Page 24 of The Fae’s Treasure

“First, you feed. Then, you flute.” I instruct and begin making up a bottle, taking out the purified water from the bag, the bottle, the formula, and even the plug-in bottle warmer. Dairmuid watches, kneeling next to me, unstrapping Rory with trembling hands. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” I murmur. “He’s just hungry. He slept a lot today, and he’s... Well, as far as I can tell, he’s a newborn. They sleep a lot.”

“I know so little about raising children.” Dairmuid pulls Rory to his chest, kissing his head, and then rising to walk with him, half-humming, half-singing in that melodic language that I can’t quite make out. “I am very grateful for your help.”

“A lot of dads who find out their partners are pregnant just leave. Or if they’re decent people, they pay child support and come around a few times a year.” I roll my eyes.

“I will most assuredly pay to support my child, but he’s also my child. My son. I have to raise him. Protect him. Teach him.” His face is suddenly alight with a peaceful kind of joy that makes my heart skip a beat, and I don’t care if that’s a cliché. That’s what it feels like—a hop and skip inside my chest, and a leap in my middle. “Can you imagine him bringing his first rain? Weaving his first autumn storm?”

“I was getting all choked up about him going to kindergarten, but sure, moving the celestial elements and creating natural disasters sounds good, too,” I chuckle.

And he chuckles.

And my heart does cardio while I’m just sitting still, watching him.

Chapter Eight: Partners

Being a fae, especially one closely associated with the rituals of fertility, has its advantages.

I know that even though Deanna is wary of me, or just my powers, perhaps, that she finds certain things about me to be attractive.

When I held Rory and sang to him while he fed, she was practically breathless.

When she began to play the organ, and I sang along, her jaw dropped and stayed there, beautiful, elegantly shaped mouth gaping open at how beautiful we sounded together.

And then... Oh, then, when I asked her to help me put on the baby-carrying contraption (which one must surely need special powers to master), her face was pink, and her eyes were sparkling when she had to stand so close to me. She didn’t understand how to maneuver the strap around my wings, and I had to show her how they simply pass through most matter unless I deem otherwise. She didn’t even think about it—she just reached out and brushed my wing. I know she was only doing it because she’s curious, and Rory has little wings like mine, not his mother’s.

Her little cries of awe helped me to contain my cries of lust.

You don’t touch a fae’s wings like that—feeling all over, stroking the whole length of them, running your fingertip along the delicate membranes—not unless you want to be his lover, or you already are.

I could barely hold my flute after that, but I’m glad I managed it, for our duets with flute and organ were even more beautiful than my voice and her instrument.

Rory gurgled and cooed the entire time. Deanna looked enchanted.

And all of my impure thoughts about seducing Deanna suddenly had pure motives. Saz could never claim my soul if it belonged to someone else. Even if I gave my soul to Deanna, and Saz harmed her, the way I understand it, my soul is not my own anymore. It would forever belong to the woman I gave it to. Without that soul, what bargain could we strike?

None.

She might still come after Rory—but I have decided this place is a pine-covered fortress, unlikely in appearance and far less beautiful than my realm, but it has its compensations.

People.

Good people, people who want to raise their children together.

I try to think back to my childhood, but it was so, so long ago. I can count on one hand the memories I have of playing with children or even adults, amid untold memories of sitting stiffly in court, dancing stiffly at balls, and the endless joy of escaping it all to do as I pleased in nature.

I’m made differently than my son, perhaps, and differently than other fae, it seems. I could be content to live here for a time. After all... A century in this realm is nothing much in mine.

The pain in my chest suddenly makes me play a flat note, and Deanna frowns, but keeps playing.

The thought of missing a single moment of her little span of time feels like a thorn in my heart.

Imagining Rory’s pain at losing her, for she is his true mother, and I already know it, sends thousands of thorns all through me.

“You running out of air?” Deanna teases as the song ends with her playing solo.

“Yes. Sorry,” I lie. It is easier than confessing that I was already mourning her short human life and plotting ways to spend it with her.

“I believe I win the battle then.”