Darkest Mercy Page 17

  Aislinn laughed. “If you wanted me to believe that was all you were, you shouldn’t have advised me when Seth was missing. You can all remain exactly as you were before. I expect that you will still rejoice and frolic. All of my court will do so. . . . First, though, we will consult with the Winter and Dark Courts, and we will figure out how to contain Bananach.”

  The Summer Queen turned her attention to Tavish. “You will be sole commander of guards in addition to advising me with”—she glanced at Siobhan, who nodded, and Eliza, who shook her head—“my new advisor, Siobhan.”

  After a brief proud look, Tavish bowed his head. “It is my honor.”

  Three matters resolved. She had her guard, her new advisor, and had extended welcome to the Summer Girls. Now, she needed to deal with a situation that had grown unacceptable.

  “You”—Aislinn turned her gaze to Quinn—“need to answer some questions.”

  Quinn had stood silently while she selected his replacement. He hadn’t approached when she began tending business, nor had he functioned as a guard. Instead, he had stayed at the edge of the group of assembled faeries. “My queen?”

  “You’ve questioned me.” She advanced toward him, noticing that bands of flowers rippled out from wherever she stepped and making a mental note to figure out how to turn that off.

  Quinn watched her approach without backing away.

  Point for that. She paused. Or not. Is it courage or disdain?

  “You do not treat me with the respect one accords his queen,” she said softly.

  Quinn locked his gaze with hers. “I serve my court.”

  “The question is if you serve my court,” she countered.

  When he didn’t reply, she pressed, “Do you serve the Summer Court?”

  As Quinn stared at her, Aislinn felt the heat of the Summer Court burning in her skin. She put her hand on his shoulder. At her touch, his shirt burned away, and his skin sizzled.

  Turn it down, she cautioned herself. Her expression showed nothing, but a brush of guilt slid across her chest. I didn’t mean to. . . . She steeled herself. These are faeries, and

  I am their queen. Seeing me falter will do more harm than good. She forced Quinn to his knees. “What court do you serve, Quinn?”

  “I am the advisor to—”

  “No,” Aislinn said quietly. “What court do you serve? You are not here to serve my wishes, so whose will do you serve?”

  “Sorcha’s,” he admitted. “The High Queen sent her representatives and . . . she wanted word of our court.”

  “My court,” Aislinn corrected. “If you were spying on my court for another regent, this is not your court. Go.”

  “Go?” he echoed.

  Aislinn gave him the faery-cruel smile she’d learned when she became Summer Queen. When Keenan taught me to pretend I was not overwhelmed. The smile did not falter, nor did her voice as she said, “She wants you, go serve her court. My faeries do not serve the wishes of other regents without my consent.”

  “But . . . but the veil is closed. I can’t go to Faerie.” Quinn’s usual self-confident expression was absent as he looked up at her. “I . . . beseech you: grant me your mercy, please.”

  The Summer Queen stared at the kneeling faery. Around her, the court was silent. Mercy? She didn’t want to be cruel, but she now understood what it meant to lead. Sometimes, a regent had to do things that would keep her up at night. It wasn’t always clear, but absolute good and evil were the stuff of children’s fairy tales.

  Firmly, she told him, “I don’t trust you, Quinn. You put another court’s interests ahead of my court while claiming to serve me. The safety of my faeries is my first priority. It must be.”

  “But . . .” He bowed his head. “I cannot go to her, and out there . . . War is angry. Please?”

  Aislinn sighed. “Advisors?”

  “He cannot be allowed to remain in the loft or within the upper levels of the building,” Tavish said.

  “Or to attend any meeting or to know the touch of any of the summer fey,” Siobhan added.

  “Or to serve as guard,” Tavish said.

  “My advisors seem to be leaving the option of mercy on the table, Quinn.” The Summer Queen looked at her

  advisors and smiled. Then she looked down at Quinn. “You carried word to another court. You were not truly my faery. You are no longer Summer Court, but if you are solitary, you may linger among us for your safety until such time as you find a new court—if my advisors can find suitable use for you.”

  “You are merciful,” Quinn said, with gratitude plain in his expression.

  Aislinn caught his throat in her hand and let just a little heat into her touch—not enough to truly wound, but enough that her handprint would remain when she released him. “If your actions endanger my faeries, my mercy will end.”

  “Yes, m—”

  “And if your actions”—she squeezed—“continue, you will be the one to see how much damage a fully capable Summer regent can do.” Then, Aislinn released him. “Get him out of my presence.”

  Eliza stepped up along with two rowan. The Summer Girl said quietly, “I would ask to join the guard, my Queen.”

  “I don’t see why not. If”—she shot a glance at Tavish—“the head of the guard approves.”

  “Training will commence after we escort Quinn to a comfortable cell.” Tavish motioned for Eliza to grab Quinn’s arm, and then he added, “I think we might have a job for you, Quinn. How do you feel about being a training aid?”

  The fastidious ex-advisor scowled, and then said, “If the Summer Queen would like me to do so, I will do so.”

  Aislinn nodded. “I think a number of the Summer Girls could use some basic defense—”

  “And offense, my Queen,” Siobhan interjected.

  “Defense and offense training. Quinn will make a fine dummy to practice their skills on.” Aislinn didn’t bother smothering her smile.

  Quinn gritted his teeth. “As you wish.”

  And with that, Eliza and Tavish led him away.

  Aislinn sat back in the vine-wrought throne and told her court, “I want to celebrate, to dance with you, to lose ourselves in weeks of revelry, but the king-no-more has made a sacrifice in order to give us the strength to stand with the Cold and the Darkness. Once we find a way to contain War, I promise you we will celebrate as I want to right now.”

  Her faeries smiled and cheered.

  “The park is safe. Bananach cannot enter it without my consent. No one can,” Aislinn assured them. “You may stay in the park or you can stay in the Summer Court’s building, but without my leave, you may not go anywhere else. Dance or rest, make love or make music, but remain within the space where you are safe.”

  Despite the restrictions she’d just imposed—or maybe because they were summer fey—her faeries seemed perfectly content with her command. They are. She felt tendrils of connection to each of them, and she knew they weren’t feigning their cooperation. They trusted her and her judgment.

  Please don’t let me fail them.

  Chapter 30

  “I am not taking care of the court.” Niall straightened the sheet that he’d draped over Irial. “It’s better today, but I can’t remember all of the minutes.”

  On the bed in front of him, Irial’s body was immobile. They were alone. A Hound guarded the door, but like the other guards, he was forbidden to enter the room. Aside from Niall and Gabriel, no one had entered the room since Irial had died. The body hadn’t changed. It looked as though Irial only slept, but when Niall touched his arm, the flesh was cold.

  “I am not sure if I’m glad that you aren’t here to see my descent into madness. I still dream of you. The first time I left you, I dreamed of you—memories of things.” Niall laughed bitterly. “Apparently, I am not any better at losing you this time. Who would’ve guessed?”

  Ink-black tears dripped onto the corpse as Niall kissed Irial’s forehead. “I’ll be home later.”

  Then the Dark King le
ft the house and went to the warehouse. Faeries watched his approach with a degree of fear that seemed out of character. They see my madness. They fear me. Because Irial is dead. Niall tried to smile encouragingly at them, but the emotion that rolled off of many of them was still fear.

  “Go. Tonight, I want to be alone with the betrayer.” He looked at each of the guards that lingered outside the warehouse. “Tell all of them. As your king, I order you to seek your pleasures among whatever faeries you want. Nourish yourselves. I need you all to be at your strongest.”

  Inside the warehouse, Niall repeated his order, and glee spread through the Dark Court faeries. As the Dark King looked on his rejoicing faeries, a voice in his memories trickled to the forefront.

  I am not depraved; I do not allow unforgivable acts.

  Niall stopped in the middle of the warehouse, lifted his voice, and added, “Take pleasure only with the willing, but revel in fights, revel in debauchery as you mourn your dead king.”

  Once they left, Niall walked over to the cage suspended in the middle of the room and stared at the betrayer.

  Seth killed Irial.

  The Dark King paced away. He stopped in front of one of the fires that burned in the warehouse. It did little to chase away the chill that seemed to have filled him since Irial died. Angrily, he stirred the embers with a fire poker, but the cold didn’t abate.

  “You could have saved Iri. Could’ve saved me from this”—Niall tossed the poker onto the ground and looked up at Seth—“madness that threatens me.”

  As Niall stared up at the cage, Seth wondered if their friendship would be the death of him.

  “We are friends, Niall. Let me out,” Seth said quietly.

  Unfortunately, Niall was more Dark King than faery friend in the moment. Muttering quietly to himself, he paced the empty warehouse, then paused and looked at Seth.

  He is grieving and unbalanced.

  “Have I become as mad as Bananach?” Niall asked.

  Inside his prison, Seth chose not to answer that particular question, so Niall kicked the iron bar that held the cage’s chain. The cage plummeted to the ground. “Tell me, Seer. Am I a madman?”

  Seth righted himself from the floor, where he’d fallen as the cage dropped. “Caging your friends isn’t high on the sane list.”

  “I don’t cage friends.” Niall grabbed the fire poker from the ground and pointed it at Seth. “You misled me, infiltrated my court—”

  “Okay, now you sound crazy.” Seth stretched and looked around the dimly lit room. “What time is it anyway? We could go out. Grab some breakfast or dinner. Then you could catch a much-needed nap. What do you say?”

  “You killed Irial.”

  “No,” Seth drawled. “That was Bananach. I fought with you. You remember that, Niall. I know you do.”

  “Murderer.” Niall stabbed the poker deep into the fire. “The Dark Court doesn’t tolerate betrayal. I don’t tolerate it.”

  “Not going to be much of a court if you don’t get your head out of your ass, Niall.” Seth came to his feet. “Where’s Gabe? Where is everyone? Bananach is gathering forces, Niall. You need to do something.”

  “I am about to,” Niall said.

  “If you’re going to do what it looks like you are, that’s high on the crazy list.” Seth watched the tip of the poker heat up. “I’ll forgive a lot of shit, Niall, but you’re starting to tap into the unforgivable list here.”

  The Dark King shook his head. “I’ve watched them blind Sighted mortals.”

  “Not mortal.”

  Niall lifted the poker and walked toward the cage. “I didn’t understand it, but Sorcha follows the old ways. Maybe she knows things. Does she, Seth? Does she know things I’m lacking?”

  “She sees the future, so yeah.” Seth backed away from him. “You got to know that’s a bad idea. You offered me your court’s protection.”

  “I did.” Niall stared at the hot iron tip. Then he lifted his gaze to Seth as he wrapped his hand around the metal.

  “Stop!” Seth surged forward, arm extended through the bars of the cage, but he couldn’t reach Niall.

  Niall didn’t reply. The sizzle and scent of burnt flesh were the only signs that the Dark King was, in fact, injuring himself.

  “Stop!” Seth repeated.

  “Fine.” Suddenly, Niall released the burning tip of the poker and shoved it toward Seth’s face.

  With the faery speed he was extremely grateful for, Seth moved—but not fast enough. Searing pain rocked him back as the poker grazed his face. His eye was intact, but a burn across his temple left him in agony.

  “Damn it, Niall.” Seth forced back the pain that threatened to make him vomit. “You can’t do shit like that.”

  The Dark King’s voice was dull as he asked, “Why?”

  “Because . . .” The voice behind them made both Niall and Seth turn. Standing in the shadows of the room was the only person in the world who might be able to reason with the Dark King since Irial’s death. The still-too-thin, soft-spoken mortal walked toward them. Her footsteps were sharp echoes on the cement floor.

  “You are not this person,” Leslie said.

  Niall dropped the poker to the warehouse floor.

  She walked farther into the room; her posture and expression said she was perfectly at ease with the scene in front of her.

  Leslie stepped in front of the cage. “Niall? You don’t really want to hurt yourself . . . or him.”

  Niall no longer looked like the fiend he’d been about to become mere moments ago. He looked like a faery who needed things that no one there could give him. “Seth sees things. He knew and . . . He knew that Irial . . .”

  “I heard what happened.” Leslie approached Niall with her hand outstretched. “Ash called me. Donia called me. . . . You sent for me. Do you remember that, Niall? You sent Hounds.”

  Niall stared at Leslie with something between terror and hope. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “I’m here.” Leslie looked over her shoulder to where a Hound stood in the open doorway. “I am here with my court. I am here with you . . . because you needed me. They need me to be here with you.”

  The Hound said nothing even as his king looked at him, even as he saw the fire poker and the fact that Seth was caged. Seth didn’t think for an instant that the Hound would set him free, so he was unsurprised when the Hound merely nodded at him before he turned and left.

  Leslie took Niall’s uninjured hand in hers. “Irial wouldn’t want you to hurt. You know that.”

  “He died, Leslie. He’s gone. I’m so tired, and he’s gone.”

  “I know. That means you need to take care of the court and of yourself now.” Leslie touched his face with her other hand. “Come rest with me.”

  “Seth knew and he—”

  “Seth is not my concern right now . . . or yours.” Leslie reached up and kissed Niall tenderly. “You’re hurting. I’m hurting. Do you want to stand here and torture Seth or hold me so I can cry?”

  “I don’t want you to cry.” Niall pulled her into his arms, though. “I couldn’t save him. I tried, Leslie. I tried, and . . . I failed.”

  “Come on.” Her voice was muffled by how tightly he held her. “Will you rest with me, Niall?”

  “I can’t. If I sleep, I dream about Irial,” Niall confessed. “I don’t want to sleep.”

  Leslie leaned back and looked up at him. “I will be with you. I’ll wake you if you need. Just take me to the house. Please?”

  He hesitated. “I . . . inside . . . I was upset.”

  Leslie caressed his cheek. “You’re in pain, and Irial is dead. Do you honestly think I care about anything other than that?”

  With one arm around Leslie, Niall grabbed the chain with his injured hand and yanked. Seth’s cage ascended. Once it was up at the rafters again, Niall fastened the chain to the bar.

  Then, without another word, he and Leslie walked into the shadows of the warehouse and left Seth alone in the dark.


  Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone very long. A few hours later, he was awakened by a caw of laughter.

  Bananach walked across the empty warehouse. Behind her was a parade of faeries, familiar and unfamiliar to Seth.

  Bad to worse. Seth watched the mad raven-faery stroll into the Dark King’s domain with enough blood on her that he knew someone was dead or severely injured. Ask or wait? He didn’t know Bananach well enough to know which path was better.

  Her steps were even as she crossed the warehouse to the Dark King’s throne.

  The raven-faery herself looked up at Seth as he stood and gripped the bars of his cage.

  “My, my, little lamb. Aren’t you a pleasant surprise?” She opened her wings full-width and lifted up to hover in front of him. As she did so, Seth could see that one wing was badly torn. Logic said she shouldn’t be able to rise with such an injury, but he didn’t think that pain was much of a deterrent to Bananach.

  “Look, my lovelies: the old king left me a coronation present.”

  Seth wondered if she could taste emotions as Niall did. Does she know I’m terrified? He hoped not. He held his voice even and told her, “The Dark King—”

  “Is gone.” She dropped to the ground in front of the throne.

  Did she kill Niall? Between the blood and her words, Seth wasn’t sure. He searched to see Niall’s threads, but there was only darkness. Which doesn’t prove anything.

  The assembled faeries were silent as Bananach stood before the empty throne. Their collective breaths sounded as a gasp as she stepped onto the dais and reached out to touch the arm of the chair.

  She turned, her gaze sliding across the faeries watching her, and then she sat in the Dark King’s throne. For a long moment, she closed her eyes and was silent. Then her eyes snapped open. “I am the Dark Queen. This is my throne, my court, and you”—she spared him an unsettling look—“are my prisoner.”

  Seth’s eyes widened. “You can’t just declare yourself queen. There are rules, processes, and—”

  “Those are for subjects, and I, my lovely little lamb, am over being anyone’s subject. When a regent is meant to be, she can make it so, and I am meant to be queen. I am the Dark Queen.” She lifted her voice then. “My subjects? Come.”