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“Have you seen the new garden outside the throne room doors in the Unseelie sithen?”
He seemed to have to fight to concentrate, but finally he nodded. “It’s a meadow with a stream now, not the torture area the queen had made of it.”
“Exactly,” I said. “It was a place of pain and now it’s a meadow with butterflies and bunnies. I’m part Seelie Court, Sholto, do you understand what I’m saying? That part of me will impact the magic we do here and now.”
“What magic will we perform here and now?” he asked, smiling. He was still leaning heavily on the spear, the raw wound of what the Seelie had done to him bare to the air. I’d had enough of my own injuries to know that just the touch of air hurt when the skin was abraded. The bone knife lay next to Sholto’s knees. Truthfully, I’d thought it might vanish when the God and Goddess went — for he had refused to use it for its true purpose. Nevertheless, Sholto was still surrounded by major relics of the sluagh. He’d been visited by deity. We knelt in a place of legend, with the possibility of bringing his people to a rebirth of their powers. And all he seemed to be able to think of was the fact that we might be having sex.
I looked in his face. I tried to see past the almost shy anticipation there. He seemed afraid to be too eager. He was a good king, yet the promise of sex with another sidhe had chased all the cautions from his mind. I could not allow him to leap in, though, until I was sure he understood what might happen to his people. He had to understand or…or what?
“Sholto,” I said.
He reached out to me. I took his hand to keep him from touching my face. “I need you to hear me, Sholto, to truly hear me.”
“I will listen to anything you say.”
He was willing to follow my lead. I’d noticed that about him in L.A. — that the dominant, frightening king of the sluagh became submissive in intimate situations. Had Black Agnes taught him that, or Segna? Or was he just wired that way?
I patted his hand, more friendly than sexual. “What I bring to sex magic is meadows and butterflies. Some of the corridors in the Unseelie mound are turning to white marble with veins of gold.”
His face became a little more serious, less amused. “Yes, the queen was most upset,” he said. “She accused you of remaking her sithen in the image of the Seelie Court.”
“Exactly,” I said.
His eyes widened.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I said. “I don’t control what the energy does with the sithen. Sex magic isn’t like other magicks — it’s wilder, and has more a mind of its own.
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