A year later . . . 11 страница

“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 left 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.”

The room began to fill with even more faeries. Faeries that should belong to the Summer and Winter Courts joined Ly Ergs, some thistle-fey, and solitaries that Seth had seen around town. They all came crushing into the warehouse. With mad grins and bloody hands, they expressed their joy.

Bananach sat in the regent’s place and gestured regally. “Come, my errant ones, and offer me your fealty.”

To Seth’s horror, they did. One after the next they knelt before her and bowed their heads. They retracted their oaths to Niall and called Bananach “my liege,” and they offered vows of fealty.

At least he’s alive....

Seth had seen Niall fight Bananach twice, and he doubted that anyone else had the skill to do so—especially if Bananach had control of the Dark Court—but the unbalanced Dark King was currently in no shape to fight anyone successfully.

I don’t want to oppose Niall.

No other High Court faery remained on this side of the veil.

When a regent is meant to be, he can make it so. Seth pondered the words that Bananach had used to explain her ability to become queen. Either she’s wrong, and it doesn’t matter; or she’s right, and this will work.

When Bananach’s hordes were done offering their promises to the raven-queen, they watched her with rapt adoration.

“I am the... Dark King’s balance,” Seth said as quietly as he could. “I am the faery that will balance Niall. I am the son of Order; I am made of the High Queen; I am your brother, Niall.”

He felt ridiculous, but he kept repeating the words over and over as he looked down at the faeries that stood before the self-declared Dark Queen.

“I balance you, Niall... order to your darkness,” Seth whispered.

Bananach stood and took two steps away from her throne.

“I am Order on this side of the veil.” Seth stood and gripped the bars of the cage. “I am the Order to your Darkness.”

The raven-faery let her gaze travel over the assembled fey. She glanced up at Seth briefly.

“The other regents would not give me the word I needed; they refused my hunger for war; but I am a regent now.” Bananach lifted her voice and said the words that the other courts refused: “The Dark Queen, your queen, speaks War. They will bow before us, or they will be trampled under our feet.”

CHAPTER 31

When Donia woke, she looked upward to see icicles and snow arches. For a moment, she wondered if she’d slept outside, but sheets were tangled around her legs. My home. My bed. She sighed happily. A wintery heaven filled her room to the point that she could hardly believe she was inside a house. She looked up at the crystalline ceiling over her head, and then at the faery sleeping beside her.

I want to stay right here forever.

Unlike the previous times she’d touched Keenan since she’d been fey, this time his skin was unbruised. Her ice didn’t injure him as it had when he was the Summer King. She propped herself up on one arm, and with the other, she carefully slid her fingers through his hair, and then on to his bare shoulder. No steam lifted from his skin as it had when they’d spent Solstice together; no bruises formed as they had when she’d touched him other times. After decades of wanting this, of believing it could never truly happen, they were together.

“If I pretend to be asleep, will you keep touching me?” He kept his eyes closed, but he reached out and slid his knuckles down her bare arm.

When she didn’t answer, he looked at her. “Don?”

“Tell me again.”

With the same wicked smile that had stolen her breath when she’d met him, he pulled her into his arms and rolled her under him. He braced himself over her and stared into her eyes as he reminded her, “I love you, Donia.”

Snow fell on him from somewhere above the bed as he lowered his lips to hers and told her, “And I will spend the rest of eternity loving you. Every day.”

“And every night,” she added with a smile.

“Mmmm, and every morning?” he asked.

To that question, there weren’t any words that would do justice the way actions would, so Donia answered him with her touch and her kisses.

Afterward, when hungers of other sorts necessitated leaving the pleasures of the bed—and the snow-covered floor—Donia couldn’t stop smiling. They walked through the house hand in hand.

Her faeries looked on approvingly, much to her surprise.

“I want you to stay here,” she blurted.

Keenan paused. “Right now?”

“No.” Donia turned so they were face-to-face. “Stay here, live here, be here.”

The look of joy on his face made her realize that the things she’d thought alluring when he was filled with sunlight were only a fraction of what he was now that he had only Winter within him. His eyes glimmered with the sheen of a perfect frost; his features seemed somehow sharper as she looked at him.

And I don’t have to resist now.

With a satisfied sigh, she pulled him to her and kissed him. When she stepped back, his lips parted and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Say yes,” she urged.

“I’m yours, Donia.” He leaned his forehead against her head. “You don’t need to offer anything you aren’t ready—”

“Are you serious?” She laughed. “I’ve waited most of my life for you.”

“You’re a queen. I’ll accept whatever you—”

She kissed him again, and then asked, “Do you want to live here?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t be a fool, Keenan. I want you here.”

“Once Niall is stable, and we know that Bananach won’t slip in at night and kill us in our beds...” He scowled. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about her.”

Donia interlaced her fingers with his. “You’re not a king. It’s not your duty now.”

“Oh.” He paused and then nodded. “I will fight... or what do you need?”

“You were going to go to Niall,” she reminded him. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” he said very carefully, “but I want to... I didn’t know Evan was gone, and I don’t want... Not that you can’t defend yourself, but...” He raked his hand through his hair.

Gently, Donia suggested, “You’re a solitary faery, Keenan. Not my subject. Not anyone’s subject. You can do as you will.”

He nodded.

“What are you going to do? What do you want to do?” she prompted.

“I’m going to go try to help Niall. He’s not acting like himself, and I have a theory on what’s wrong,” he told her. “Then afterward I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

She stepped backward, her knees strangely weak. “Faeries don’t... That’s not exactly done. ”

“I’ve dreamed of it. The ceremony, the vow”—he stared at her with an intensity that made her sit down suddenly—“I thought about it a lot. Faery vows are unbreakable. If I phrased it right, you’d know that I belong to you. Only you. Always.”

She blinked several times, and as casually as she could manage, pinched her wrist. I am awake. Keenan is here in my home telling me he wants a faery vow and a wedding. This was the part where she was to say something encouraging; she was sure of that. Instead, she stared at him silently.

He knelt, like a mortal man, on one knee before her. “Faeries don’t make fidelity vows often, but we can. We can.”

“Yes.”

But he misunderstood and continued, “When I come back, I’ll get a ring. First, I am going to help Niall. Something is wrong with him, and I’m going to try to figure out how to get him back to himself.”

Too stunned by the utter unexpectedness of the morning, she nodded and repeated, “ Yes. ”

“We can do anything, Don. We’ll defeat Bananach, help Niall.... Everything is possible now. You make me believe in the impossible. You always have.” He stood and kissed her until she really wasn’t sure if she was awake or dreaming, and then he said, “I’ll be back. We’ll stop Bananach, and then we’ll have forever.”

And he was gone before she could think clearly enough to explain that her yes was a Yes, I’ll marry you.

CHAPTER 32

This time, Keenan sought the Dark King at his house. It was a place he’d never thought to visit voluntarily, and he wasn’t sure that he would be able to gain entry. However, the Dark Court fey he’d seen had all suggested that Niall would be at the house. Of course, they’d also all suggested—with varying degrees of humor and fear—that Keenan had better be prepared to bleed if he was going to enter the Dark King’s house.

Keenan arrived as a thistle-fey was leaving, so he avoided the awkwardness of getting past the gargoyle at the door. Inside the house, the evidence of Niall’s rage was everywhere. Shattered glass and broken furniture were intermingled with twisted bits of metal. Dark stains made obvious that the damage wasn’t merely to the inanimate.

The former Summer King walked through the debris until he stood in the doorway of the room where Niall sat.

“I don’t think you were summoned, kingling, or”—the body that was Niall’s looked up at him—“that you’re strong enough to withstand the Dark King’s rage.”

“I know Niall, and you aren’t him.” Cautiously, Keenan peered into a face that he knew as well as his own. “Tell me that you are truly Niall, or tell me what you’ve done to him.”

“Curious theory,” the imposter said.

Keenan stepped closer to the body that looked like his friend, but was not him. “Who are you?”

“I am the Dark King, and you”—he leaned back and stared at Keenan—“ought to know better than to question me. Do you forget what the Dark King can do? Do you miss that curse?”

The faery opened the cigarette case on the table and extracted one of the noxious things. The motions were decidedly not Niall’s. Niall was many things, but he wasn’t that easily arrogant.

Or dismissive. Or deliberate.

“Irial?” Keenan asked, testing his theory.

The Dark King leaned back and offered Keenan a sardonic smile. “War killed Irial.”

“You don’t appear to be dead. ” Keenan shook his head. “Is that why he’s acting so... vile? You’ve taken his body and—”

Irial snorted. “No. He’s grieving. Believe it not, kingling: he’s mourning my loss.”

“Yet you’re here.”

“You are observant, kingling.” Irial pointed at Keenan with the unlit cigarette. “In his dreams and when I can get through in his waking hours, I’ve tried to explain that I’m really here, but he’s struggling. He refuses to sleep properly since my death, and I was unable to speak to anyone to reveal my presence to the living until someone figured it out.”

“Why?”

Irial gave Keenan a decidedly droll look. “Because he’s mourning.... ”

“No, why couldn’t you tell anyone you were in there?” Keenan asked as patiently as he was able.

“There are rules, kingling. I hinted as best I could, but I forgot how slow some of you lot can be. I all but told you when you were at the warehouse,” Irial said.

Only Irial would find a way around truly dying. The former Summer King felt a grudging respect for the dead king.

When Keenan gestured for Irial to continue, the dead Dark King inhabiting Niall’s body added, “It’s like lying: there are unbreakable geasa. Shades—even those of us not fully untethered—cannot tell the living of our postdeath experiences or presences unless the living call us out by name. It’s only in Niall’s mind that I can speak freely, and he’s been obstinate.”

“But you can talk to him in his dreams because...” Keenan rubbed his temples. “How are you dead, but here?”

The body that was Niall smiled a mocking smile that was pure Irial. “Before I died, our dreams were stitched together. I was dying, and I saw a chance”—Irial shrugged in faux modesty—“so I took it. Unfortunately, Niall has half convinced himself that if he’s dreaming of me now, perhaps the dreams we shared after my stabbing but before my death weren’t real either.”

Keenan couldn’t imagine what the two Dark Kings had dreamed that Niall wished were real—nor did he want to imagine those dreams. He might accept Niall’s forgiveness of Irial some day, but the truth was that Keenan loathed Irial. The former Dark King had bound Keenan’s powers; he had hurt Niall; and now he was possessing Niall. None of that evoked positive emotions.

“Could you go away?” Keenan asked.

“If Niall wanted me to, yes.” Irial tapped his still-unlit cigarette on the table. “First, though, he needs to accept that I’m here before he decides whether or not to cast me out.”

“Can you take”—Keenan gestured awkwardly—“the body at will?”

“Not unless he lets go of his control.” Irial lifted the cigarette and lit it. After he took a long drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke in Keenan’s direction. “I’m surprised you noticed. Even with the hints, I was thinking you wouldn’t get it. I’m glad you did, but surprised that you were the one to catch on.”

“He is my friend,” Keenan said simply.

Irial stood up and walked toward Keenan. When they were face-to-face, Irial said, “I hated your mother, you know, but her grief was great when your father died. It made her do things that were awful.”

“He was dead because she killed him.”

“Yes, well”—Irial gestured dismissively—“that is true. Still. She was grieving, and she was afraid.”

Keenan wanted to strike out, but it wasn’t truly Irial: Niall’s body would feel any blows. “Do you have a point?”

“I don’t fully regret binding you. I did what I had to do for my court, but I respected Miach enough to be sorry that I had to hurt his son. Beira’s grief led to troubles. It’s why Bananach manipulated your parents. She has been manipulating us as she did them.” Irial blew smoke in Keenan’s direction again. “Niall’s grief would be more deadly, if not for actions I took. He is unbalanced and grieving. He needs friends. Allies. You need to help him.”

“I know.” Keenan waved the smoke out of his face. “And I’ll tell him you’re... here—assuming he listens. I gather that’s what you want.”

“Yes.” Irial smiled, and seeing the familiar half-laughing smile of the former Dark King on Niall’s face was disconcerting. “You do know, of course, that he’s not forgiven you. He’s a grudge holder, so you’ll need to try to convince him. Ahhh. I could tell you something delectable that no one else would know. A little detail to convince him our dreams were real—what do you think?”

“Go away, Irial.”

Laughter greeted Keenan’s discomfort, and then Irial said, “If you’re sure... I’d take a step or two back if I were you. Then again, I never did like you, so...”

Дата добавления: 2015-10-29