“Until she has another child or finds the missing daughter.”
“The baby died at sea. Everyone says so,” Eilidh said mildly.
“Can you say that she died?” Rhys prodded. “Tell me I’m wrong, Patches. Tell me you aren’t aware of where our missing sister had been hidden. Tell me that I missed some of your machinations, and you actually planned this mess with”—Rhys gestured at Torquil—“him.”
“You know I can’t,” she said.
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “You are the heir, my replacement at the head of the Unseelie fae, as well as Nacton’s replacement for the other court.”
“There is only one court,” Torquil started.
Rhys ignored him, speaking only to Eilidh. “I realized that I could serve you or hate you. Calder and Nacton chose hate. I think Mother was right to unify the courts. I will support that path, which means protecting the heir. To do that, I had to know your secrets—and the queen’s secrets.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting this, not his support and certainly not his implied knowledge. Eilidh wasn’t sure where to go or what to say. She glanced at Torquil again.
Through it all, he had sat silently, the slight widening of his eyes the only true clue to how shocked he was. He’d maintained his calm facade well enough to convince Eilidh that he might make a fine consort after all.
“Eilidh?” he prompted.
She sighed. “Which disaster do you want to discuss first?”
eight
LILY
Choices matter. That was the greatest and the first of the Abernathy Commandments. Some families had the Ten Commandments hanging in their foyer; the Abernathy household had security cameras and a framed list of the first eleven Abernathy Commandments. There were more than eleven now, and the original ones had evolved a bit, but that framed list would never be replaced. Her mother had given it to her father before Lily was born. Daidí had said that it was how he knew that she was his soul mate.
Abernathy Commandments
#1: Choices matter.
#2: Be yourself.
#3: Never get caught.
#4: Weigh the consequences before beginning a course of action.
#5: Be bold.
#6: Never confess your vulnerabilities if you can avoid it.
#7: Secrets are valuable. Don’t part with them for free.
#8: Make use of opportunities that arise.
#9: Be kind to those who deserve it.
#10: Know when to be assertive.
#11: Know when to walk away from trouble.
Lily had grown up in the shadows of those commandments—thinking that every family had a set of rules to avoid “complications,” thinking security cameras and bodyguards were normal, thinking that all good fathers were opposed to sending their daughters to school.
In truth, Lily had been perfectly content with the way things were. She didn’t want a change. Being around people her own age, especially people who weren’t raised in a world where there were different kinds of “good,” was far from appealing. Being around normal people would make it hard to hide her own peculiarities too. Learning at home meant not making many friends, but it had also meant not having to hide herself. It seemed like a fine trade-off.
Daidí had always said she was like her mother—drifting away on flights of fantasy. But unlike her mom, Lily had no desire to write. Sure, she wanted to read, maybe watch movies . . . and pretend that she was the girl smiling at Zephyr Waters or getting caught skinny dipping in a fountain in Roma with Creed Morrison in the pages of a magazine.
But now, her isolation was being yanked away. Her bodyguard, Hector, was escorting her to the city of Belfoure in a black car with tinted windows, bulletproof glass, and heated leather seats. Lily stared out the window until the hum of the road and the soft patter of rain on the car roof lulled her into some semblance of calmness.
“This is a bad idea,” she pointed out yet again as Hector made a left turn.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll meet kids like you.”
Lily shook her head. The school was a haven for special people. All of the students were somebody: child prodigies; children of diplomats, politicians, and rock stars; glitterati; and of course, those whose wealth was inherited. Those like her—kids whose parents earned their money in less ethical ways—didn’t attend fancy boarding schools.
“Your father is a smart man,” Hector reminded her.
“Smart men make mistakes too. Being around others . . . like me . . . it’s not a good idea,” she said gently.
Hector wasn’t going to overstep by arguing with her—or by siding with her against her father. He kept his mouth shut and drove through the streets toward the campus that sat on the hill above Belfoure like a medieval fortress.
As Hector started up that winding drive, Lily thought back to the night she’d met Creed. She wasn’t going to lie to herself about what she thought about him. Creed was captivating, but that was precisely why she didn’t want to see him.
He’s probably forgotten all about me.
She’d done the right thing in not calling. She had. If not for her father’s ridiculous urge to send her to St. Columba’s, Lily would never see Creed again. That had been her plan, and it was a good one. As it was, the school should be big enough to avoid Creed to some degree.
As the car pulled up to the massive front gates at the school, Lily slipped her sunglasses on. It was a small comfort, like putting on a mask.
Stone walls surrounded the entire campus, but the front gates appeared to be iron or steel. They were made to resemble some sort of faux castle gate. It was modernized, of course, with a gatehouse and a guard. It also stretched across the road where she assumed the entrance to the inner walls of the fortress had once been.
Hector cracked his window and announced, “Abernathy.”
After a minute, the guard found her name on the list and buzzed them in. The heavy metal gate slid open with a series of clangs and clacks. If the myths about fae sensitivity to iron were true, Lily would feel wretched right now, but she’d never felt any weakness from iron. Maybe full-blood fae did. The media claimed that was so, but Lily herself hadn’t ever experienced any trouble with iron or its alloy, steel. Considering how often she wore a blade next to her skin, she was certain that she’d have known far before now if the metal was toxic to her.
As Hector drove onto the campus, Lily stared at the main building. It was imposing and dark, unlike the bright front of her home. This felt more like visiting the courthouse on the rare occasions when she’d been allowed to accompany Daidí to one of the government’s various attempts to convict him.
The central building of St. Columba’s was a towering black structure with gargoyles at the top, spires straight up into the gray sky, and doors that looked like they were meant to let in some horrific beast rather than mere people. The many steps up to those doors spanned the width of the building.
“Home sweet home.”
“Give it a chance,” Hector said. He parked the car at the top of the circular drive.