Pixie. Needed to put the car up, say goodbye to his old girl, get things ready for Elshona. She would come finding them eventually.

He would miss this life.

His entire miserable existence, he made sure not to get too involved. Not to get too close. He stayed on the periphery of other people's lives, never allowing himself to be entangled in their needs and emotions. It was easier that way. This time, though . . . He'd been cocky. So certain he could outrun them, so sure he was hidden, tucked away in this new world. He should've never let any of them in as close as they had. Shona, Ains, Cym. Silva most especially. You should've let her walk out of the restaurant without ever knowing your name.

It was what he should have done, but he hadn't. And now he had to correct his mistake. Cadoc was right. He had much to lose.

He needed to get back that coin. Get it back and close the door to her, and if that meant closing it on himself, so be it. He would keep her safe, or die trying, and it didn't matter how many fucking faeries had to spill blood along the way. She was all that mattered.

He would have to kill him in the end. Tate was sure of it. They wanted him back, they would get him back, and they would bleed for the pleasure. He'd see to it.

Careful what you wish for.