The Dark Man wasn’t threatening her, not overtly, but the reminder carried the force of a threat. Her fey tensed further. She laid the palm of her hand against Evan’s back and stepped to the side so that she was able to look up at Far Dorcha. In doing so, Donia drew his attention back to her.
“Do you come for me?” she asked.
“No. I was here”—he motioned around the cemetery—“because of the gate. I was in Huntsdale for other business matters.”
Evan tensed. “Who?”
Keenan? Aislinn? Niall? Irial? The head of the death-fey wouldn’t come for just any death. Who will die?
Donia asked, “Why are you here?”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Far Dorcha shook his finger. “Not telling you. The surprise is part of the fun.”
The Dark Man sighed, and Evan bodily blocked that exhalation from touching her. Her guard had his head turned to the side as he did so, yet as she watched, he swallowed with some difficulty. His hands fisted.
“Evan?”
“Please, my Queen, not now.” His voice was ragged, but he didn’t move.
“Curious. Despite her temper then, you chose to be hers.” Far Dorcha’s gaze lifted from Evan to fix her in a stare. “Did you mean to kill them? Petulant behavior, striking out at the Summer King’s guards. You’ve taken lives for no reason.”
The calm of Winter filled Donia. “You are not a judge. I am not your subject, nor was I then.”
“I am Death. Killing is always mine to judge.” Far
Dorcha didn’t blink. The lack of any semblance of humanity made his scrutiny more uncomfortable. Most of the human-looking fey had adopted various human behaviors. He hadn’t.
She stepped around Evan. “I was almost killed by the last Winter Queen, and if I or those I protect are threatened, I will kill again. I am not a mortal, Far Dorcha. You might be Death, but unless you are here to kill me, do not try to intimidate me.” The snow that she’d relied upon to hold her temper at bay was no longer enough. Ice rose up, and she felt a rime of it coat her skin. “Unless you have reason to touch them, you will leave my fey alone.”
Far Dorcha laughed, and visions of scurrying things in the dark washed over her. Wet soil and absolute silence. If there was humor in those tones, it was beyond her comprehension.
“The young king has chosen well,” he pronounced.
“What?” Donia’s temper slipped a little further, and a snowstorm flared to life.
“Two queens.” Far Dorcha stood untouched by the battering winds. In the whiteout, the black of his eyes and red of his lips were impossible to look away from. The stark white of his skin blended so that he was barely there. “He found two queens. I doubt that your predecessor expected that.”
“There is only one Summer Queen.” Donia’s words were clear despite the shrieks of wind that came rushing from her lips.
“And you are very obviously not her,” he murmured.
Her faeries were all around her, and the weight of winter spread out from the spot where she stood. Grave markers dotted a whitened ground. Ice shimmered over branches. The world was hers.
But Keenan is not.
Far Dorcha reached out, but instead of touching her, he caught a silver veil that she hadn’t seen. “The gate has been locked against those on this side. Faerie is not open.”
Donia gaped at him. “How did—”
He let the cloth in his hands slip free, and as soon as he wasn’t touching it, it vanished. “No one closes a door I cannot open if I choose to do so.”
“Who did that?” She pointed at the once-more-missing gate. “Why? Do they live?”
“They live.” Ignoring the rest of her questions, Far Dorcha glanced around the cemetery. His gaze lingered on the deep snowfall, and the jagged spears of ice that had formed between him and her faeries. “I am pleased.”
“Can you tell me anything?” she asked with the calm she felt now that the earth was cloaked in snow as it should be.
“There are rules.” Far Dorcha tilted his face to the sky and let snow fall on his cheeks. “None that would stop me from speaking, but”—he looked at her with snow clinging to his skin—“I don’t feel inclined to speak yet.”
She raised her hand, and with the gesture, bars of ice encircled him. Outside them, spears of ice were aimed toward him. “Perhaps—”
“Go see other kings, Donia. I am not the one who will speak.” Then he turned and walked through the barriers she’d built.
She saw the ice pierce him, watched red fall to the white ground like raindrops, but he did not pause.
Chapter 20
Seth heard the roar that heralded the Dark King’s waking only a moment before he found himself lifted from the sofa where he’d slept and thrown across the debris-scattered library. Without faery speed and faery strength, Seth would be dead.
“You!” Niall strode across the room.
As Seth came to his feet, he held out both hands toward Niall. “I am not your enemy, Niall.”
“You had no right. I am the Dark King, and you are . . . nothing to this court.”
“I am your brother, Niall. You are coming apart. You needed sleep.” Seth eased to the side, moving so that the expanse of the room was behind him. “Grief and exhaustion and the imbalance—”
“No.” Niall lashed out. He didn’t land the first punch, but his fist grazed Seth’s jaw. “You set my Hounds against me, struck me, left the court without leadership.”
“You’re leaving the court without leadership. Look around you.” Seth dodged another blow. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Bullshit.” Niall narrowed his gaze. “Fight back, Seth.”
“I don’t want to fight you; I want to help you.” Seth stared at his friend. “You needed sleep. You needed your dreams.”
“Do not speak of my dreams.” Niall closed the distance between them and grabbed Seth by the throat. He didn’t squeeze. Much. Niall was far more coherent than he had been when Seth arrived, but he was still filled with rage.
“I fought alongside you; I want Bananach dead. We are on the same side, Brother,” Seth started. Speaking with Niall’s grip on his throat hurt. “Niall—”
Niall gripped harder. “Irial is dead.”
“And we can avenge him,” Seth promised.
“She cannot be killed. Devlin said—”
“Things have changed.” Seth reached up and grabbed Niall’s wrist. He didn’t try to force the Dark King to release him; instead, he squeezed Niall’s wrist in affection. “Listen to me. Please?”
“Why?” Niall pulled his hand away, both releasing Seth’s throat and refusing his comfort.
“Because I know what Devlin did not.” Seth stepped backward. “I am certain of this: Bananach can die.”
“Without killing Sorcha and the rest of us?” Niall shook his head. “Irial trusted me with the court. I won’t fail them or him by risking their deaths on your belief.”
Seth didn’t point out that Niall was failing them already. “It’s not just belief. I can see future threads.”
The friendliness that had crept back into the Dark King’s voice vanished. “For how long?”
“Since I became a faery.”
The emotions that flickered over Niall’s face were devastating to see, but Seth didn’t look away. Shock faded under outrage. Then the hurt filled Niall’s eyes as he said, “You could have saved Irial.”
“No, I couldn’t.” Seth reached out, but Niall flinched away. “Niall . . .”
“You saw . . . you knew he would die, that Bananach would kill Tish and stab Irial.” Flickers of shadows darted around the already trashed room as Niall’s emotions shifted to anger. “You saw that she would poison Irial. You said nothing, but you knew.”
“I did,” Seth admitted. “I couldn’t interfere. Irial’s death led to the creation of the Shadow Court—which balances the High Court so that Faerie could be sealed.”
“Faerie is closed?” Niall frowned. “Since when?”
 
; “Three days ago.” Seth shook his head. “Devlin and Ani and Rae—she’s this—”
“I met her,” Niall interrupted. “They visited in a dream and . . .” His words faded, and a pensive look came over his face.
“Niall?”
The Dark King blinked. He stepped back and withdrew a cigarette case and lighter from his pocket. Silently, he packed a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled. “So . . . Seth . . . Faerie is sealed? And you foresaw deaths you didn’t reveal? You put your own wishes above my—this court?”
Seth nodded.
“Well, you are filled with surprises; aren’t you, boy?” Niall smiled, a very peculiar expression given the circumstances.
“Only the one,” Seth said.
The Dark King looked at him then, not as a grieving faery or as a friend, but as a calculating faery king. “Tell me, seer, do you see my future? Can you tell me what I will do next?”
“No, not entirely.”
Shadowy abyss figures took shape on either side of Seth, and he hoped that he wasn’t about to die. There was no one else on this side of the veil who could balance the Dark King, and if this was what he was like with a High Court presence near him, Seth couldn’t fathom what the Dark King had been like in those couple of days between the gate being sealed and now.
I’m not sure how I am to balance him—or if I can.
“You withheld what you saw because it brought a chance to kill Bananach.” The Dark King took a long drag of the cigarette.
Seth chose the words carefully: “I am sorry that you’re mourning, but Irial made a choice. That choice set events into motion that protect Faerie. If Bananach had gone there, in time she would have killed Sorcha. If Sorcha came here . . . that would be dangerous.”
The Dark King stared at him. “So Bananach’s death is important enough to you that you hid the truth from all of us?”
“It is,” Seth admitted.
The Dark King formed bars of shadows around Seth, imprisoning him in a cage that was solid to the touch despite the seemingly ethereal nature of its origins. He stepped closer. “Who all would you sacrifice? Your friends? Your lover? Yourself?”
“You and Ash are the only faeries I wouldn’t sacrifice to protect Sorcha.” Seth had a flicker of irritation that the three faeries he loved were so difficult, but even so, he suspected that their passions were part of why he did feel more for them than for anyone else. “In either world, no one means more to me than the three of you.”
“So I am to believe you’d choose the Dark King over her royal tediousness?”
“No. Not the Dark King. You, Niall.” Seth shook his head. “It’s not about courts or regents. It’s about the people—the faeries who matter to me. You matter.”
“So much that you sentenced Irial to death.” The Dark King wrapped one hand around the shadow-wrought bars of the cage. “Well, I feel so . . . cherished.”
Seth didn’t move away from the bars. “I did what I had to.”
“Once, I might’ve killed you for what you’ve hidden. I fear that I’ve grown”—the Dark King exhaled a plume of disgusting cigarette smoke into Seth’s face—“merciful over the last year.”
Seth blinked, but after a childhood in dive bars and pubs, a bit of posturing wasn’t particularly intimidating. Maybe a little. He had faced the two oldest faeries—and their son. He’d been nearly gutted by the last Winter Queen. He’d trained with the Hunt. And Niall is my friend. Seth stepped forward so that he was as close to the bars as he could be. “I am not afraid of you.”
“Then you are a fool,” the Dark King said. “In case you missed it when you came into my house, I have been a bit out of sorts . . . because of the actions you allowed to happen. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
At Seth’s feet the shadows solidified into a floor; above him, a shadowed ceiling formed. “Because you need me,” Seth said softly.
“Perhaps.” The Dark King reached into the cage and slammed Seth’s face into the bars. “The court that has possession of a seer would have an advantage, but don’t think that means I need you uninjured.” He shook his head, and for several moments, he simply stared at the cage.
“Niall?” Seth prompted.
Niall blinked, and in a blur he grabbed Seth’s shirt and slammed him into the bars again. “You betrayed me, and Irial is dead because of it. . . . You took him from me, Seth. You took him.” Niall’s voice broke. Then he released Seth as suddenly as he’d grabbed him, and turned away.
After a few moments, the shadow-formed cage lifted and floated behind Niall. In the foyer, thistle-fey and Hounds silently watched their king walk toward them with Seth imprisoned in a cage of shadows.
“I’m sure Irial had cells of some sort hidden away in the house. See that he is put into one until I prepare more fitting accommodations for him.” Niall glanced at Seth then as he added, “And the Hound who helped him. Fetch her.”
“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Seth urged. “You’re angry and—”
“Shut up, Seth,” Niall interrupted. He raised his voice. “This faery accepted brotherhood with us, and as such, he is mine to sentence for his transgressions.”
As Niall spoke, faeries came into the room. Many of them were bloodied from their king’s rage. One hopped forward, dragging a badly misshapen leg behind him.
The shadowed cell rose into the air, so they could all see Seth inside the cage. Then, Niall spoke: “Seth Morgan, for the crime of allowing the death of a king, I sentence you to imprisonment in the Dark Court until such time as I find myself appeased.”
Softly, Seth reminded him, “Irial wasn’t a king when he died.”
Niall’s eyes filled with black flames. “Silence!”
But Seth continued, “Irial sacrificed himself. He made that choice.”
“No. You made a choice to hide what you knew, and in doing so injured what is mine. For your crimes, you will remain here at my disposal.” Niall’s expression fluctuated between pain and fury. “Your actions have weakened the Dark Court, and you will make amends.”
“I would stay without being imprisoned,” Seth offered. “I won’t tell you things that aren’t yours to know, but I will tell you what you need to avenge him. We want the same thing. She can die, Bro—”
The cage vanished, and Seth plummeted to the floor.
Niall grabbed Seth and jerked him to his feet. “Don’t try me right now, Seth.”
Then he threw Seth at the wall and walked away, saying as he went, “A cell. Preferably one of the least pleasant ones we have.”
Chapter 21
It was mid-morning as Aislinn sat in the wide-open front room of the loft with a cup of tea. The Summer Girls and guards had become accustomed to her taking a few moments to herself at the start of her day.
The Summer King, however, had been away for almost six months, so he was unaware of her morning routine. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t ready to deal with anything just yet, and he leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss.
He caught her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. Their sunlight met and mingled in an electrifying current as he parted his lips and invited her in.
Instead, she pulled back and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Winning, I hope.” Keenan turned his back on her, walked to the doorway, and grabbed Eliza.
As he pulled the Summer Girl into the room, more of their court followed her. In a blink, the room was filled with smiling faeries.
Keenan waltzed the giggling Summer Girl across the room, and sent her spinning into another Summer Girl’s arms. As the two danced away, he caught the hand of another Summer Girl and pulled her into an embrace and dipped her. The vines that slithered over her body were vibrant. Their leaves stretched toward the Summer King even as he stood and kissed the girl’s cheek.
As Aislinn watched, he continued throughout the loft, dancing and smiling at the Summer Girls. The room was bright with sunlight that radiated from his skin. And mine
. This was what the Summer Court was meant to be like. Which is the point of this dance. To his court, it looked like joyous frivolity, and to some degree, it was. Another, more serious part of this whole giggling chaos was that this was his job: summer was to be pleasurable.
Keenan caught her watching him, and the intensity of his gaze almost frightened her. If she’d been most anyone else, she would think having that sort of passion directed at her was thrilling. It is, but I want it from Seth. If Seth were truly gone, she could’ve found happiness with Keenan, but it wouldn’t ever equal what she felt for Seth.
But the Summer Queen could do as the Summer King had done all of these centuries: she could put the rest of her worries aside and be their queen. She had been doing so the past several months on her own. She would continue to do so. Aislinn smiled and took the hands of the Summer Girl who had just gone spinning by. “Dance with me, Siobhan.”
Siobhan smiled approvingly and called out, “Why is there no music?”
And from somewhere in the loft, music began to play. At first Aislinn thought it was the stereo, but then she realized that some of the guards were singing. As they walked into the room, several of them began drumming on the wall and on a table they upended. Overhead, the cockatiels joined in, and Aislinn laughed in sheer joy.
This is as it must be. My court must be happy.
When Siobhan spun her toward Keenan’s outstretched hand, Aislinn smiled at him.
He pulled her with him up on top of the coffee table. “They’ve been fine under your watch. Despite your worries, you’ve kept them strong.”
“I am their queen,” she said.
He released her and stepped backward from the table onto the floor. For a moment, he paused and looked up at her. All around them, their court danced. Some of their furniture was breaking from faery exuberance, but music and laughter filled the room. Sunlight radiated from both the king and queen.
Then, he reached out and lifted her to the floor. When her feet touched the carpet, he released his grip on her—and she missed his touch. Without thinking, she stepped toward him.