A Strange Hymn
Page 36

Next to her, in a throne noticeably smaller, is her husband, the Green Man. True to his name, he is green from head to toe. His hair is the dark hue of evergreens, and his skin the pale color of spring grass.
I was expecting a brawny, bearded man, but compared to the Bargainer, the Green Man is more of a dandy, his face pretty without that hard roughened edge that Des’s has. Unlike the portrait I saw of him, he has no beard, his face as smooth as his body is lithe.
The siren in me finds that she has no interest in him. There’s no power to coax from him and no danger to feed from. All I feel towards the man right now is … pity. Such a creature has all the trappings of a wild, violent thing, but next to his vibrant wife he’s docile, compliant, defeated.
Des and I come up right to the edge of the dais. I don’t know what fae etiquette is in this situation, so I touch my fingers to my forehead like I saw other fairies do to us.
“Queen of Flora, Green Man,” Des says, inclining his head to both of them, “as always, it’s a pleasure.
Mara stands up, her sage green gown swaying as she does so. Her face splits into a smile. Her happiness is like an arrow to the heart. I wonder just how many people have given up all that they hold dear to bask in this woman’s smile.
She spreads her arms. “Welcome, my Emperor of Evening Stars.”
My emperor?
My hands begin to curl.
Mara descends down the steps, her eyes not once traveling to me. My hackles are rising.
I am not someone to be ignored, my siren hisses.
She comes in close to Des and kisses him on either cheek. Behind her, the Green Man steps down from his throne, trailing after her, his amber eyes on me. Just from the way he’s staring, I can feel his longing. I can feel all of their longing. It hangs in the air like perfume; I am something enviable, something strange and taboo.
How many hands wish to stroke my flesh, how many faces wish to bury themselves in my hair … ? Mara can have her moment with Des. The King of the Night is mine, and the Flora Queen’s subjects might as well be under my spell.
“Mara,” Des says, “this is my mate, Callypso Lillis, one of the last of the sirens.”
Reluctantly, Mara turns her gaze from Des to me. Genuine interest flickers in her eyes. “What a beauty.”
The compliment is a balm to the bloodlust thrumming beneath my skin. Beauty is one of the few powers I still wield in this foreign place. But somewhere deep inside me, the compliment sours.
There is nothing that defangs a woman quite like being called beautiful, my rational mind whispers.
Resting her hands on my upper arms, Mara pulls me in close and kisses each of my cheeks. Behind me, I hear her subjects suck in air, and I get the sense that Mara just broke etiquette.
Because I am human …
She releases me and straightens. “Desmond is lucky to have found himself such a gem. And you are lucky to have found yourself a mate in a king.”
Slippery, slippery woman. Her words are not quite an insult, but they’re phrased just so that they toe that line.
I give her a slow, curving smile. “You are too kind.” This is the first time I’ve spoken directly to her, and the room goes quiet as they listen to my harmonic voice.
Mara waves over some of her people. “Please show the king and queen to their rooms,” she orders them, not bothering to let the Green Man greet us. To me and Des she says, “The feast begins in an hour in the Sacred Gardens. I look forward to seeing you both there.”
Chapter 21
The two of us stand inside the suite we’re staying in, finally alone. Nearly every surface around us is covered with flowering plants. They grow from pots, they wreath the walls and hang from the ceilings. The smell of them is almost too powerful.
The suite itself is alive, situated inside one of the colossal trees that ring the castle. Above and below us are more rooms, where the rest of our group is staying.
My skin dims as I force the siren back to her watery depths, locking her away. I rub my arms, remembering all of the siren’s egotistical, screwed up thoughts.
Des raises an eyebrow. “I still owe her,” he says.
Yes, the sexual favors she was planning on pillaging from him.
“She’ll be back to collect from you at some point.” I run my hands through my hair, reclaiming my body. “Why did you want the siren out?”
“Fairies are always aware of power dynamics,” Des says, folding his arms as he leans against a side table. I wanted Mara to meet you at your wickedest.”
And who better to pit her against than my siren?
I let out a shaky breath. We’re not even an hour into the visit and already I’m being sized up.
This is my welcome to Solstice. Let the festivities begin.
By the time we make it to the Sacred Gardens, the sky is dark and I feel more like myself.
“Sacred Gardens,” I murmur as we walk under a flowering trellis and enter the wooded clearing. “That sounds like something teenage me would call my vagina.”
Next to me, Des smirks. “Undoubtedly, cherub.” His eyes turn a little sad, and I wonder if, like me, he’s thinking about all the time we missed together between then and now.
As soon as we enter the garden, which isn’t so much a garden as it is a flowering meadow surrounded by hedges and trees, the crowd’s attention moves to us. A sea of strange faces stare back at me and Des, and there are only two I recognize—Temper’s and Malaki’s. The two must’ve arrived here shortly before we did.
Des leads me deeper into the Sacred Garden. The area is lit by dancing fairy lights and several bonfires. Out here it smells like jasmine and smoke, and as the fire hisses and burns, it drifts up into the star-filled sky above.
Des leans into me, his breath tickling my ear. “It would behoove you to know—”
“Did you just say ‘behoove’?” I interrupt him. “How old are you, eight hundred?”
“—that as King of the Night,” he continues without missing a beat, “I’m expected to help lead this evening’s festivities, and as my mate, you’re expected to be at my side.”
“Because I have so many other places to be,” I say. I catch sight of a giant urn of fairy wine. Stop numero uno once the party begins.
Des’s eyes brighten, his lips curving into a pleased smile. “Word of warning, cherub: sass is a turn on, so if you expect me to keep my hands off you and your precious beads, you might want to work on being pleasant.”
I raise an eyebrow. “If you think I’m going to be some docile, agreeable girlfriend, you’re—”
Before I can finish, an invisible hand pushes me forward, into Des’s arms. He still has that smug-ass smile on his face. “Mate is the correct term,” he says, his voice pitched seductively low. “I’m not your”—he makes a face—“boyfriend—I’m neither a boy, nor particularly friendly.” He ends his little speech by kissing me on the nose.
I realize the mistake I made only once Des’s lingering hands finally release me. He baited me, deliberately, knowing I’d mouth off to him and he’d get his opening.
Wily man.
I glance around us. The spit of the flames and the glow of the flickering light play with my vision. Now fairies are flashing us sweet smiles, now they’re leering at us suggestively.
The whole thing is discomfiting, like Des and I are some drama that’s unfolding purely for their pleasure.