Chapter 25
I hurry to change, removing the old nightgown and tugging on a fresh one, and I’m back short minutes later.
More than anything, I worry about Elias passing out in the water and drowning himself.
When I return, he’s in much the same position as before, reclining on the edge of the tub.
His hair is wet now, like he dunked it, but I doubt he had time to properly clean it.
“Aimee.”
The thick way he says my name has my legs pressing together to stifle the effect his voice has on me. I really should have put on pants. Or about ten layers of clothes. Anything to keep my body and thoughts in check.
“Do you need help?” I venture. Please say no. It felt right to ask, but if he asks me to wash his body, I’m doomed. “I mean, with your hair,” I add in a rush. “I see you got it wet, but with the sweat and being so tired and all. Well, I thought you might could use a hand.”
“Yes, that would… Yes, thank you. I forgot the soap,” he admits with a sigh. “And I haven’t managed to convince myself to get it.”
There’s more movement in the tub, and finally, I hazard a glance over my shoulder. He’s turned so that his back is toward me, wet hair piled on the stone rim.
“Any of those bottles on the shelf will do.” He gestures limply with one hand toward the wall.
It’s not far. One could stand in the tub and lean over to reach them.
“I’m not usually one to ask for help,” he says, voice quiet.
“It’s nothing. I offered.” There are three bottles, and with a shrug, I pick the one that’s faintly lavender tinged. Studiously avoiding the sight of his temptingly bare chest, I circle back around behind him and kneel on the ground by the tub.
It’s just hair. I can do that.
“I don’t know how you stand soaking in the cold water,” I say. Anything is better than the quiet. It invites too many dangerous thoughts.
“You don’t like baths?” He inclines his head as if he means to turn it but only makes it partway.
“I love them. But I like them hot. Most humans do,” I add.
“Mmm, hot water is quite nice. Very soothing after a long day. But it’s burdensome to have so much water heated.” He pauses, musing. “Though there are some hot springs not far. I could take you sometime. If you’d like.”
A groan of pleasure catches in my throat at the thought. “That sounds lovely.”
I haven’t felt a lick of hot water since coming to Faery, and trying to clean myself has been bracing, to say the least. I lather the soap between my hands, breathing in the scent of woody musk I’ve become familiar with.
“You have hot springs near your home?” he asks. “Or you take the time to heat the water over a fire?”
“Neither.” How to explain hot water to a fae? “We have…human machines that create it and let it flow through our pipes.” I slide my soapy fingers into his hair just below his ears.
His head falls back even farther. A groan issues from his lips that has my belly fluttering wildly.
Maybe hair wasn’t so safe after all.
“Human mash-eens,” he says after a moment, clearly unfamiliar with the word. “That make hot water? That sounds a lot like magic.”
A soft laugh catches in my throat. “No magic involved, though I’ll admit it does seem like it sometimes. Just human ingenuity.”
I massage my fingers along his scalp, doing my best to work the sweat and grime that no doubt lingers there.
“In the absence of magic, more practical methods become essential,” he says
So true. “Well, they do say necessity is the mother of invention.”
“Who does?”
I fight back a grin, my brows scrunching. “You know, I’m not sure who said it first. But it’s something humans say.”
A thick silence descends over us as I work down the length of his hair until most of it is thoroughly soaped. I avoided the more personal sections around his ears and near his face, and now I regret leaving that for last.
Can’t leave the job half done though. Hands freshly lathered, I start in around his ears.
Elias jolts at my touch.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, sure I’ve missed some injury.
“Don’t be.” His voice is slightly choked, almost in pain. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just sensitive.”
“From an injury?” I don’t see one, but that doesn’t always mean much.
“No. Fae ears are almost always sensitive. Your touch did not hurt. It was just…surprising.”
“Noted.” A nervous little chuckle slips out as I start again, but almost immediately, Elias shifts under my touch like he’s uncomfortable.
I need something to distract us, so I ask the question that’s lingered in my thoughts since earlier.
“You mentioned a bit ago that the Seelie were curious about something and you feared you’d given them their answer. What was it?”
His body tenses under my hands. Immediately I worry I’ve made a terrible mistake.
But then he relaxes again and gives a little sigh before responding, “It has to do with my magic, or specifically, my sword.”
“Your sword?” I echo, perplexed.
He nods gently. “It belonged to the last king of the Unseelie and all Unseelie monarchs before him for as far back as we have record.”
“That’s quite the special sword,” I say, glancing to where it lies sheathed and propped against the far wall.
Even when he first appeared to me, he’s worn it strapped across his back, though I had no idea then who he was or the significance of the blade he carried.
The sword itself is legendary, or so Matt had said.
A powerful weapon and relic of the fae. A thing the Seelie feared.
But whether that knowledge is a point in my favor or against, I cannot say, so I keep it to myself.
“It is,” he agrees. “Our legends say it was gifted to the first leader of the Unseelie by Aine herself and imbued with her magic.”
I pause. “I thought Aine was the mother of the Seelie?”
“No, she was the mother of all fae. But some of her children wished to venture out on their own. So, she gave them a sword for them to carve their own way through the world and sent them off with her blessing. We became the Unseelie. The fae who remained at her side, cleaved to her until she passed from this plane, became the Seelie courts.”
“I never knew that,” I muse before startling at the sudden touch of Elias’s hand against mine.
His skin is chilled, likely from the water, fingers calloused where they rest on the back of my hand. “I think my hair is well scrubbed.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat as I quickly retract my fingers from his hair.
“Thank you.” He drops his hand back into the water. “If you can bring me a clean cloth, I should be able to handle the rest of me.”
“Of course.” I shove to my feet with a little wobble. My foot had partially fallen asleep, but I ignore the sharp tingling in it as I hobble over to the towels.
There’s liberal splashing, likely Elias rinsing the suds from his hair.
I wait until they calm to ask, “So you’ve always had the sword?”
But even as I say it, I know that’s not right.
“No, we recovered it some years ago. It was quite a task, as it had been taken from the king’s death site and moved over the years, but we had clues for where to look. Restoring its power has been a new challenge and what I believe the Seelie were curious about.”
I intentionally stare at the floor as I bring him the towel.
“So it’s broken?” That must be the reason why part of it looked blackened. The stool I settled Elias on earlier sits a few feet away, and I claim it, angling my body toward the far wall to give him privacy.
“Not in the literal meaning. It works fine as a sword—well forged, balanced, and rarely requires sharpening. It’s the magic that is the trouble.
I suppose you could say it is unable to reach its full potential.
There were rituals a monarch should periodically perform to keep the magic Aine imbued within the blade thriving, able to perform wonders with a mere swipe.
But having sat idle, waiting for the next monarch to rise for so many years, the rituals were not performed, and the power faded.
We have records of many of them and have performed them, bringing back some of its strength, but some have been harder to understand.
One in particular involves applying the blood of a human to the blade, for, as humans give life to our land, so too is the blood used to heighten the magic of the sword and bring it back to its full glory. But we tried it, and it did not work.”
“That, um…” I swallow at the macabre visions dancing through my head.
“They were not badly harmed,” Elias says, the water sloshing. “A small cut on the hand, which we quickly treated.”
“It was Wren, wasn’t it?” I venture. The mate of the Seelie King of Air. “The human whose blood you used?”
It’s a story even I have heard—how she was kidnapped by the Unseelie and used as bait to lure the Seelie Courts of the Forest and Air into conflict with one another. If the Unseelie have anyone to blame for the idea of using humans as bait, it’s themselves.
The sound of the washing stops. “You’ve heard about that, have you?”
“I believe most gifted humans have by now,” I admit. It’s one of the few bits of news about Faery I learned before Matt told me, though that was probably only because Mom wanted to complain about how he kept going on and on about it one day.
Elias lets out a weary sigh. There’s a plop as something hits the water. “I did not wish to harm her. I do not want any humans to be harmed.”
Because your mother was human? I wonder but do not ask. It does make a certain sense though, why he cares so much for people who see him as a villain.
“The records we were able to find were very specific about the blood of a marked human. By taking her, we were able to serve two goals. I did not like the risk to my sister, the danger she put herself in to make it happen, but we’re desperate.
Finding a way to repower the sword felt like our best option for me to have the strength to give my people a better life and defend us from the Seelie, who would see us removed from the world completely. ”