Darkest Mercy

  Niall narrowed his gaze. “My court is too strong for her to attack. You know that.”

  Reluctantly, Keenan nodded. “I do.”

  “And there is another court, one whose favor I’m quite sure I can gain.” Niall let the shadows in the room spring to life, and the dark figures began dancing and contorting in ways that no solid body could. “My court has long offered many things to the Winter Court. If you knew, kingling, it might disgust you. I had difficulty experiencing desire for the last Winter Queen, but a regent will do what he must

  for the good of his court . . . and truth be told, I’d find myself far more eager to offer whatever the new queen desires.”

  Keenan’s carefully controlled emotions threatened to surface; his skin brightened despite his best efforts, but he forced himself to speak evenly. “Think about what you’re doing here. We are not enemies. If you hurt Donia—”

  “As you have?”

  “You’re caging your friend, threatening insane things . . . think for a moment.” Keenan shook his head. “You weathered centuries of trouble with me. I can be here to help you without you resorting to cruelty against Seth or threats to my court. Please stop to think.”

  “I will do as I’ve done for centuries, little king. I will protect my court and those I love.” Niall advanced on Keenan. “Once Bananach is dead, we can negotiate. Until then . . .” He shrugged.

  Keenan gripped Niall’s arm. “I will help you because you are my friend. You might not have forgiven me yet, but you do know how to forgive—or you wouldn’t be so crazed over his death. I will talk to my queen and to Donia.”

  The Dark King frowned.

  “This”—Keenan pointed at Seth and then at Niall’s battered body—“is not you, Niall.”

  “Really?” the Dark King needled. “Who is it then? Who exactly do you think I am if I’m not Niall?”

  For a moment, Keenan paused, trying to make sense of the challenging tone in Niall’s voice. Has he gone completely mad? Cautiously, Keenan said, “I’m not sure what’s going on in your head right now, but you need to step back and figure it out. If you think that you have to be vile to replace Irial, you’re wrong.”

  The Dark King snorted, but did not answer.

  “Think about what you’re becoming,” Keenan urged.

  But Niall only motioned for him to depart.

  In almost grateful silence, the Summer King did so. As he crossed Huntsdale to return to his own court, he considered the bizarre behavior Niall had demonstrated. His once-friend-and-advisor was acting wrong. Admittedly, the Dark Court wasn’t a place Keenan understood, but he thought he’d understood Niall.

  Is it grief? Being their king?

  If Keenan would’ve had to swear as to Niall’s sanity or propensity for cruelty, the answer he would’ve given today would be different from the one he’d have offered in the past. He has changed. And not for the better. Summer might not be always predictable, but they weren’t mad or cruel.

  So far.

  Of course, Keenan wasn’t entirely sure if that would remain the case if Niall injured Seth. The Summer Queen carried her emotions on the surface—as a Summer regent should—and the injury of the faery who’d been her first love, who loved her and risked death for her, would not be something Aislinn would accept gracefully.

  Nor would I if it were Donia caged by Niall.

  The thought of Niall’s casual remarks about Donia sent Keenan’s own temper flaring to life again as he reached the building that housed their loft.

  Tavish stood in the street, perhaps on guard duty, perhaps waiting for Keenan’s return. The Summer King couldn’t care less why his most trusted friend was there. What he cared about was that Tavish was there. The older faery had the wisdom and composure that Keenan and his queen would both lack just then.

  Tavish looked at him, and Keenan gestured for him to follow.

  Neither faery spoke as they walked to a seldom-used conservatory on one side of the park. Two rowan in the room looked to their king and his advisor. At a gesture from Tavish, the rowan both departed. The glass door closed with a barely audible click.

  “He is unwell?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Keenan said, and then proceeded to fill Tavish in on the conversation with Niall.

  “Killing War is not likely to be an easy task, if it is even possible.” Tavish pursed his lips.

  “Containing Ash isn’t going to be particularly easy either.”

  “The boy is a seer?” Tavish mused. “There’s use in such an asset. He’s loyal to the queen. . . .”

  “And loyal to Sorcha and, presumably, he is still loyal to Niall despite the Dark King’s current madness.” Keenan cupped an orchid in his hand and watched it blossom. The plants nearby stretched toward him as well, responding to the heat that radiated from his skin.

  Tavish glanced behind him to the doorway, where the guards blocked them from sight. “Bananach has put us all in a position that we cannot ignore. We should stand with Niall.”

  “I intend to. He didn’t need to threaten me for that to happen.” Keenan scowled. “He stood with me for nine centuries. Even if he cannot put aside his current anger, he is my friend.”

  “And Winter? Do we need to speak to her?”

  “She’ll stand with Niall,” Keenan said. “Regardless of what I do.”

  “You are sure?”

  “I am.” Keenan sighed. “She is a wise queen, Tavish. She would’ve led our court beautifully. I see it—the way she puts herself before her court. They would gladly slaughter anything and everyone for her smile.”

  “And you?”

  Keenan startled. “I wouldn’t hurt my court for her.”

  Tavish said nothing, but his silence said enough that words were unnecessary.

  “Ash refuses me,” Keenan said.

  “Because you have backed away when the chances presented themselves.” Tavish shook his head. “She might believe your excuses, but I’ve known you since birth. You’ve chosen to restrain yourself. Repeatedly.”

  “She needs time,” Keenan protested.

  “No. When Seth was mortal, she needed time, but he’s not mortal anymore. You left for months, during which you allowed Seth to have all of her attention. Even last night, you did not press her. The queen would be yours in all ways if you wanted her to. Instead, you’ve offered her every opportunity to refuse you. As an advisor and as a friend, I’m telling you that the time for prevarication has ended. Your father was too stubborn to listen to me where your mother was concerned. Be wiser than him.”

  “Beira tricked—”

  “No, she didn’t,” Tavish said. “He knew what she was, knew she doubted him, yet he still tried to treat her the way one treats a summer faery. Aislinn would let you lie with her. The court knows it; you know it. Even now, with her Seth returned to her, you could seduce her. Seth knows this of her. He loves her still.”

  “I understand, but now is not the right time. She will be worrying over Seth’s capture once she learns of it and . . . it would be wrong.” Keenan heard the objections in his words, knew they sounded weak. Once, he would’ve done anything to woo the destined queen. He had done and said things that made him cringe afterward.

  It’s different. I know Ash. I respect her.

  Tavish kept his gaze fixed on Keenan and asked, “How would you feel if Donia took a lover?”

  “She hasn’t,” Keenan snapped. “She’s not like summer fey.”

  “You are not only Summer, my King,” Tavish reminded him. “There is more of your mother in you than you like to admit. You cannot look at me and say that you are truly trying your best to lure your queen to your side, that you are doing all you could to strengthen this court. Can you?”

  “I’ve not objected to the pleasures of Summer before. The Summer Girls . . . and the revelries . . .” Keenan’s words died at the chastising look on his friend’s face. “If Aislinn accepted me, I would lie with her now even though she loves the morta— Seth.”
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  “You would, yet you haven’t. You refused her when she offered herself to you; you chose not to seduce her for months when he was away. She wanted you, still does, yet you do not take her into your bed.” Tavish folded his hands in his lap and stared at his king. “You didn’t love the Summer Girls enough to mind sharing them. Nor do you love my queen enough. It is not her connection to Seth that bothers you. Since you spent the Winter Solstice before last with Donia, you haven’t—”

  “I’ve lived my life to reach the point of strength for this court,” Keenan interrupted.

  “I know.” Tavish reached out and gripped Keenan’s shoulder.

  The Summer King looked at the faery who’d been the closest thing to a father that he’d ever known, and he knew that any further protestations he could offer would be pointless. Tavish knew him, saw through any illusions that Keenan would like to embrace. Keenan had not pursued Aislinn as truly as he could have. He’d pursued her until she accepted the challenge of becoming queen, but after he’d spent time in Donia’s arms, he had accepted Aislinn’s rejections, had even helped her create them.

  “Don’t try to deceive either of us, my King. You’ve done what you needed. You were steadfast in your devotion to the court. You became everything you had to be in order to be your father’s heir. Having the faery you love in your arms has changed you. I can see it, even if most of the court cannot.” Tavish’s voice was gentle, helping lead them both to the sentences that had never been spoken, admissions that Keenan had considered in silence. “There are those meant to be sunlit and those who are not ever going to be at peace with the way things are in this court. Maybe you would feel differently if Aislinn were the Summer Queen in truth, if she gave up her lover.”

  “She might.”

  “Keenan?” Aislinn came through the doorway. “Why are you out here?”

  “You need to make a choice, Keenan.” Tavish squeezed Keenan’s shoulder. “I would not fault you for either one, nor should you. If the court is to be strong enough to stand against Bananach, the time is here. No more prevarication. No more excuses. Sorcha is locked away; Niall is unwell; Donia is new to ruling; and our court is not as strong as it must be.”

  Keenan turned his gaze to the Summer Queen. He felt a nervous excitement build in his skin. His entire life had been about finding her. He’d thought it was that simple. His lips curled in a smile. Simple? Nothing about this curse had ever been simple.

  After nine centuries, it all comes down to one day.

  Chapter 27

  Aislinn looked from her advisor to her king. The seriousness in Tavish’s expression was not unfamiliar, but Keenan’s strangely bemused smile worried her. “Tavish? Keenan?”

  Her advisor bowed his head. “I will be with the Summer Girls,” he said, and then he left her there in the humid conservatory with Keenan.

  Once it was just them, Keenan walked toward her slowly. “I need you to do something, Aislinn.”

  “Okaaay. . . .” She reached out and stroked her fingers along a vat of soil. Under her hand, plants began to sprout. She wasn’t sure yet what they were, but she was unable to resist touching the soil. “What’s up?”

  He took her hand in his. “Walk with me?”

  The nervousness Aislinn felt grew as they left the conservatory. The Summer Court’s space, where we are strong. She squeezed his hand. “Talk to me. Please?”

  The Summer King released her hand and stepped away from her. He looked only at her and asked, “Do you trust me?”

  “Keenan—”

  “Aislinn, please,” he interrupted. “Do you trust me?”

  “I do,” she assured him. All around them, the park was empty. The Summer Girls, the rowan, all of the faeries of the court were out of sight.

  As they stood face-to-face in the park where they’d once danced, where they’d kissed, where they’d argued, and where they’d both led their court in revels—together and separately—Keenan said, “I’ve misled you.”

  She bent and trailed her fingertips over the dark soil, letting heat into the earth, refusing to look at him for a moment. “I know.”

  “I’ve manipulated you,” he continued.

  She paused and looked up at him. “Not really helping, Keenan.”

  “Do you trust me?” he asked again.

  Aislinn straightened and faced him. “I do.”

  “Do you want to be near me?” He didn’t approach her. Unlike his aggressiveness since he’d returned—and when she’d first met him—he was almost reserved now.

  Still, she had to pause for several breaths before she could answer: “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re my king. Something inside of me insists that I reach out. I can’t even stay mad at you when I know I should be.” She wiped the soil from her hands onto her jeans and paced farther away. “Never mind. . . . I want to know what you learned while you were out. Now is not the time for this.”

  “Actually, it is.” Keenan watched her with an intensity that made her want to run. “The time for waiting has ended.”

  “You can’t mean . . .” She shook her head. “You just got back.”

  Keenan stayed out of her reach as he spoke. “Will you let yourself love me, Aislinn?”

  “You’re my king, but . . . I love Seth.”

  “I need to belong to one person, who belongs only to me. I have done as I must for centuries, but there is a part of me that is not as fickle as Summer can be,” Keenan said. “I need all or nothing. Either we are truly together, or we are truly apart.”

  She shook her head. “You’re really asking me to choose now?”

  “I am.” He reached out, but didn’t touch her. His hand was in the air next to her face, but he didn’t close the distance. “I need you to decide. Now. The court needs to be as strong as possible.”

  “Whatever you learned . . . Talk to me,” she pleaded. “Maybe there’s another way, maybe . . .”

  “Aislinn,” he said evenly. “I need you to decide. Do we go away together or do I go alone?”

  She felt warm tears trickle down her cheeks. “Yesterday, you told me I had a week. You told me yesterday.”

  “Would your answer change if we waited?”

  Aislinn hated the understanding in his voice as much as she had hated it when Seth offered it to her. They were both wonderful, both good, both people any girl would be lucky to know—but she only loved one of them. If she could save her court and keep Seth in her life, that’s what she would do. If Keenan wasn’t near her, she wouldn’t feel the pull to be with him. She hadn’t felt it—much—these past six months, not like she had when Seth was away.

  “Would you want it to change?” she asked.

  “I want to be loved; I want to be consumed by it.” Keenan traced her jaw with the barest touch of his fingertips. “I’ve loved Donia for decades, but I’ve lived for my court for centuries. I need more than an ‘I think’ this time, Aislinn. Do you want me enough to be mine? Do you care enough to try to love me? Do we become truly together for our court? Claim me as your king, or set me free to try to be with the faery I love.”

  “I do want you,” Aislinn admitted. “Not just because of the court. You’re my friend and . . . I do care for you. I can’t imagine never seeing you again.”

  The Summer King stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Can you offer me your fidelity? Your heart and your body and your companionship for eternity? Do you want my fidelity? Either love me or kiss me good-bye, my Summer Queen.”

  She felt tears slip down her cheeks. He’d looked for her for almost a millennium, but she couldn’t give him what he needed. She’d returned strength to their court, but the love she felt for the Summer Court wasn’t the sort of love he wanted from her. She leaned into his caress. “Why do I think that what happens next is going to be . . .”

  “To be?” he prompted softly.

  “Something I’m not ready for,” she finished.

  Her earlier fears of ruling the court without him cras
hed around her. He’d been their king for centuries, and she had only been fey for a bit more than a year. How do we rule from separate areas? Split the court? Can we even do that? She bit her lip.

  “How is this going to strengthen the court? I’m not sure—”

  “Ash,” he interrupted. Without looking away from her face, he reached out with his other hand and entwined her fingers with his. “Tell me you’re truly mine, or tell me good-bye.”

  “You’re really leaving for good if I say no?”

  Mutely, he nodded.

  “I can’t be only yours. You’ll always—”

  The rest of her words were swallowed as the Summer King leaned forward and sealed his lips to hers. Sunlight filled her mouth. It covered her skin and trickled over her like a million tiny hands. Her eyes were open. The blinding brightness of the Summer King as he pressed against her was too beautiful to look away from.

  He pulled away briefly, and she realized that they weren’t touching the ground anymore. The air burned, crackling with heat lightning.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I am.” She hadn’t asked to be fey, hadn’t wanted the future she had, but she cherished it now. She was happy—to be a faery, to be the Summer Queen—but she wasn’t Keenan’s

  beloved. “We would be making a mistake. I am never going to be that faery for you . . . or you for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  And then he kissed her again.

  The sunlight pulsing into her body made it impossible to keep her eyes open any longer. She felt like an eternity of languid bliss were seeping into her every pore, and as on the night that Keenan had healed her, she felt too consumed by it to object. His arms were the only things that kept her from tumbling to the ground, which was now far below them.

  Aislinn wasn’t sure how long they hovered above the park kissing. She only knew that her king was kissing her good-bye.