Chapter Fifteen #2
“How’d you learn things? I know Declan had live-in caretakers. Not sure how Zyr did school. But what about you?” No. That wasn’t the right question. “Or, I guess, how did you learn what unseelie should or shouldn’t be? How to act?”
“I had tutors. Most fae do. And eventually, finishing school of a sort.” Everil offered that first answer quickly enough, but hesitated before speaking further. “The rest… I was not taught to think of it thus. I can explain if you wish.”
“Finishing school, like preparing you to get married finishing school? But yes, please, I love explanations.”
“To prepare me for society, yes. I was the only death aligned in attendance. My family held a House. It was mostly for those life aligned whose families felt they needed the extra polish.” Everil waved the topic away with a flick of his fingers.
“This is … difficult to explain. You asked how I learned to be unseelie.
But as I was raised, that word wasn't one I was to apply to myself.
Generously, it was outdated. The unseelie are the denizens of the Winter Court.
And the Winter Court is dead. Those who still use it for themselves were pathetic.
Regressive. This isn't…” He shot Robin a guilty look.
“I'm explaining what I was taught. Not what I believe.”
Oh, so what they taught them was really bad. Robin had heard that kind of disclaimer before. He’d given that sort of statement before, like a grimace and a “ew I feel gross saying that” situation.
Robin shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. Best nip that as quick as he could.
“If I thought you believed, like really believed, some hateful, anti-unseelie rhetoric deep down in your soul with no chance of change, I wouldn’t be asking you to tell me about it,” he said. “I stay away from bigoted fanatics if at all possible.”
Again, that quiet. Heavy, while Everil studied his hands.
“Wise,” he said at last. “Death aligned isn’t merely a new designation for unseelie.
Not as I was taught. It’s … an opportunity.
Because we’re taught the Winter Court was everything we’re meant to strive against. Violence.
Lust. Lawlessness. At its most basic, evil.
When most life aligned call someone unseelie, that is the intention behind it.
To say that person is evil to their soul.
Unchangeably, irredeemably so.” Another apologetic glance, but this time, Everil kept speaking.
“Death aligned is more aspirational. To say someone is death aligned is to say they are inclined to be evil, but they can rise above their nature. Which is why I cannot answer your question. I wasn’t taught how a good unseelie should behave, because I was taught there was no such thing.
And a good death aligned behaves like a life aligned.
Because as death is euphemistic for evil, life is euphemistic for all that is good. ”
It was Robin’s turn for quiet. For that same quiet anger he had the first time in Zyr’s upper library. Take away a name and create a new one, a ‘better’ one in its place, and strip away everything that they considered unsavory.
History is a palimpsest, written over by the victors.
The favorite tool of the oppressors.
“My—our, Bo and my grandfather—he was put in a school to strip away his language, culture, his family. His name. Everything.” Robin heard his own voice in that slightly distant way he always heard his anger, calm and level, before he took a breath and forced his focus back in.
“Kill the Indian, and save the man. He was lucky, I guess. He lived, and went as far south as he could.”
“I remember those schools, as they called them. It was a cruel time.” Everil’s lips pressed thin with disapproval.
“Hard understatement. They aren’t around anymore.
” Small, cold comfort, but it was all he could offer.
And he wouldn’t mention the ways the government still found to break people.
Not now. “At the finishing place, they essentially said you were evil any time you got snippy? Backsliding into something base and cruel.”
“That was, and is, the gist of it. Only… We, the death aligned, are death aligned. We’re killers or liars or rule breakers.
Storms. Floods. Hunger. A redcap’s aspect might best be described as ‘seeing the beauty in bloodshed.’” Everil rubbed at his hands, shoulders drawing in.
“It’s an easy thing, to learn to hate your nature, when your nature is dangerous.
This isn’t racism, as your people have known it.
They call us evil because of what they see in us, but what the see in us is real. ”
“And that’s why seelie scare the shit out of me. They are terrifying. And— wait. Here.” Robin grabbed one of the hand towels and shook it out before offering it to Everil. “Fold that. As small and tidy as possible.”
Everil made no effort to hide his confusion, blinking at the towel like it held the mysteries of both worlds. But then he smoothed it across his lap with deliberate care.
“The seelie?” he prompted.
“The seelie,” Robin repeated, with a towel of his own to keep the hands busy.
“They embody things that aren’t death or sex or destruction, and then go and do that anyway.
Like, if Bo went off on a rant about something, that’s just kind of him.
Bo talks rough and talks shit, and doesn’t hesitate to say his mind unless things get bad.
Meek silence from him means he’s freaked out.
Warning bells. But, like, let’s take a totally human version of you, with no inclination for rivers or eating people or anything.
Just this quiet, observant, shy, polite human man.
“Then that quiet, observant, shy, polite human man starts screaming all of a sudden, no warning, or pulls out a knife, or you find out he’s secretly a serial killer or likes to torture puppies.
Who the fuck can you trust after that? Who’s safe if the ‘good’ ones are the people doing heinous shit to anyone they want to, and framing it with a smile?
” Robin shook his head, sharp. “No way. To whatever hell might exist with that. It takes a special kind of monster to twist things so far just to justify the horrible things they want to do and the creative, nasty ways they might do it. Unpredictable and mean for whatever might become their reason. If a kelpie decides to eat people just because? Also scary. But at least the chances of them justifying it as ‘for their own good’ are significantly lower. Seelie are fucking terrifying.”
“Ah.” Everil hadn’t made it past the first fold in the hand towel.
He sat, gaze distant, breathing a little shallow.
When he spoke again, the words were halting.
“It is unsettling, when life aligned are driven to… When they are partial to violence. Rivers aren’t malicious.
We simply are. Malice in that which is aligned toward life, in joy or leadership or … the home … can be difficult to endure.”
Every bit of that screamed de-escalate. As true as the things Everil said were, the space between his words swallowed something bitter and old, stilled the kelpie’s hands in a way Robin didn’t like.
“Yeah. And I’d rather be around people who are honest about what they’re capable of and choose not to veer toward the extreme ends of malice.
Who don’t blame the other person so they can feel justified in what they want to do.
” Robin adjusted himself on the couch, just to move, to shift the weight, be something not in the distance that might pull Everil away.
“Did you know Jan made the towel you’re folding?
What do you think the little stitched design at the bottom looks like? ”
Everil treated the question with the same grave attention he had the last, lifting the towel and studying it with care, thumb moving over the embroidery.
“A horse?” he hazarded, his words placid again, smooth water and swift currents beneath. Distracted by the present and ridiculous ask, as intended.
Robin grinned. “Better guess than mine was. She says it’s an alligator, but it looks way more like a horse or dog.”
“Ah. An alligator. I see.”
“At least someone does. I sure don’t. Have you ever baked before? Like, by hand. Jan loves lemon cupcakes, and I haven’t made them for her in a while. An extra set of hands wouldn’t suck.”
It might, actually. But he could do this for Everil. Distract him. Try to make things a little more comfortable between them. They were practically inlaws.
“I’ve not much experience in kitchens,” Everil admitted, setting the embroidered towel to the side with the care. But breathing normally again, his gaze no longer fixed on some painful middle distance. “But I will do my best. Talia says I’m quite skilled at licking the beaters.”