Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(56)

And for an awful too-honest moment, she wanted to tell him that secret, to let him bind her to him, to ask him his secret. She knew he’d tell her, but wanting a thing doesn’t make it wise. Lily kept her lips tightly closed and dropped her gaze.

“We can’t,” she forced herself to say.

“You’re wrong, Lily. You’ll see,” Creed said gently, and then he left her there with tears on her cheeks and a lie still burning on her lips.





twenty-four


EILIDH

Eilidh was in the courtyard outside the queen’s quarters when she saw her brother watching her. She wondered how often he’d done so without her awareness, but she wasn’t so foolish as to think Rhys would answer that question if she posed it. He kept rooms in the queen’s section of the royal palace, as did the king. Eilidh technically had rooms there as well. While her father and brother used theirs, Eilidh hadn’t ever lived there.

“Why do I need to stay in the tower, Mother?” eight-year-old Eilidh asked.

“You are their future.”

“It’s lonely.”

The queen looked at her, and the usual chill in her eyes vanished for a moment. “You are a symbol, child. That means you must be above the emotions that weaken you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You need to prove that you are worthy, that you are the queen they need, that you exist to serve your people.” Endellion held out an ivory-handled dagger. “You are not like any of them.”

“Even my brothers?” Eilidh took the dagger in her hand.

“Rhys is a good example for you,” the queen allowed. “There is no weakness in him. Your father’s sons . . . do not count you as a sibling. You cannot trust them.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The queen nodded. “Keep that with you always, even after you master your affinities.”

“Yes, Mother.” Eilidh nodded and looked at the weapon in her hand. It was pretty for what it was, but it wasn’t a doll. A lot of the fae had dolls. “Could I have a dolly too? Just one? I could practice being a mother, like you.”

The queen cupped Eilidh’s face in her palms. “There will not be talk of being a mother or of loneliness. You are above all of that. They will doubt your worth, and your duty is to prove that you are not weak . . . or your blood will soak into the sand.”

At the time, Eilidh wasn’t entirely sure if her mother was suggesting that she would kill Eilidh for weakness or if weakness would kill her. Either way, she didn’t repeat her request to live near her mother. She did as she was expected to do: trained, studied politics, and watched her brothers—both her father’s sons who wished her ill and the one sibling her mother loved.

And she started to study ways to reach a different future from the red-soaked one Endellion would have them lead. Eilidh wasn’t afraid to take a life if she needed to do so, but it wasn’t something she wanted. She trained to kill, but hoped she would avoid that fate.

Silently, she walked to the wall of weapons and selected a bow she liked. Her hand fell on the quiver of arrows when Rhys spoke up. “Would you care to spar, sister?”

Eilidh looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. He’d never offered to cross blades with her. He’d spoken to her tutors, but he’d never unsheathed his own weapons to train with her.

Behind her she heard murmurs. In this, as in all he did, Rhys clearly had a reason. Joy rolled through her like a wave as he walked toward her. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he ambled across the courtyard as if they didn’t have an audience.

“I’m not sure I’d be much challenge,” she admitted, her voice loud enough to carry to the watchers. “I’ve watched you fight too often to think myself capable of offering you any sport.”

He laughed. Her serious Unseelie brother laughed. “For your age, you would. For my age? Few other than our queen mother would be a genuine contest.”

“And my father,” Eilidh added quietly.

Rhys didn’t reply to that assertion beyond saying, “The king is a skilled fighter. Mother declared that we do not duel though.”

Eilidh gestured at the bow she held. “Best of three?”

Rhys took his hand from the hilt of one of the swords at his side and walked over to grab a bow she’d seen him practice with in the past. “Not my weapon of choice, little sister.”

“I know. That’s why I selected it.”

He laughed again and gestured toward the row of targets as he came to stand at her side. There was something more here than she realized, but she also knew that her brother was offering to fire arrows at her side. It was something he didn’t do with anyone but the queen herself or the rare fae the queen sent to him for instruction. Training with Rhys was a boon not easily granted.

“You honor me, brother.” She nocked an arrow, lifted her bow, and let loose. The shaft hit the first target mere millimeters from dead center. She glanced at him and added, “That doesn’t mean I won’t try to beat you.”

He glanced at the target, flicked his eyes back toward her, and released an arrow while watching her. “Good.”

They gathered a sizeable audience as they competed in marksmanship. She didn’t best him, but no one expected her to do so. The queen’s son and guard was the acknowledged champion with most all weapons in the Hidden Lands. He preferred sharp things, especially the longsword, but he was as happy with bashing as stabbing. Be it rapier or falchion, poignard or dirk, Rhys was always deadly. Eilidh understood, as few could, that he had no other choice. The queen was acknowledged as the best fighter in the Hidden Lands, and he was her only son. Her first daughter, Iana, was dead, and Eilidh was fragile. Rhys had to prove that the queen’s get were not all worthless. Eilidh understood that urge, even though she’d never equal her brother’s skill with so many weapons.