Page 17 of The Fae’s Treasure

“I have to practice,” I whisper.

His eyes are suddenly glowing, gold lights in the depths of beautiful green. “I think you need to rest first,” he whispers—and then everything in my body goes limp. I sag, and he catches me.

“What did you do?” I hiss, struggling to stay upright.

“Nothing! Nothing, my lady. No harm will come to you, I swear it.”

“Swear that no harm comes to the baby—that you won’t take him or hurt him,” I demand, shoving his hand off of my shoulder with the last of my strength.

I don’t know if it is only because the world is swaying and my brain is foggy, but it seems like this man doesn’t want to give me an answer. “Swear it,” I growl, a primal noise I didn’t know I could make, gargling out of my throat. “You will never, ever hurt or take this child. Don’t... Don’t fae have to make bargains and promises?”

“I’m not here for a bargain.”

“That’s right. You said you were being a good neighbor. But someone tried to get into my house last night, and I’m suspicious as fuck right now, so you’d better promise exactly what I asked, or I’m going to give you three times what I gave the other guy.”

Maybe I’m intimidating when I’m a shaky-legged mess who can barely stand, because the neighbor with wings gulps and blurts out, “I swear I will not steal the child and most certainly will never harm him! Or you.”

“Good,” I say, voice now as weak as my body. “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a few seconds.”

“Sleep, my lady. What is your name?”

“Deanna. Yours?”

“Dairmuid. What have you called the child?”

“This is Rory. My son, Rory.” I pass him the dog’s leash, but I won’t uncurl my fingers from the handle of Rory’s carrier.

He looks into the carrier. “My son, Rory,” he repeats my words softly—and then scoops me and the baby carrier up as if we weigh nothing. “You can practice in a little while, Lady Deanna.”

My first thought is that my plan has been foiled. I could have whisked Rory home with me, out of this realm, perhaps, but now, I’ve given my word. There’s a difference between taking and being given, after all. I’ll work on Lady Deanna, and eventually beguile, bargain, or best her in some way, and Rory will be my gift, my prize.

He is mine, after all, I think with pride, looking at his sleeping little face. The second I see him, I feel a powerful pull that I have never known. I love Bonwit like a brother, and I am very fond of my parents, though we do not see eye-to-eye on some matters, and I have been quite enamored of many of the ladies of the various courts, and yes, Saz.

But I have never felt an instant, all-consuming bond with another the way I do the moment I see Rory.

To know that he belongs with me and I cannot take him is torture.

And speaking of torture—not being able to use my magic freely is torture, too. Lady Deanna is not heavy, but she is tall and awkward to carry to her doorstep—particularly since the moment my foot touches the threshold, I may as well be walking into solid stone.

Saz.

Saz is smart. Not just because of where she placed Rory, with a woman who looks as though she is his true parent (an excellent piece of camouflage), but because of whatever sort of magic is woven around his home. Bonwit could enter the house last night, but I cannot enter.

She knew I would come for him. What happens now that I have given my word not to steal him, and even if I had not, I cannot physically enter his home?

I sigh and turn around, swaying under all the burdens I am bearing.

Lady Deanna is already asleep, hastened there by my words. If I wake her, I’m afraid she’ll charge away from me, taking my son, but it is clear that I will need her invitation or some other form of enchantment that I haven’t figured out yet to enter her home.

“You must come with me,” I murmur to Rory. “To your father’s home,” I whisper.

There are rules about entering the fae realm, rules about eating a fae’s food. Once you do, they have some measure of power over you. Does my realm extend to wherever I call home? Does fae fare extend to anything Bonwit prepares that I can tempt Deanna into eating?

I hope so.

The baby gurgles in his strange little contraption as I bring him inside the empty house that Mr. Silverman sold me. Magic expedites so many things—but not the arrival of furniture, apparently.

“Uh. Hold on, little one,” I murmur, putting down the child and the dog—which promptly skitters off into the corner, dragging his leash, and piddles.