"You'll never guess what I just got news of," Foaly said, very rudely interrupting Artemis mid-sentence.
"What?" Artemis asked, less than thrilled to be derailed like this.
"Iggy Noble got the boot," Foaly was grinning widely, obviously expecting a similar reaction from Artemis. Admittedly, the petty revenge was satisfying. Doubly so because he'd had no part in it—which was strange, as usually Artemis liked to exact his own revenge. But it was better than anything Artemis could have done to know that Councilelf Noble had lost his position because his own people had insisted on it.
"How splendid," Artemis said, but Foaly, blowing air through his lips, was dissatisfied with the lack of jumping up and down in glee.
"Does nothing excite you anymore?" Foaly asked with a pout. "Back to being an unfeeling little turd just because—wait, wait, wait. This isn't a side effect from the bond being broken, is it?"
"I'm still capable of experiencing a full range of emotion, Foaly, if that is what you're asking."
"Wouldn't hurt you to show it every now and then," Foaly muttered. "You haven't even said thank you to me for my part in getting that law passed."
"The law…that forbids the council's ability to break up interspecies marriages?" Artemis asked, surprised by the news.
"You didn't know?" Foaly asked, surprised by this news.
"No, I did not. I've been too preoccupied with the goings-on up here to be monitoring fairy news as diligently as usual." Not entirely true. His ignorance of recent news from Haven was more by design than accident. He just needed a moment away from it all after such full immersion to reacclimatize to his role as observer rather than participator in that world. And two months wasn't enough of a break.
"Holly didn't tell you?"
"No." It hadn't even occurred to Artemis that she would have. They hadn't talked much recently. Foaly's gaze was scrutinizing, but Artemis pointedly ignored it.
"Holly and I both gave testimonies for the case," Foaly said. Artemis wasn't sure what Foaly wanted him to do with that information.
He settled on, "Thank you."
"Sure thing, Mudboy."
"And is Holly…has she been with anyone as of late?"
"For the love of—you too?" Foaly let out a horsey sigh and Artemis was somewhat taken aback by his reaction.
"Me too?" He asked, nonplussed.
"No, Mudboy, Holly hasn't been with anyone lately. She's had two beaus in the last twenty years and she puked on one. Any guesses who the second is?"
"Ah. I only wondered if she might be otherwise occupied. Or felt any misgivings in telling me she'd found someone."
"No, you only wondered if she'd moved on. You two are both hopeless idiots. Anyway, Arty, I've gotta go. Unlike you, I've got a wife to attend to." And he'd disconnected before Artemis could protest to the unfairness of that last quip. After all, it wasn't Artemis's fault that he didn't have a wife. If it were up to him…
But it wasn't. It was a two-way relationship, a marriage. He couldn't be alone in wanting it. And there was the matter of the court decision. He couldn't win their case, it was out of his hands. Nothing to be done. There'd been no choice at that point. But now…now the ruling had been overturned. They could, if they wanted, go back to court. Get remarried.
Artemis pushed off from his desk, his chair rolling aimlessly across the floor. He pulled out his phone and stared down at it. It had been two weeks since he'd talked with Holly last. It had been stilted and awkward. Artemis didn't know how to mend it. Should he call her? Would that help?
You too? Foaly had asked. Was Holly inquiring after his love life as well, then? It was ridiculous that she would be, he'd said perfectly clearly and on multiple occasions that he wasn't interested in dating or marriage. Not if it was with anyone besides her. Not that he could tell her that. She deserved better than his love.
Artemis pushed out of his chair, discarded his phone on his bed, and made for the balcony. A new habit he'd developed since his time with Holly was reduced to nothing. She'd walked through these doors so often, touched down softly right here. He missed her so much. Judging from Foaly's exasperation with the pair of them, he wasn't alone in the aching for her, for them. But she was upset with him, and while he wasn't sure exactly why, he knew it to be true. He ought to apologize. But she wouldn't accept it unless he knew what he was saying sorry for. The truth was, he'd apologize for anything. He'd apologize for every last thing he'd ever done if it would make her talk to him again.
He already repented every day for his love of her. He didn't deserve to love her as he did. He had no right to it. But that didn't stop him. And it never would. The truth of it hit him then, as he looked up at the moon, waiting—for that's what he was always doing; waiting—fruitlessly for Holly to touch down right here next to him. This love wasn't going anywhere. And it seemed, suddenly, a disservice to keep it to himself.
He might not have any right to love Holly, but nor did he have any right to keep it from her. To deny her the opportunity to decide for herself whether she wanted it or not. A tiny spark of hope had settled into Artemis months ago, the sliver of a thought. An impossible thought that maybe, just maybe, Holly would want it. He'd ignored it for so long out of some misguided sense of nobility. Thinking he was doing what was best for her by keeping his feelings to himself. But Holly was a grown elf, she was perfectly capable of deciding what was best for her and who was Artemis to take that choice from her?
"I should tell her," he said. To himself and the quiet grounds and the night sky and the bright moon. But there was, of course, another reason he'd buried that spark of hope deep in his heart.
He was afraid.
Terribly, horribly afraid that it was wrong. That he was wrong. That Holly wouldn't return his feelings. Worse, that she'd react to them how she had every reason to; with disgust and betrayal and hate.
Artemis slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew a bottle of glittering, tumbling magic, tiny and bright. And, in his fingers, it looked a lot like the spark of hope in his heart. He closed it in his hand, held it gentle but tight, then made his way swiftly into his room to collect his phone before he could change his mind.
"Artemis?" Holly's voice was heavy with sleep. "Artemis—what's wrong?" The sleep was gone, replaced with razor-sharp alert.
"Nothing," he couldn't help the smile his face took at the sound of her voice. The little vial in his palm seemed to pulse with heat, urging him on. "But I'm afraid I have to make an entirely selfish demand of you."
"Anything," she said at once, the worry not yet gone from her.
"I need to see you. Do you think you could pull a few strings and come visit?"