Five #3
“She fails to mention that we were also yelling at—and being yelled at by—the Duchess,” said Tybalt dryly. “Luna seems to believe that we are the architects of all her current misfortunes.”
“Well, that’s not much of a shock,” said May.
“Luna’s been blaming you since before I existed.
Or at least, she started blaming you right before I informed you that I existed.
Are we even a little bit surprised that she’s yelling about it now that you’re refusing to give her daughter back to her?
” She paused, seeing the look on my face.
“Toby? You are refusing to give her daughter back, aren’t you? We’re not turning Raysel out.”
“No, we’re not,” I said. “We have another four months on the original term of offense, even if we wanted to pretend we were going to throw her out when that ended. Which we aren’t. She has a place here as long as she needs it.”
“Thank Oberon,” she said, fervently.
“Why are you making cake? And why is the cake pink?”
“It’s pink because it’s strawberry cake,” said May. “And I’m making cake because the Luidaeg is coming over, and she likes it when there’s cake.”
“She also likes it when she can find spiders in the garden outside,” I said, managing not to shudder. The Luidaeg is one of the oldest fae I’ve ever met, and her dietary quirks can be a little … idiosyncratic. Which is another way of saying “fucking weird.” “Why didn’t you bake a spider cake?”
“I’m not sure how to properly bake spiders, I hate that I just said that sentence aloud, and I want other people to be able to enjoy the cake too, since she’s unlikely to eat the entire thing,” said May.
“She wanted to see her goddaughter, and I wanted to use up some strawberries before they went bad, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity for strawberry cake. I’m not worried about using up the spiders before they go bad.
And oh, root and branch, there’s another terrible sentence.
Go do something else before you inspire a third one. ”
“Will do,” I said, and moved toward the high chair where Miranda was trying to eat her fist. “Hello, kitten. You want to come upstairs with Mommy for a little bit?”
She pulled her fist out of her mouth and waved it at me, making a happy chuckling noise. I smiled and unstrapped her, scooping her into my arms before wrinkling my nose.
“Come upstairs and get a fresh diaper,” I said. “Yes, that sounds like the way to do things. New diaper for Andi. Daddy will help.”
“Yes, he will,” agreed Tybalt. “I prefer our child to be clean whenever possible, and my diapering skills eclipse your own.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” I said, agreeably. “May, I’ll bring her back down in a bit, okay?”
“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll call you when the Luidaeg gets here.”
“Great.” I flashed her one last smile and left the kitchen, heading for the stairs with Tybalt close behind.
The Luidaeg is the eldest among the Firstborn, not just the first child of Oberon and Maeve, but the first child, period, of any combination of the Three.
She has the kind of magical power that cracks continents, but she’s tightly bound by a series of geasa laid on her by Titania, which keep her from accessing the full scope of her power unless it’s in the service of someone else.
Most of the time, that service comes in the form of effectively granting wishes.
Anyone can come to her and ask for anything, and if it’s within her power, she’s compelled to offer them a bargain.
Meet her price, get what you want. Don’t meet her price …
I’ve never actually heard of that happening.
Anyone who’s desperate enough to approach the Luidaeg in the first place probably has a pretty good idea of what they’re getting themselves into.
I’ve made my share of bargains with her.
So has virtually everyone else I know. When you have access to someone with near-infinite magical power and a compulsion to help, it can be hard to resist temptation.
But the more I’ve learned about her situation, the easier it’s become.
Because see, the Luidaeg can’t say no. Even trying hurts her.
And a lot of the things she’s been asked to do have been things that went against her own desires.
She’s been forced to hurt friends and betray family, to destabilize kingdoms and worse.
I’ve never asked her what the worst thing she’s done was.
I know she can’t lie, and honestly, I’m too afraid of what she might say if I asked. I don’t really want to know.
We met after a former ally of mine, the Countess Evening Winterrose, was supposedly murdered.
She wasn’t, of course—she was actually the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn in hiding, and the people who “killed” her hadn’t known the proper way of killing one of the First—but I’d believed she was gone forever, and I’d been trying to find out who was responsible.
It had eventually led me to the Luidaeg’s door, and we made our first bargain that same day.
Before that, I’d believed she was a story for children, the monster under Faerie’s collective bed, and now, she was my friend, my daughter’s godmother—and, technically, my aunt.
The woman I was back then would never have believed any of that, and she certainly wouldn’t have been this calm about the Luidaeg intending to come to her house.
Cagney and Lacey were on the nursing chair when we returned to the bedroom, while Spike was nowhere to be seen. I sighed heavily.
“Spike, come out of there,” I said.
The rose goblin’s head immediately poked up over the edge of the crib. Miranda was making fussy little grabs at my chest that told me she was ready for a snack, so I moved toward the chair instead. Cagney and Lacey helpfully jumped out of the way, not wanting to be sat on top of.
“Spike, you need to stop sleeping in Miranda’s crib,” I said. “You’re not supposed to be in there, and you know it.”
It rattled its thorns at me before lying back down. I sighed again.
“Shall I remove it?” asked Tybalt.
“No. You know it’ll just tear your hands up if you try. I’ll move it when you take the baby,” I said, and sat. “Leave the door open in case Raysel wants to come and check in. Chelsea will have told her where we went by now.”
“Of course,” said Tybalt mildly, and moved to sit on the bed.
One nice thing about keeping our baby entirely confined to the house: we don’t have to deal with human feelings about breastfeeding, which seem to be mostly based on making sure the mother is experiencing shame no matter what she does.
If she doesn’t breastfeed, she’s not concerned with her child’s health, but if she does, she’s being inappropriate by feeding her kid when they’re hungry, rather than according to the sensibilities of the people around her.
It’s damned if you do, damned if you don’t, and I want no part of it.
The fae have a much more casual approach to nudity, and even the ones like me, who grew up largely in the human world, tend to be remarkably good at separating “a breast exists” from anything sexual.
I got Miranda situated and leaned back in the chair, pausing only to give Tybalt a dubious look. He wasn’t smirking, exactly, but was watching me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t quite untangle.
“What?”
“I simply enjoy watching you,” he said. “Our daughter is hungry, and you’re feeding her. You made her, and now you sustain her. It’s a beautiful thing. Allow a father his sentimentality.”
“You are very strange sometimes,” I said.
He smiled, rolling his shoulders in a gesture that was almost, but not entirely, a shrug.
We settled into quiet after that, me watching Miranda, Tybalt watching us both, Cagney and Lacey getting resettled on the bed, where they were less likely to be evicted for my petty physical needs. It was a good pause, long enough for all of us to catch our breath.
Miranda’s sucking was slowing, her hands falling away from my breast as she fell asleep with her mouth still full, when there was a cautious tapping from the doorway.
I looked up. Raysel was there, her narrow face filled with anxiety, one hand nervously gripping the doorframe to hold her steady while the other did the knocking.
I smiled at her, as encouragingly as I could. “Hey, Raysel,” I said.
Tybalt sat up straighter, looking around. “I was wondering when you would join us,” he said, and slid smoothly off the bed. “As I will not be leaving my beloved unattended while I see to things, I’ll give you a few minutes of privacy.”
Raysel didn’t comment on this obvious excuse, only watched with grave golden eyes as he walked to the door and passed her, vanishing down the hall. She looked back to me, shoulders slightly hunched. “Is it really all right?” she asked. “I’m not distracting you from anything?”
“Miranda was just about done eating,” I said. “Tybalt can take the next diaper change. I don’t mind at all, Raysel. What’s up?”
“I … Chelsea said you went to Shadowed Hills?” She stepped the rest of the way into the room, watching as I stood and carried Miranda over to her changing table, setting her down as she woke just enough to fuss.
“I did,” I confirmed. “I wanted to talk to my liege about what he might be intending to do.”
“And?”
I hesitated. Chelsea was telling Raysel just about everything that happened in the duchy, so the party that had been intended to celebrate her return probably wouldn’t be any surprise; still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to confirm it.
I kept my hands busy as I considered, prepping Miranda to be changed.
One nice thing about having a baby: I never lacked for something to do with myself.
She was an endless font of little tasks, all of them utterly essential and never-ending.