The king and Claire stood atop a high battlement looking across a series of rolling hills lined with low walls. A dense forest stood at a distance slightly to the left, while mountains shrouded in clouds stood to the right, so far distant they looked hazy and insubstantial.
Claire rested her elbows on the smooth stone. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“Of course it is.” The king turned to her with a faint, proud smile. “I chose this spot partly for the view, in addition to its more pragmatic qualifications.”
Claire frowned. “Chose it for the site of the castle, or for this dream?”
“Both.”
“Why?”
The king gestured gracefully, the gesture encompassing the entire panorama. “Perhaps if you see the beauty of Faerie, you will not hate it so much. And perhaps, if you do not hate it, you will not hate me, because I serve the Seelie peoples as king. My blood and power are the thin line between the Unseelie, who would invade and destroy this land, and all peoples under my rule.”
She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t seem to notice her scrutiny, staring at a point on the horizon with a melancholy air.
“Why do you think I hate you?”
His lips pressed together in a pale line. Perhaps he was trying to decide what to say, or how to say it. He took a deep breath, then let it out. “I gave you a gift, twice upon a time. A token, at first, though not without power. Then later, I gave you everything.” He glanced down at her, then looked up toward the horizon, his jaw tight. “I asked for it back, pleaded with you, and you did not understand. Or perhaps you did and merely meant to keep it for yourself.” His voice dropped until she had to strain to hear his next words. “I… I had entrusted you with everything. I did not want to believe that you betrayed that trust. I clung to the hope that you would begin to understand. When you found me mad and dying, I believed that at last you had begun to understand and feel your duty press upon you, even if you could not feel compassion for the villain you believed me to be.
“And yet… here we are. The war rages. It seems you feel more compassion for Silvertongue, the liar prince, lord of mischief and master of deception, than you do for me. I feel it is my fault. Perhaps I have wounded you unintentionally, or perhaps I played my part too well. It amused me to stretch myself into an image that felt so foreign, and it served my interests to do so. At least, I thought it did. You wished, and in your wishing I saw your heart.
“We of Faerie cannot change our nature. We make decisions, we act upon our impulses either honorable or base, but we remain fundamentally what we are. I am a king. I was born to be king, I was trained for the role from birth, and the nature of a king flows in my veins just as blood does.
“If I had no peoples and no lands and no power, I would still be fundamentally a king. A landless, powerless king of no one, but nonetheless a fairy king. A Seelie king, although that distinction probably matters little to you.
“But you, human as you are, are malleable. You can change your nature.” He gave her a sidelong look, and then looked again toward the horizon, the skin around his eyes tightening a little. “Time speeds away,” he murmured.
“Malleable?” She breathed in through her nose, barely controlling the impulse to slap him. “Because I’m not royal like you are, I’m clay to be molded into something useful for your ends?” Anger pulsed in her veins. “So to satisfy your needs, I have change myself? I have give up some of what makes me me to please you?” She imagined daggers shooting out of her eyes and stabbing him in his selfish, arrogant heart. “That’s unrealistic and not particularly flattering and not at all compelling.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “You persist in finding offense where none is meant. Behold.” He held out his hand toward her, filled with deep black powder. “Soot. Pure carbon, more or less. Tell me about it.”
“Uh… it’s black?”
“Indeed. What is it good for, though?”
Claire scowled at him. “I don’t know. Not much. Maybe putting out fires or something.”
He closed his hand and then opened it again. The soot was gone, replaced by a chunk of what appeared to be quartz crystal on his palm. “And this? Tell me about it.”
“It’s a rock. Or rather, it’s not a rock because we’re in a dream! Why are you testing me?”
His eyebrows raised in a faintly amused expression. “Anything special about it?”
Claire wrinkled her nose. “Not really. Looks like a piece of gravel from a parking lot.”
“It’s actually a diamond, which is made of the very same carbon atoms as the soot. They are merely arranged in a neat, orderly crystal structure, which gives them form and beauty. But the beauty is hidden.”
She glanced up at his face. “I didn’t realize fairies knew about elements and atomic structure.”
“We don’t, as a general rule. But this is your dream, and you do. Pay attention now; don’t get distracted.”
So he knows what I know. The thought was unsettling.
He closed his hand, and opened it again to reveal an enormous cut diamond that shone as if lit from within. “And this? Tell me about it.”
“It’s beautiful,” Claire breathed. “It’s a diamond, obviously.”
“Indeed.” The king smiled. “Made of carbon atoms. It was the soot, and the piece of gravel. Soot that has been ordered and disciplined becomes diamond; it is hard, no longer soft powder that blows in the wind and dirties all it touches. But though the gravel was diamond, it was unremarkable because all the unnecessary bits on the outside interfered with our seeing it, and prevented it from refracting light. But those unnecessary parts could be cut away, revealing the precious gem in all its glory.”
Claire frowned at the diamond. “So you’re saying you cut away the bits of me you didn’t like? That’s not much better.”
The king sighed softly. “I gave you the opportunity to become the diamond I knew was within you from childhood. You have changed; you have ordered your mind and personality. Some extraneous bits have fallen away, but most of you is still hidden by bits and pieces of personality that you have put on to better fit what others expect of you. You accuse me of trying to mold you into something you are not, but that is the very opposite of what I hope for. I want you to cast off all the bits that are not really you. But it must be you who does it. I can’t do it. I can’t even really push you to do it, even though I desperately…” He stopped.
“But you do push me! You put me in situations where I have to do what you want or die!”
He inhaled sharply and his eyes flicked over her face before he turned away. “No, Claire. I have never…” He let out a soft breath. “I admit I used you, am still using you. But only because you were crying out for a challenge; I did not search you out or intend to harm you. In every danger, you could have chosen differently.” His voice lowered. “I would never have chosen for you to put on the mask, but neither could Taibhseach put it on you. A mask can only be donned voluntarily, you know. When you did, I nearly despaired, and when you overcame it, I thought there might be a little hope after all.”
The sun broke through the clouds overhead, washing the landscape in golden light. The gold on the king’s cuffs glittered as if it were molten.
“I didn’t overcome it,” Claire said. “You pulled it off me, remember?”
“When you don the mask, you cede power to make your own decisions to the lord of the mask, Taibhseach. You donned the mask, but somehow rejected the authority. He had no power over you.” He smiled slightly as he glanced down at her. “Why do you think he was trying to use the mask to kill you? Because you remained your own, and would not bow to his will.”
The mask had sapped her will and tried to influence her, but she had still chosen how to act. The challenges she had faced had been similar. She had had goals, but she had not actually been compelled to perform.
“What about when you pulled me here to rescue the fairy?”
“I was fulfilling your wish.” His eyes glinted.
He desperately wanted something from her, though what exactly he wanted was still unclear to her. He said that time was short. Yet still he did not force her to do anything.
Did that imply…
“You have no power over me.”
“No.” His eyes swept over her with an odd, hungry expression. “I don’t. At least not yet.”
She glared at him, feeling her skin flush. “You won’t ever!”
His lips lifted in a smile, and she had the impression she had surprised him. “Oh, is that what you think?” His smile widened, sharp white teeth giving her a moment of nervous fear. He let the silence grow, let his eyes sweep over her body, lingering on the curve of her neck, on her trembling lips, on her flushed cheeks.
“That’s not even fair,” she breathed. “You’re… you’re trying to seduce me! In a dream! That’s… ugh!”
His pale eyebrows rose, and he gave a short, startled laugh that quickly changed into an elegant cough. “I assure you, Claire Maeve Delaney, that were I trying to seduce you, you would have no doubt of it.”
She glared at him. “Oh, so you seduce girls in dreams often? Is that how it is? You have lots of practice?”
“Not at all. But I flatter myself that my efforts would at least be understood, without a shred of doubt, as attempted seduction.” He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling with barely suppressed mirth. And warmth… the warmth and affection startled her.
“Do you like me?” she breathed. “Or is that another of your acts?”
He turned away. “It is quite immaterial whether I like you or not. You wouldn’t believe me if I told the truth anyway.”
“I wish you’d look at me!” she cried.
He turned stiffly toward her, his eyes flashing like lightning.
Something about his movement made her uneasy; his eyes swept over her again, bright and hard and dangerously, terrifyingly intelligent. He was clever and alien, and although she thought she understood him sometimes, the flicker in his eyes now reminded her that she didn’t truly understand what was going on at all.
“What did you mean you had no power over me yet?” Her voice sounded high and frightened.
He lifted his lips in a slightly predatory smile. “Exactly what I said. Yet.”
“Why do you talk to me in dreams?”
He inhaled softly, as if she had done him some terrible hurt without realizing it. His eyes remained on hers, and because she looked, really looked, she saw the despair that he almost managed to hide.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said finally, in a voice so low it barely reached her ears.
“Is the madness getting worse?”
He closed his eyes. “Perhaps you should be the judge of that.”
She studied his face. He had a disquieting sort of beauty; his eyes were too slanted, his cheekbones too high and his jaw too narrow and sharp. There was too much steel beneath his thin skin, as if it were clothing he might shed at any moment.
“What is your name?” Claire asked.
The king gave her a sidelong look. “Why ask that now? You have never wondered before.”
It was true, and guilt weighed upon her so heavily so that for a moment she could not speak. “I never… never really saw you before.” I saw my idea of you, but I didn’t really see you.
“You never looked.” Blue-gold-silver glinted as a faint smile flickered over his lips for an instant before it disappeared. “I played a part. I can hardly blame you for believing it.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap, at the torn nails and scratches from the thorns, then looked up to meet his eyes.
“Tuathal,” he said softly, as if giving her a gift. “Tuathal is my true name. Guard it well.”
Claire recalled some legend of true names holding power, and she wondered, suddenly, what he was giving her. A lump seemed lodged in her throat, some emotion she couldn’t identify, much less name. “Did you just give me power over you? Aren’t names important?”
The thin skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled, holding her gaze. “No, and yes.”
She pondered that. “I wish you would answer my questions,” she said finally.
He gave a quiet, elegant laugh. “Oh, if only it were so simple.”
“Tuathal,” she said. His name felt like snow in her mouth, ozone-fresh and glittering with light.
His eyes flicked to hers, and slid downward, lingering on her lips, on the line of her jaw, on the pulse she could feel pounding at the base of her throat, to the points of her clavicle, down the smooth skin of her chest to her breastbone. “Where did you get that necklace?” he murmured. His gaze held hers.
Claire pulled at the pendant, running her thumb over the familiar knobby texture. I’d forgotten I was wearing it. Has he asked me that before?
She studied his face, how his eyes flicked to the pendant and back to hers.
“Why did you ask me that?” she said finally.
He said softly, “Seems like something you’d remember.”
“Why do you think you will get power over me? Why would you ever think that?” she whispered. “I’m here to help you. That’s all.”
His gaze rested on her face, a tiny smile flickering over his lips. “Because you give it to me, of course.”
The moment was broken. “I would never!”
He let out a breath, as if he’d been hoping for other words. “Perhaps not.” His gravel-and-silk voice was scarcely audible.
“Why would I do such a thing? Why would you even think it?” She almost winced at the harsh tone of the words, but she kept her eyes on him. How could he assert with such certainty something so absurd?
His thin lips rose in a melancholy smile. “Nevertheless, I am not altogether unhappy. I have chosen, and yet I choose, and will so continue to choose.” He bowed deeply to her.
For an instant, she imagined there was mockery in the gesture. Then he shuddered and he fell to one knee. He remained kneeling, head bowed, one elbow on his knee, moonlight-pale hair falling over his face.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
He did not answer.
He trembled, and as the distant mountains seemed to turn to vapor and float away, he began drawing curling patterns in the air.
“Stop,” breathed Claire.
His hand twitched, and his shoulders jerked as if he had been punched very hard in the stomach. His hair hid his face.
Claire fell to her knees beside him, putting her hand over his.
His fingers were warm and strong, fine bone and sinew just beneath paper-thin skin. He flinched at her touch, then his hand closed around hers, weaving his fingers between hers in a gesture more intimate than she had been prepared for.
He looked at her through the white fringe of his hair. “Tick tock.”