“Yes,” Rhys said.
We all exchanged a look. I wondered if they were all thinking what I was thinking, that at least some of our magic was doing just fine outside faerie. In fact, Galen’s seemed to be growing stronger. That was almost as interesting and surprising as anything that had happened today, because just as it was “impossible” for the fey to be killed in the manner that they seemed to have been killed, so sidhe magic growing stronger outside faerie was just as impossible. Two impossible things in one day, I would have said it was like being Alice in Wonderland, but her Wonderland was fairyland, and none of the impossibilities survived Alice’s trip back to the “real” world. Our impossibilities were on the wrong end of the rabbit hole. Curiouser and curiouser, I thought, quoting the little girl who got to go to fairytale land twice, and come home in one piece. That’s one of the biggest reasons that no one ever thought Alice’s adventures were real. Fairyland doesn’t give second chances. But maybe the outside world was a little more forgiving. Maybe you have to be somewhere that isn’t full of too many immortal things to have the hope of second chances. But since Galen and I were the only two of the exiled sidhe who had never been worshipped in the human world, maybe it wasn’t second chances, but a first chance. The question was, a chance to do what? because if he could convince fellow sidhe to do his bidding, humans wouldn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Fifteen
The only light in the huge great room of the beach house was the glow of the roomy kitchen to one side, like a glowing cave in the growing dimness. Amatheon and Adair were in that glow panicking. They were both a little over six feet tall with broad shoulders, their bare arms in the modern T-shirts muscular from centuries of weapon practice. Adair’s honey-brown hair was knotted and braided into a complicated club between his shoulder blades; unleashed, it hit his ankles. Amatheon’s hair was a deep copper red, and curled enough so that the ponytail of knee-length hair was a foam of burnished red as he leaned down toward the chiming oven. They had kilts on instead of pants, but you just didn’t see six feet-plus of immortal warrior panicking about anything often, but panicking in a kitchen with pots in their hands and the oven open while they peered inside in a puzzled manner was a very special and endearing type of panic.
Galen put me down gently but quickly, striding toward the kitchen to save the meal from their well-meaning but ineffectual ministrations. They weren’t actually wringing their hands, but their body language said clearly that they’d run away if they could convince themselves it wouldn’t be cowardly.
Galen entered the fray totally calm and in control. He liked to cook, and he’d taken well to modern conveniences, but then he’d visited the outside world often all his life. The other two men had only been outside faerie for a month. Galen took the pot out of Adair’s hands and put it back on the stove on low heat. He got a towel, leaned in past Amatheon’s waterfall of hair, and began taking pies out of the oven. In moments everything was under control.
Amatheon and Adair stood just outside the glow of the kitchen, looking crestfallen and relieved. “Please, never leave us in charge of a meal again,” Adair said.
“I can cook over an open fire if I have to,” Amatheon said, “but these modern contrivances are too different.”
“Can either of you grill steaks?” Galen asked.
They looked at each other. “Do you mean over an open fire?” Amatheon asked.
“Yes, with a wire rack so the meat sits above the flames, but it’s real fire and it’s outside.”
They both nodded. “We can do that.” They sounded relieved. Adair added, “But Amatheon is the better cook of the two of us.”
Galen got a platter out of the refrigerator, took plastic wrap off it, and handed it to Amatheon. “The steaks have been marinating. All you have to do is ask everyone how they like their steaks cooked.”
“How they like them cooked?” he asked.
“Bloody, not so bloody, brown in the middle, gray in the middle,” Galen said, wisely not even trying to explain rare, medium, and well done for the men. The last time either of them had been out of fairyland one of the Henrys was king of England. And that had been a brief outing into the human world, then back they’d gone to the only life they’d ever known. They’d had one month of modern kitchens and not having servants to do all the grunt work. They were actually doing better than some of the others who were new to the human world. Mistral was, unfortunately, not taking well at all to modern America. Since he was one of the fathers of my babies, that was a problem, but he wasn’t here tonight. He didn’t like traveling outside the walled estate in Holmby Hills that we called home. Amatheon, Adair, and many of the other guards were cuter about it, and not so frustrating to the rest of us, which was nice.
Hafwyn joined Galen in the kitchen. Her long yellow braid moved in rhythm against the back of her body as she walked. She began to take things from him and hand things to him as if they’d done this before. Was Hafwyn helping in the kitchen more? As a healer, she didn’t have guard duty, and as a healer we didn’t feel that her having a job outside of that was a good idea, but she could heal with her hands, so no hospital or doctor would take her. Magic healing was still considered fraud in the United States. There had been too many charlatans over the centuries, so the law didn’t leave much room for the genuine article.
Rhys was still beside me in the dimness of the huge living room, but Doyle and Frost had moved across the room past the huge dining room table that was all pale wood gleaming in the moonlight. They were silhouetted against the huge glass wall that looked directly out onto the ocean. There was a third silhouette that stood a foot taller than them. Barinthus was seven feet tall, the tallest sidhe I’d ever met. He was bending that height over the shorter men, and without hearing a word, I knew they were reporting the day’s events. Barinthus had been my father’s closest friend and advisor. The queen had feared him as both a kingmaker and a rival for the throne. He’d only been allowed to join the Unseelie Court on the promise that he would never try to rule there. But we weren’t in the Unseelie Court anymore, and for the first time I was seeing what my aunt Andais might have seen. The men reported to him and asked his advice; even Doyle and Frost did. It was as if he had an aura of leadership wrapped around him that no crown, title, or bloodline could truly bestow. He was simply a point that people rallied around. I wasn’t even sure how aware the other sidhe were that they were doing it.
Barinthus’s ankle-length hair was unbound and spilled around his body like a cloak made of water, for his hair was every shade that ocean can be, from darkest blue to tropical turquoise to the gray of storm and everything in between. You couldn’t see the extraordinary play of colors in the low light from the moonlit windows, but there was something of movement and flow to his hair even in the dark that made it ripple in the glow of what little light was available as if it were indeed water. His hair actually hid his body so I couldn’t tell anything of his clothes.
He lived at the beach house to be near the ocean, and it was as if the longer he was near it, the stronger he grew, the more confident. He had once been Mannan Mac Lir, and there was still a sea god in there trying to get out. It was as if fairyland had drained him of his powers, but being near the ocean gave him back what most of the sidhe had lost when they had left faerie.
Rhys put an arm around my shoulders, and whispered, “Even Doyle treats him as a superior.”
I nodded. “Does Doyle realize that yet?”
Rhys kissed me on the cheek, and he’d gotten his power under control enough that it was just a kiss, nice, but not so overwhelming. “I don’t think so.”