Love

"Come on, Oriana!" Philomel tugs Oriana toward the shore of the pond, hair shining white in the sunlight.

"Yeah, come on!" Dogwood yanks her other arm.

Oriana, clad in nothing but a shift, moves stiffly and reluctantly, stumbling down the slope. "Now, children, Bettina's already in the pond. Shouldn't we find someplace where a nixie doesn't already live—?"

"You're not getting out of it that easily," cackles Bettina from the water. "In you get, and I promise I won't drown you." She bares her fangs at my stepmother. The sight doesn't seem to reassure her.

Seated on the picnic blanket, I can't stop myself laughing as my children drag Oriana into the water. Oriana can face down royal princes, survive marriage to a wife-killer, weave spells that control fate itself, but she can't swim. Who knew?

Oriana splashes into the water and yelps. Alder and Elder, seated in a nearby tree, both yell with laughter. "Come on, Oriana! You can do it!"

Oriana wades in gingerly up to her knees as the children happily splash into deeper water. Bettina coaxes her deeper, and finally Oriana lunges forward with a splash and another yelp.

We all burst into applause: me, Birch, Vivienne, Heather, Heartwood, Jude and Cardan, all seated on the blanket. "Good job!" I call out, my voice ringing strong and steady. "Good job, Oriana!"

Cardan pops a grape into his mouth. "Are you enjoying having your voice back, Taryn?"

I beam at him. "Very much so, Your Majesty."

"Call me Cardan." He rolls over, head in Jude's lap. "At least for this picnic."

"Yes." Jude swats his hair good-naturedly. "Don't let him get too much of a swelled head."

"You're the one in danger of that," Cardan says. "The High King's official Seneschal and consort!"

"Well, what about Taryn?" Heather helps herself to some buttered bread. She and Vivienne have returned to Faerie for a quick visit, just for this afternoon. "Everyone I've talked to is calling her Unicorn-Blessed and Manticore-Favored and Lady Healer and talking about how she saved all of Faerie and they've got all their human poets writing ballads about her."

I shift uncomfortably. "I just did what I had to do."

"Well, don't let it go to your head," Vivi winks.

"I won't," I say. "I'm too busy with the kids, and getting Balekin's inheritance in order." I sigh: Cardan wasn't kidding when he said I was inheriting an unholy mess, starting with Hollow Hall itself. The moment Balekin died, all his human slaves woke up from their enchantments. When the children, Birch and I arrived at the Hall that afternoon, we found ourselves facing a horde of angry, confused and frightened mortals, all either shouting questions or lying collapsed in corners, holding their heads and moaning.

I had the faerie stewards gather all the freed mortals into the hall, where I addressed them from the staircase, telling them that their captor was dead and they were free. I promised to send them all safely home by the end of the day, each with compensation for their years of toil. I also offered to have their memories of their enslavement erased, if they so chose.

Many of them chose that option, for which I do not blame them. Others chose not to, on the basis that they did not want more faeries playing games with their minds. I don't blame them, either.

I had the stewards ransack the cellar vault, ordering them to give the captives each a sack of gold—real gold, not faerie-glamoured stuff that will disappear, or any other faerie tricks. A Court magician erased their memories as requested, and we got them all off to the Ironside by the end of the day, each with valuable compensation. I only hope they manage to get their lives back together, now that they're free.

I then dispatched Balekin's household guard to go join the royal guard at the palace, and set to cleaning out the house, aided by the faerie stewards. They all obeyed me with remarkable compliance. Indeed, I've been impressed with how cooperative Balekin's faerie servants and followers have been, considering that I killed their lord and master. I asked the chief steward, Rhys, about it, and he said, "I fear the old master is not greatly missed."

Rhys is not only efficient and hardworking; he's also very polite. I think that was shorthand for Everyone who ever worked for Balekin hated his guts and we are still toasting your health for getting rid of him for us.

Fair enough.

It took days to clear out Hollow Hall: even besides his grisly trophies, Balekin collected all sorts of nasty objects, from soul-boxes to cursed blades. The most dangerous artifacts I handed over to Cardan for safekeeping. The rest I had destroyed in a bonfire that blazed and smoked for over twelve hours.

I sent the stewards off to Balekin's—to my lands on the mainland, with instructions to investigate and bring me back a full report of their condition and the state of their finances. Then the children and I moved out of Madoc's house, into the cottage that Birch and the other goblins built for us, near this pond on the grounds of Hollow Hall. None of us wanted to stay in the Hall itself. None of us want to even go near the Hall again.

The new cottage is cozy, and suits us perfectly. It even has separate bedrooms for Dogwood and Philomel—one day I might actually get them to sleep there. The courtiers and aristocrats all murmur at Dowager Lady Taryn Greenbriar, the Unicorn-Blessed, the Manticore-Favored, living in such a tiny place. But I learned long ago not to let the opinions of others sway me. I'm happy where I am, the children are happy, and it's easy for my patients to come to me for help. Indeed, every day I've got a line of faeries and humans wanting healing, just like the old days.

Well, maybe not just like the old days. I glance at Birch, now eating a nut. He's avoided getting involved in the bureaucratic mess I've been dealing with, but did help clear out Hollow Hall, grimly dragging all of Balekin's trophies out to burn. We've been friendly to each other, but shy, keeping our conversation confined to practicalities, and he's been staying with the other goblins in the woods. I keep thinking of the cottage he built for me. I keep thinking of the future, and how much I want him to be in it.

But I haven't been able to ask him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"You're heading to the mainland soon, aren't you?" Jude says now, shaking me from my reverie.

I nod. "The children and I are going to see all the estates for ourselves." I pause to cough: my voice still gets tired easily. "And we want to visit the valley again."

Heartwood, seated comfortably in the shade smoking her pipe, inclines her head regally. "We'll be happy to have you, of course."

Cardan opens one eye to glare at her pointedly. "I don't remember giving you permission to leave Court, Councilor Heartwood."

"Well, I was just about to ask your permission, my King," Heartwood says, unruffled as ever. "But I think you'll agree that I can't leave the Red Branch tribe forever."

Cardan gives a theatrical sigh, head still comfortably pillowed on Jude's lap. "Honestly, what's the point of giving common faeries a larger voice in government if they just keep dashing back to their homes every few minutes?"

"Oh, don't exaggerate, Cardan," Jude says, tipping her face to the light. "Heartwood's doing great work on the new Council, and so are you, for that matter."

"Flatterer," Cardan says lazily. "Being High King is just as difficult as I expected." He gives another deep, heavy sigh, but honestly doesn't sound too upset. "It's all my father's fault. If he hadn't given Melly that crown, I would still be living the life of a happy wastrel."

"Too bad," says Jude unsympathetically. "You're doing a great job."

"She's right, you know," Heartwood murmurs. "You're quite a good High King, so far."

"Oh, stop, stop." Cardan waves his hands in the air languidly. "The adulation."

Tumultuous splashes and shouts ring out from the sunlit pond. I smile, heart singing inside me, to see both of my wet, happy children having such a good time with their grandmother. They've recovered a lot from our ordeal over the last few weeks, but there hasn't been much laughter or fun. It's so nice seeing them playing normally.

I sigh, drawing my knees up to my chest. Philomel has been quiet over the last few weeks. That first night, after Dogwood had fallen asleep, I asked her outright if Balekin had hurt her in any way, when he told her the truth. "No," she murmured. "He just said he was my father and I was the Lost Heir. And I said he was awful and I wanted my Mommy. And he sort of smiled in this nasty way and said that he'd married you. So then I got mad and threw a spell at him, and he left." Then my daughter snuggled in deeper, cuddling Lulu. She gave a happy sigh. "But he's dead now," she said contentedly. "The manticore killed him. He can't bother us again."

I stroked her hair and said nothing. It's true that Balekin is dead. But that doesn't mean he can't hurt us still. After all, though Philomel is still too young, one day she will understand what Balekin did to me. She will understand that she was born of rape. She will fully understand that her mother killed her father. How is that going to make her feel?

And what of Dogwood? I look at him, splashing around in the water. I'm not sure what his future will be, as the son of the Dowager Lady Greenbriar, but it won't be without its challenges. He may not have to deal with being the Lost Heir, but he does have to deal with being an Echo, both desired and despised. And he has to reforge his relationship with Birch, now that he knows the truth. They've been oddly shy with each other, Dogwood and Birch: Dogwood keeps going quiet, clinging to me whenever Birch shows up, staring at his father with wondering eyes. But yesterday I found them sitting together on my back step, Dogwood watching as Birch sang a piece of wood into a toy horse for him. Perhaps there's hope.

"I'm becoming entirely too hot." Heartwood stands, shaking out her skirts. "I'm going to go take a nap up a tree."

"I'm getting hot too." Heather gets to her feet, brushing off her shorts. "I think I'll take a dip." She ambles down toward the pond as Heartwood scurries into the upper branches of a tree.

"You can't 'take a dip' with a nixie!" Vivienne follows her in great agitation.

"Well, come with me, then…"

"Oh, boy." Cardan rolls over and climbs to his feet. "Come, Jude, we'd better go along too."

"This had better not be some ploy to get me to take my clothes off in public," Jude growls, even as she lets him haul her to feet.

"What an excellent notion, Jude," Cardan says warmly as they head down the slope. "I knew I was right to make you my official Seneschal. You always have such wonderful ideas."

"You perverted faerie creep." Jude holds his hand, shoulder bumping companionably against his, as they walk slowly toward the pond.

Birch, watching them, shakes his head in wonderment. What a strange couple, he signs to me.

Any stranger than you and me? I sign back, happy that we're talking.

His smile fades as he looks at me with sudden seriousness. Are we a couple? he asks.

My heart thuds a little. It takes me a moment to compose my thoughts, glancing down at the weave of the picnic blanket.

I don't know, I sign at last. I'd like to be, but…I'm not ready for a relationship like that. I'm not ready for sex, or living with a man. I might never be ready. I'm sorry, but it's true.

Birch lets out a growl, crest rising. "That evil prince," he snarls. "He deserved worse than the manticore."

Balekin's gone now. I take a deep breath. But that doesn't mean I'm completely healed. I might never be completely healed, Birch.

Slowly, gently, Birch places his arm around my shoulders. I stiffen a little, and he freezes. But then I relax into his touch, and there is nothing frightening or threatening about it. This is the touch of a man who loves me, who would never hurt me.

"Albia," he says gently, "I do want a relationship with you. I want to be your lover, and I want to be the father of your children. But I would never force you into anything you don't want to do. And even if you are never ready, I still want to spend your life with you, in whatever capacity you want me to. I want to raise my son and your daughter, at your side. I want to help you heal if I can. Help you become whole." He takes a deep breath. "After Acorn left me, I thought I'd never love another woman. And I didn't—until you." His arm squeezes my shoulders gently. "You are a miracle, Albia, in so many ways. I love you, and I want to stay with you."

I lean into him, feeling his lean length, his strength. "You're a miracle too," I whisper aloud, my voice soft and miraculous on my tongue. "For so long, I thought all faeries were selfish and vicious and evil and cruel, especially the men. You proved me wrong." I reach up to cover his clawed hand with mine. "I want to spend my life with you too, Birch."

We sit together, in each other's embrace, while the party goes on in and around the pond. Oriana finally staggers out of the water, half-laughing, shift clinging to her body. "Enough!" she cries. "That's enough for one day. Are you all right, you two?" she calls up to me and Birch.

"We're fine," Birch calls back.

"Good!" Wringing out her hair, she goes to dry herself off and get dressed again.

Watching Birch and Oriana, a thought occurs to me. Birch and Oriana both promised to kill Madoc if anything happened to me because of his plan—and something did. Balekin kidnapped me and forced me to marry him. Now, by all the laws of Faerie, Birch and Oriana will have to act on their promise, even if it takes them years or centuries. They're going to have to kill Madoc.

I wonder how I feel about this. The last I heard, Madoc was settled on the Ironside, puzzling over his quest. I hope it takes him a thousand years—but even now, I still don't want him to die.

But looking at my stepmother and my love, I find that my chief anxiety concerns them. I hope so much that Madoc doesn't hurt or kill them, when they fulfill their vow. Please, oh God, oh Great Trees, let them be safe.

Also, purely selfishly, I hope that they enact their promise only after I myself am dead.

But now Dogwood and Philomel are splashing out of the water, running up the slope, shedding water as they run squealing, and I forget all my fears and anxieties as I behold them. My strong, healthy son, crest larger and more colorful every day, with his rare and amazing gift. My miraculous daughter, hair glowing with the unicorn's blessing. Both of them precious and wonderful and beautiful and mine.

"Mommy!" Philomel launches herself onto me, and I let out a huff of air. "Oh, sorry," she laughs. "But did you see us teaching Oriana to swim?"

"I sure did!" I ruffle her hair. "She'll be swimming like a nixie soon."

"Maybe not like a nixie," Dogwood says thoughtfully. "But she'll swim." He settles on Birch's other side. "Hi, uh, Dad."

"Hello, son." Birch smiles at him and holds up his free arm. After a moment, Dogwood snuggles in.

Philomel cuddles in next to me. "This is good, isn't it?" she says contentedly. "All of us together. Forever and always."

"Forever and always," I agree, hugging her.

"Forever and always," says Dogwood.

"And always and forever," finishes Birch, and we sit, my children and my love and I, watching our family and friends laugh and run and play. Forever and always, together.