The camp celebrated that night. Once word of the impending attack got out, excitement and anticipation spread like wildfire, until it could no longer be contained to a few stuffy tents. Faeries swarmed the streets like revelers after a hockey game, drudging up food and alcohol and other, more questionable things. Drums and pipes, primal and dark, echoed over the wind, pounding out a savage rhythm. On each side of the camp, massive bonfires were lit, roaring up like phoenixes in the night, as the armies of Summer and Winter danced and drank and sang the night away.
I hung back from the main fires, avoiding the dancing and the drinking and the other acts going on in the shadows. From where I stood, a mug of black tea warming my hands, I could see both Summer and Winter fires and the dark silhouettes dancing around them. On the Unseelie side, goblins and redcaps chanted dark, vulgar battle songs, usually about blood and meat and body parts, while dryads and tree nymphs swayed a mesmerizing dance around the Seelie camp, moving like branches in the wind. A sylph fluttered by, chased by a satyr, and an ogre hefted a whole ale keg above his open mouth, bathing his face in dark liquor.
“You wouldn’t think there’s a fight tomorrow,” I muttered to Ash, who was leaning against a tree, a green bottle held lightly between two fingers. Every so often, he’d raise the glass and take a single swallow from the neck, but I knew better than to ask him to share. Faery wine is potent stuff, and I had no desire to spend the rest of the night as a hedgehog, or holding a conversation with giant pink rabbits. “Isn’t it traditional to celebrate after you win?”
“And what if there is no tomorrow?” Ash turned his gaze toward the Unseelie bonfire, where the goblins were singing, something about fingers and meat cleavers. “Many of them won’t live to see another dawn. And once we die, there is nothing left. No existence beyond this one.” Though his voice was matter-of-fact, a shadow hovered in his eyes. He took a swig of wine and glanced at me, one corner of his lip turned up. “I think you mortals have a phrase—eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die?”
“Oh, that’s not morbid at all, Ash.”
Before he could reply, something stumbled into our little space, tripped, and went sprawling at my feet. It was Puck, his shirt off, his red hair in disarray. He grinned up at me, a crown of daisies woven through his hair, a bottle clutched in one hand. A group of nymphs crowded around him a second later, giggling. I drew back as they swarmed all over him.
“Oh, hey, princess!” Puck waved inanely as the nymphs pulled him to his feet, still giggling. His hair gleamed, his eyes gleamed, and I barely recognized him. “Wanna play ride the phouka with us?”
“Um. No thanks, Puck.”
“Suit yourself. But you only live once, princess.” And Puck let himself be pulled away by the nymphs, vanishing into the crowd by the fire. Ash shook his head and took a swig from his bottle. I stared after them, not knowing what to feel.
“That’s a side of him I haven’t seen before,” I muttered at last, hunching my shoulders against the wind. Ash chuckled.
“Then you don’t know Goodfellow as well as you think.” The dark faery pushed himself off the tree and came to stand beside me, lightly touching my shoulder. “Try to get some rest. The revel will only get wilder as the night goes on, and you might not want to see what happens when faeries get extremely drunk. Besides, you’ll want at least a few hours of sleep before the battle tomorrow.”
I shivered as I rose, my stomach clenching as I thought of the impending war. “Will I have to fight, too?” I asked as we fell into step back toward my tent. Ash sighed.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said, almost to himself. “And I don’t think Oberon will want you in the midst of it, either. You’re too important to risk being killed.”
I was relieved, but at the same time, guilt gnawed at me. I was tired of people dying while I stood by, helpless. Maybe it was time I started fighting my own battles.
We reached my tent and I hesitated, my heart suddenly fluttering like crazy. I could feel his presence at my back, quiet and strong, making my skin tingle. The darkness beyond the flaps beckoned invitingly, and words danced on the tip of my tongue, held back by nervousness and fear.
Just spit it out, Meghan. Ask him to stay with you tonight. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? I cringed inwardly with embarrassment. Okay, that would suck. But would he really refuse? You know he loves you. What are you waiting for?
I took a breath. “Ash…um…”
“Prince Ash!” A Winter knight marched through the line of tents and bowed when he reached us. I wanted to kick him, but Ash looked amused.
“So, I’m a prince again, am I?” he mused softly. “Very well. What do you want, Deylin?”
“Queen Mab has requested your presence, your highness,” the knight continued, ignoring me completely. “She wishes you to meet her in her tent on the Winter side of the camp. I will remain here and guard the Summer princess until—”