Chapter Twenty-Four #2
He’d done so much for Declan. Declan could hold tight to things for Antonio. They were fine, the human said. So Declan would be fine.
“The Council’s shit.” Voids, it felt good to say. “Half the time I think I’m back at a club on some horrid pills, hallucinating. Then I realize it lacks the unironic use of ‘as if’ from blokes in bucket hats.”
Hyacinth’s snicker felt good. Familiar in a way that didn’t hurt.
“No point focusing on the shit you won’t do. Waste of time. You’ve got until they kill you, so use it.” Hyacinth rapped the table, three hard knocks. “Tell me what you’re after. And not ‘save Faerie’ bullshit. Need to know what you’re hurting for. Friends? Connections? A few more seats cleared?”
“All of the above. But preferably connections that won’t wear only glamour to a party because they know Hollow can’t see it.”
Hyacinth’s blue-green eyes lit with sudden interest.
“Seats don’t come cheap. Got some people I’ll need to talk to. The rest though, that’s doable. Throw you and your bond a proper party. Friends, friends of friends, and seelie with potential who don’t want you dead.”
“Meeting those who don’t wish me dead would be a refreshing change.”
“There’s at least a few who can be coaxed to your side in the right company.” Hyacinth polished off his drink, setting the empty tumbler down with a solid thud. “It’ll cost.”
No surprise there. Hyacinth enjoyed being generous, but only to those he could keep in his debt.
“What have you got in mind?”
“I need to talk to someone. Think you might be able to arrange it.”
“My mother? Colm?” Declan couldn’t imagine why Hyacinth wouldn’t just approach them directly, but, the sidhe’s asks were often sideways.
“My dad.”
Voids. Hyacinth’s father, his human father, was long dead.
Declan stared at him, lips parted on an instinctive “fuck right off” that didn’t leave him. All fae had their rules. Sidhe didn’t yield. Sluagh didn’t use their aspect to purposefully summon a specific soul. Some things simply weren’t asked for.
Any other fae would have seen the sharp end of his claws.
“Got a second offer?” he asked, instead. Anything else.
“Not asking lightly.” For a second, just a second, Declan could have sworn he saw a flash of vulnerability in Hyacinth’s eyes. “I need this, Declan. He didn’t go clean.”
No. From what Declan had heard, he hadn’t.
“Just the once?”
“Twice for every real connection you make. Means it’s on you, what the cost comes to.”
“Once for every three. And bonded pairs count as singles.”
It took another drink before they settled. One time for each unattached. One for bonded pairs, or three for every two pairs. And if Hyacinth’s father refused to speak or didn’t remember his son, it wouldn’t be considered a mark against Declan.
“You don’t breathe a word of this outside your bond. Not even to your clever mother.”
“And you tell no one.”
“I tell Orrim.”
Well, Orrim was as close to a bond as Hyacinth seemed likely to have, considering he’d turned down every offer he’d received.
“He’d figure it out, anyway,” Declan said.
“Settled, then,” Hyacinth offered, his briefly serious expression returning to a grin. “Still think that if you two are lighting matches, maybe don’t throw them at your feet. But, if that’s the game, I’ll see you get a proper pyre.”
Strange, that it could still feel so familiar, drinking with Hyacinth and bitching about Faerie’s suffocating politics. The two of them more than a few glasses in before Lysander came up the stairs, having apparently watched the clock better than either of them.
“Good boy,” Hyacinth said, and ruffled the Gate’s hair with unchecked affection, before giving Declan a final, upward nod of acknowledgment. “I’ll let you know when it’s all arranged.”
“Florian said he’d wait downstairs,” Lysander put in, sounding far too earnest for a boy raised under the same roof as Kesk and Veroni.
“Grand.” And apparently, that was enough acknowledgment for both of them, because Lysander twisted the very fabric of reality, as only Gates could, and the pair was gone.
Downstairs, the sounds of bottles clinking, laughter, and booze-soaked debates filled the air.
All movement, save for Florian at the end of the bar, finishing up a beer with the same look he always wore when doing something he enjoyed: borderline boredom.
The expression didn't change when he caught Declan's eye.
"D'you mind waiting around a bit longer?" Declan asked once in earshot. "I need some air. Refamiliarize myself with the place."
Florian stared at him for a beat. Then, after a glance around, he slid out of his chair. "I do mind. I'll walk with you."
"I'm fine without company, Florian. I'm not about to go partying again."
"No," Florian said, lips pursed. "I suppose not."
The matter settled, Declan turned to go. He needed to be outside. Away. Florian fell in step beside him without a word, stubbornly unshakable. Declan bit back anger, something sharp on the tongue that he didn't have the energy for.
He didn't have the energy for much these days.
Florian didn’t speak, at least. Allowed Declan to walk the Belfast streets, shoulders and jaw tight. And Declan couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a prick.
He should probably head back. Or ask Florian to take him to the garage; ask Antonio if he minded Declan joining him and Mara.
All the more reason to keep walking. Because Antonio wouldn't mind, or he would and say yes anyway, because he loved Declan. He’d allow Declan one more slice of his life, the time he spent with his niece, the way Declan had taken everything else from him.
What happiness he’d known, stolen because Declan had thought he could burn the world down in hopes of something better.
He was failing that, too.
Even if he were to go, he knew how it’d feel.
Every moment with Antonio had a dull patina to it, lacking the heat of the midday sun.
Antonio no longer reached for him, and Declan had quickly learned how desperate and foolish he looked, needing to turn and offer his bond his hand when Antonio stood just behind and to the side.
The few times he had, the guarded expressions of those around them had turned to smug amusement.
Or worse, pity. He no longer subjected himself to that.
Declan had been foolish to think Antonio would continue to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him when they were around each other.
They’d said ‘always’ that first night, said it and meant it. And yet, here they bloody were. Declan once again a creature glamoured, a pale thing in the midst of a sea of color, and Antonio, ‘fine’ and angry and no other descriptors added.
(The Council seat was supposed to have been a triumph. Their ending and beginning. It wasn’t meant to keep hurting like this.)
Declan needed to think about something else. Something other than whether he could manage to give Antonio four years, let alone four hundred.
Was it as bad as that? Declan refused to look, knowing his marks would be gray again. The same reason he glamoured his wings, now. No reason not to, when they weren’t being touched. What was the point?
"Did Mother tell you not to leave me be?" he asked, sounding just as much of an asshole as he'd worried he would. "I'm not about to run about like I used to. I would have thought you’d had your fill of children tonight."
Florian snorted, ever eloquent. He took his time answering too. "Why do you call her 'Mother?’ "
Declan blinked.
"Pardon?"
"I understand the switching between things such as cell and mobile, flat and apartment.
" Florian shrugged, his tired, old gaze fixed on the street before them.
Declan nearly tripped over his own boots, trying to look at the wisp.
"You’ve spent plenty of time in America and here.
But you always called Aisling 'Mother'. Never ‘Ma,’ like Eithne or Colm.
She's not a formal woman to begin with."
Declan blinked at him, absently rubbing at his wrist.
"It's what my minders called her," he said, stepping around a clump of giggling humans. "I didn't see her all that often, and when they told me she'd be about that day, it was always 'your mother's coming' or 'here's your mother.' By the time she was ready to know me, it was a habit.”
“Ready to know you,” Florian echoed, tone gone very dry.
Declan shrugged, unwilling to apologize for the truth. “Mother doesn't have much patience for small children."
“Aisling has patience when she feels the situation calls for it. She simply believes herself to lack the attentiveness and empathy young children require. She felt she’d be a horrible mother if she raised you on her own."
Declan slowed, the world around them lit with light and the sounds of busy streets. Florian wouldn't keep his confidences. Not for this. Only when things got horrid, like those last few experiences partying with Hyacinth and Wyte, had Florian kept Declan's shit to himself.
"She'll be furious if I make a mess of this," he said on a sigh. "Disappointed. That was the deal for finding a human bond. Light it up, make my life count. Change things."
"Your mother wants only your happiness. No matter the bond you took."
Happiness. That's what Declan’d wanted too. For himself. For Antonio. Voids, he'd do anything for Antonio. As Antonio did for him. But there was nothing to do that wouldn’t betray all that’d come before.
It didn’t matter. (When had it ever really mattered?)
(Weeks ago, and even then only briefly.)
Dramatics. That’s what it was. Simply Declan getting the happy ending he fought for and miserable with it, theatrically so.
"Perhaps I'll call her 'mum' sometime. See how it goes over." Declan's lips quirked as he wrestled humor into his voice. "She might even enjoy it."
Florian almost smiled. Declan took that as a win. He’d take them where he could find them, these days.