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BEFORE WE HAD TIME to properly engage with each other or with our surroundings, Rodney led us deep into the night-black forests, the underbrush clinging to our feet. We were all too excited, our hearts beating too quickly, to take in what was going on; Rodney, at least, had the presence of mind to steer us into where we wouldn't be caught.
“Light an invisibility circle,” he whispered hoarsely, and Shasta and I began the same low, soft chant that she had first taught me upon first making our escape, concentrating our magic on securing the borders of our campsite between two stretching fir trees.
“We made it,” whispered Shasta at last, when we had at last created for ourselves a little campsite of safety. “We made it.” Her whisper turned into a joyous shout; her face – ecstatic, radiant – was even more luminous than usual in the flickering of the magical candles we had lit on each tiny needle of the fir tree. “Oh, Rodney.”
Decorum forgotten, the two of them threw themselves into each other's arms, wrapping themselves so tightly around each other than in the shadows they seemed less like two fairies in love than like a single, dynamic being, so full of life and love and energy that a thousand mortal bodies could not have contained it.
“I missed you so much, Rodney,” whispered Shasta. “And I didn't even get to say goodbye – when I had to go away....I had to go home – but I even tried to run back! But I couldn't – not with so many lives at stake...so much at stake...” She was no longer the regal princess now; now, as Rodney stroked her hair and softly cupped her face in his hands, she was as girlish and sweet as any mortal.
“I understand,” said Rodney. “It would have been too dangerous for you to come back. But that's why I went – you see – I followed you both! I would have offered myself up as a prisoner in the Winter Court and then you could have been my captor – my jailer! Already you have the key to my heart.”
Logan gave an uncomfortable cough and shuffle of his feet. Against the overwhelming passion of Shasta and Rodney, my own reunion with Logan seemed clumsy – awkward – unsure. It was so easy for them to vanish into their whirlwind of emotions, to forget that we were watching them as they covered each other's faces and hands and mouths with kisses.
“We can't be apart ever again,” I heard Rodney saying as he kissed Shasta's neck. I was grateful for the dim flickering of the lights; I was blushing a shade of scarlet more suited to shades of fruit than shades of complexion, and I didn't want Logan to see how uncomfortable all this was making me. I could tell that he felt awkward too; he was standing stiffly at a distance.
“Logan...” I tried to say. I tried to greet him, tried to explain – explain how sorry I was, how much I'd missed him, how I wasn't sure – and yet I knew that when I thought he was dead my whole world had collapsed and inverted upon itself. There was so much to say and yet I couldn't for all my magic find a way of saying it, of expressing it. And I was afraid, too, of what Logan had to say to me. Would there be anger? Would he reproach me? Would he...
And then I didn't have time to think any longer. I saw Logan set his jaw with firm resolve and turn towards me. In a few striding steps he was in front of me, his face close to mine, and then his hands were on my shoulders, pulling me towards him, pulling my mouth towards his.
And then he kissed me.
In the brief seconds between the time he began walking towards me and the time when our lips were finally, finally touching, I had a series of thoughts. I thought of resisting, of apologizing; I thought of Kian, of that magical and terrifying week in his hunting-lodge in the Winter badlands, of my dreams of fairy waltzes, of my fear, my apologies, my anger at myself, how overwhelmed I was by Feyland and pixies and marriage and politics and war – always war! And yet when Logan's lips were on mine, bruising my mouth with the full intensity of his passion, none of these things seemed to matter to me. His arms were locked around the back of my neck, pressing me towards him with the full animal force of him – his kisses had in them the strength and vigor of a wolf! I felt my knees going weak; I felt my mouth opening up to his.
It was not like my first kiss with Kian. That had been as delicately dangerous as shattered glass – a beautiful, magical moment as still and picturesque as one of Kian's fairy paintings on the walls of his hunting-lodge. It had been like a dream – a gorgeous, wonderful dream but a dream nonetheless. This felt real. I could smell the familiar musk on his neck and his chest. I could taste his lips, feel the bristle of the stubble on his chin. This was the Logan I had almost kissed on my birthday, before the Pixie King came, before Kian came and I was dragged into Feyland and changed forever. This was my best friend – the person to whom I had confided all my secrets, all my fears and worries, for ten years or more. His kiss was not new or strange; rather, it was familiar – containing all the friendship and love and trust that had passed between us in the ten years of our friendship.
At last he pulled away, kissing my forehead and my hand.
“Let's talk,” he said, his voice low and soft as he led me behind a great oak tree – as much to give Shasta and Rodney privacy as to make sure we were not heard.
“I missed you,” I said, my voice shaking. “And – Logan – I'm so sorry...”
“You've risked your life at the Pixie Castle twice now,” said Logan, ruffling my hair. “First for Kian, then for me. Breena, you're the bravest girl I know.”
“I missed you,” I said, snuggling down into his chest. “So much. I didn't know until I thought you were dead – how much I felt...how strongly...”
He stroked my hair. “I never told you,” he said. “I was a coward. It was only when I let some... fairy prince almost steal your heart that I realized I had to tell you – or risk losing you. And then it was too late – and you seemed so happy...”
“I don't want to live without you in my life,” I said. “When I thought you were dead, it was like something huge and empty opened up inside me; I couldn't stand it! I would have done anything – even married Delano – to get you back...”
“I'm glad you didn't,” he said, hugging me tightly.
“My mother,” I broke in. “She's at the Winter Court. That's why...”
“Rodney explained it to me,” said Logan, grinning. “He's a nice guy, Rodney. Although I do hope Summer-Winter couplings don't become the fashion in Feyland.”
I blushed; I didn't want him to remind me of Kian. I knew he was jealous, but I could not stand to speak ill of Kian, whom I had not seen since my abduction at the hands of the Summer Court.
“So, what now?” I asked.
“Well, let's start by getting your mother out of Feyland. As far as I recall your mother liked the beach, not the cold – I imagine she's not enjoying her vacation at the Winter Court.” Logan chuckled. “I'm sure she's fine – they don't mistreat hostages there.”
“But the Summer Court says...”
“The Winter Court says your Queen roasts hostages alive. As far as I can tell, Shasta hasn't been roasted anytime lately.”
He had a point.
“And then what?” I asked Logan, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“And then,” said Logan, giving me an affectionate tap on the nose, “I say you, me, and your mother head back beyond the Crystal River, and return to normal.”
Normal. The word filled me at once with joy and dread. I wanted to be safe, to sleep, to be with those I loved without worrying about other people's wars, other people's magic. And yet – could I bear to leave Feyland?
“I'll make sure you all get to Gregory safely,” said Logan, kissing my forehead again.
It was then that we heard the sharp sound of rustling among the leaves. Wary of a pixie attack, we jumped up, looking back around behind the tree.
We heard the crunch of leaves, of footsteps – two pairs of footsteps, running off into the distance.
Shasta and Rodney had gone.