Kingsbane

Chapter 9

     Sverre sat in his usual spot, atop the highest hill in Unseelie, kindling a large fire at it's peak. He knew she could see if from her tower window, knew that was where she'd been, waiting for the only communication they had, had in over three hundred years. Or, at least he hoped she was still waiting. There was really no way to know for sure.
    Rafferty had told him she asked about him sometimes, and just knowing that she still thought about him made him smile. It was a bitter, almost cruel smile, but that was the only kind he could seem to muster nowadays. In reality, this evening ritual was probably just a waste of time, just another way to prolong their agonies, but he was selfish like that. He could not bear the thought of being forgotten.
    With a wide piece of bark he fanned the flames and then threw a large handful of leaves into them. Instantly, bluish white smoke began to billow, snaking it's wispy way into the night sky, and etching a wavering trail into the darkness above.
    He watched it go, sending every ounce of love he still had in him with it, all the while fanning and feeding the fire. He would remain there until sunrise, professing his feelings of everlasting loyalty, even when she had no intention of doing the same.
    She couldn't, he knew, for the kingdom depended on her, but duty and honor was nothing to him now, rendering the inevitability of her betrayal unimportant. The simple fact that she was sleeping with his cherished little brother was enough to drive him mad. And yet here he was, clinging desperately, like a spoiled child, to a treasure long lost.

    Siofra lay in her large bed, back to the window, face buried in her pillow. She knew he was signaling her, trusted that he always would. Until the day he died, he would send that wicked blue smoke into the atmosphere. It was always a harsh reminder of the man that her mother had taken from her and cast into darkness, forever beyond her longing reach. Did he think she would forget him? The thought made her even more sorrowful.
    Even when he went through so much trouble, she could no longer bear to watch those bluish tendrils, to witness his love. Especially when she had no choice but to allow his brother to impregnate her.
    Without a Queen, her world's magic would wither and die, and her people would fade away. She was the vessel which held the magic that sustained the entirety of Faery. She was the mother of all things. If she did not produce a princess, then when she at last reached the end of her life, the power of the Fae would have no holy vessel to transfer to.
Her fate was inescapable.