“For fathering another child?” he asked sharply then deflated. “I apologise. I haven’t been in the best mood of late, I know.”
“We should be celebrating,” she said. “You did it. You sealed the rift and made headway on saving the realm. These people have no idea how lucky they are. They have the leader they need.”
Or the one they deserved. Many of them were as cruel and insane as the queens they had once served. “As long as they look out the window and see evidence of the blight, it will mean nothing. Brendan will be the one who cleanses the land. He’ll be the hero, yet again.”
“If they wanted him to rule over them, they would be part of the Green Court,” Dymphna said.
Except they thought of the Green king as weak, susceptible to the faults of humans. Drake, on the other hand, had set aside a human to be a leader. If only they knew…
Dymphna sent a questioning servant packing as they strode up the stairs together, instinctively seeing that he wasn’t ready to deal with the court so soon after sentencing a man to death.
Drake trusted her. He had helped her out of a hopeless situation, been part of the process to reunite her with her daughter, and even helped repair her relationship with the other daoine sídhe after she left them for a human. His mad grandfather had murdered her beloved husband, and yet Dymphna was the only person in court completely on his side. Apart from Sorcha, he conceded. No matter what he had thought of the banshee when they married, she had been by his side through everything. She had shown she was made of more than her heritage. Just like him.
He hesitated at a narrow window to look at the sea. It crashed against the rocks as though trying to destroy them in a rage. He had never seen the water calm or gentle, and now the foam was tinged with black, a sign the blight had reached the water. How could anyone sail across the sea and survive?
“If Brendan doesn’t return, there will be an awkward period,” he said.
“Scarlet is still his heir. She’ll technically inherit the Green Court.”
“My illegitimate daughter will have more power than I do.” Drake shook his head. “Fate does like to twist and bend what we think will come next.”
“Better Scarlet than someone like Sadler or Donella,” Dymphna said. “Cara is too sentimental to allow Scarlet to be your enemy. Donella would encourage it.”
“Don’t make too big an enemy of her,” Drake warned.
“Anyone who aligns themselves to you is Donella’s enemy,” Dymphna said. “Surely you’ve noticed the whispers.”
That he had. Donella had refused to attend court since he humiliated her. She was likely spending every waking moment turning his court against him, one fae at a time, and there was little he could do about it. He had too few allies, too little control over the power of the court. He hadn’t learned to wield his magic to harm others and control it at the same time. He was effectively powerless, maintaining an image as a cold, cruel ruler to quiet the rumours.
“Perhaps if you rewarded the loyal subjects rather than punishing the rest…”
Drake bit his lip. “I must be seen to be consistent.”
“Then perhaps it’s time to make use of your close connections to other courts,” she said meaningfully.
“I’m not using Scarlet and Cara,” he said firmly. “Not for this.”
“Donella’s supporters wouldn’t dare overthrow you. Not if they were sure the Chaos court wouldn’t respond in kind. Your daughter is related to Donella. If even her own family aren’t on her side, then it would speak volumes to the people here.”
“It’s too risky. Donella may be related to Cara, but I haven’t even claimed Scarlet as my own.”
She glanced at him. “Maybe it’s time you did.”
“I can’t risk her. You know that better than anyone.”
Dymphna was the only one he confided in about Scarlet. She herself knew what it was to decide between love and strength. Not even Cara understood the extent of his regret and pain over his lack of a relationship with his firstborn. He had never desired a child, and he had watched his mother die because she wanted to keep him. “If my enemies targeted her to punish me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“One day, she’s going to wonder why. Even if Cara didn’t tell her the truth about her father, someone in the realm would. She’ll come to you someday and ask you to explain yourself.”
“Perhaps by then, the realm will have changed.” Telling his firstborn why he had never been a father to her was something he had nightmares about. He could only attempt to protect her from afar and hope that her mother loved her enough to make him obsolete.
They finally reached Sorcha’s doors. Drake swallowed hard. Somebody had drawn a red X on the door.
Dymphna ran her finger through the substance then sniffed it. “Blood.”
“Set some of the daoine sídhe to guard Sorcha at all times,” he said gruffly.
“I can take care of that myself if you wish.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I need you with me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to quash whatever this is as soon as possible.” His hands curled into fists. “They dare. They actually dare.” He punched the wall and swore loudly. After everything he had worked for, everything he had sacrificed, he was about to lose it all because he had scorned a woman who was more powerful than he dared suspect. He had to deal with her. Somehow, he had to get rid of her without being dragged down by the consequences.
“Drake.” Dymphna’s voice brought him back to earth, tethering him to his body. “This might not mean anything.”
“And if it does?”
“Then we’ll face it together. I came here to help, and I will.” She glanced at the blood and sighed. “I’ll organise a permanent guard right away.” She left him abruptly, and for an instant, he felt completely alone—and more importantly, vulnerable.
How dare they take so much from him? His home, his security, and curse the gods, even his soul. The highs weren’t worth the lows. He seethed, sick of second-guessing himself, of being “managed” by the women in his life. He was the king. He deserved respect. Consumed with the thoughts in his head, the ones that lovingly whispered to him that death was the answer, he fought a war with himself in the hallway before storming into his wife’s bedchamber.
“Why is it so dark in here?” he demanded of a banshee standing in the corner. “Why is there no life?”
He strode to Sorcha’s bed. She was watching him with wide eyes. She looked worse than ever. The thread holding his sanity together tautened, close to snapping.
“Get my wife fresh water,” he commanded. “And fruit. Lots of fresh fruit. Force her to eat if she refuses.”
“Drake,” she said softly.
“No.” He pointed at her, pretending to himself that his hand wasn’t trembling. “No. You can’t carry a child if you’re as weak as a babe yourself.”
“Calm yourself,” she whispered. “Eyes are always watching.” She took his other hand and uncurled the fist. His fingernails had pricked the skin, leaving bloody crescents behind. “Oh, Drake.”
He moved to the window and yanked the curtains open. “Let there be light,” he said shakily.
The light cut through the darkness in the room, and he wished he hadn’t done it because now he saw clearly the true extent of Sorcha’s condition. She looked as though she were dying, and as often as she reassured him, nothing could persuade him that it was normal.
Death terrified him. Since the day he witnessed his mother take her last breath, the thought of getting close to someone crippled him because he imagined their deaths. As soon as he felt himself falling for Cara, the nightmares had started and never stopped. Death by drowning, an arrow through the heart, a slit throat, pushed out of an ivory tower, poison. That one had only been the last to almost come true. He had taken the poison himself instead. But Cara hadn’t been the one by his side, nursing him back to health. He had almost died for her, a
nd she had sought comfort elsewhere.
And as distant as he forced himself to remain from Scarlet, he often dreamt of her being suffocated in her cot. There was no way around it. Love and affection weakened him. He had to do better, gain power, and become more like the king his court really needed.
“Did something happen?” Sorcha asked.
He shook his head. “I ordered an innocent man to death, and then there was… It doesn’t matter now.”
“It is I who need death,” she said softly. “You only order men to death to sustain me, to feed me, to give me strength. This is my death, not yours.”
He looked at Sorcha, his sin-eater, and wondered how he would exist without her to take responsibility for his burdens and guilt.
He faced the window to avoid looking at how haggard the banshee had grown. But something grabbed his attention, someone approaching the castle. A large, bulky faery horse. Dubh. Did that mean…?
His heart jumped in his chest. Had Cara come to him? Right when he needed her? But no. He deflated. The queen of the Chaos Court would hardly be riding alone into strange territory. It was a messenger. Important, no doubt, if they arrived on Dubh.
“I must go,” he said. “Stay well.”
He left the room and met Dymphna in the hallway. Two tall, muscular daoine sídhe were now stationed outside his wife’s room. One less thing to worry about.
“Dubh is on his way,” he told Dymphna. “Let’s take a look at my room before going to see what the message is.”
“Do you think it’s trouble?” Dymphna asked worriedly.
“Likely so. Why else would she send Dubh?”
They strode quickly down the hallway to the quarters he now lived in. He and Sorcha had slowly moved closer together, a literal sign of their relationship transforming into a shaky friendship.
“I’m worried about Sorcha,” he admitted as they walked. “She doesn’t look well.”
“When I was pregnant with Eithne, I spent three months throwing up everything that passed my lips,” she said. “And remember how Cara would weaken and faint?”
He nodded, but Cara had been capable of riding a horse at the time. Sorcha couldn’t lift up her head without help.
They reached his room and stared at the red X on his door, too.
“Bastards,” he murmured.
He caught hold of a passing servant. She shivered in his grip, her eyes darting in every direction but the door.
“Clean this mess up,” he commanded. “And let it be known that someone will lose their hands for this.”
Subdued, she nodded and ran when Drake let go of her arm.
“Come on,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Let’s go see what went wrong this time.”
News had apparently travelled fast. Whispers followed the pair wherever they walked, and Drake couldn’t be sure if it was the messenger, the bloody X’s, or the pregnancy rumours that had his court in such a tizzy.
A group of fae, servants and nobles alike, had gathered outside. Drake and Dymphna bypassed the crowd. He ignored the fawning and the cold stares alike to stand apart. More of the daoine sídhe blocked him from the crowd as if by magic. It was slowly occurring to him that he took charge of very little in his own court. The commands were known and accepted, and he never had to say a word. Initially, he had thought it a sign of his power, but now he wondered if he were being managed instead. Perhaps that was how he had ended up with bloody warnings on his bedroom door.
Dubh finally came to a stop before them, the black faery horse’s muscular body sweating from the vigorous run.
A short, squat, wrinkled old woman with blue eyes hopped off the horse’s back and heaved a weary sigh. “These journeys are so uncomfortable,” the Miacha said, one of many near-identical healer sisters.
“What’s happened?” Dymphna asked.
“Does Cara need help?” Drake said.
Blue Eyes blinked a couple of times in confusion. “Well, no. She’s in good health.”
“Then why are you here?”
The Miacha looked surprised. “Was she wrong?”
“Who?” Drake asked through gritted teeth. Why wouldn’t the woman just spit out why she had arrived?
“Cara sent me.” The Miacha began to unload her bags from Dubh who stamped his feet crossly.
“Somebody take care of the horse,” Drake commanded. “Carefully. He bites.”
A groom approached warily, but Dubh behaved as he was led away. When they were out of sight, the groom screamed with pain. Some things never changed.
Drake tried again with the old woman. “Why did Cara send you?”
The Miacha’s eyes narrowed as she focused on him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze before repeating his question.
Blue Eyes scratched her chin. “Why, for the baby, of course! There is a baby, isn’t there?”
His stomach bottomed out. Cara knew. Drake glared at Dymphna. “Did you tell her? Did you actually go behind my back and send word to Cara about Sorcha? Damnit, Dymphna. I wanted to tell her myself.”
“Me? Of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that. Maybe rumours spread to her from the court. You know the fae here are wondering about Sorcha’s illness.”
“Oh, I doubt anybody told her,” Blue Eyes said. “Cara knew Sorcha was sick, and she sent Dubh to us with a message saying that she suspected Sorcha was with child, and if so, she needed the best of care.”
Drake couldn’t have been more astonished if she had spat in his eyes. “You’re telling me that Cara somehow guessed my wife is with child and sent you here to help?”
“Exactly,” Blue Eyes said brightly. “Don’t worry. I’m good with children. I helped Cara give birth, after all. We decided I was the best candidate. I have herbs and potions with me, probably too many, but you can never be too careful. Now I’ve never been a midwife to a banshee before,” she prattled, patting his arm. “But I’m confident that this will be like any other delivery.”
“She’s… she’s not ready to deliver yet.”
“Good,” Blue Eyes said. “It’ll give me more time to settle in and help her.”
“You don’t understand,” Drake said. “She’s very sick.”
“Oh, never mind that. Men always think pregnancy is an illness.”
“In this case,” Dymphna said, “I think he’s right. She does seem to be quite unwell.”
For the first time, the Miacha faltered. “Well, then.” She raised herself up to her full height. “It’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” She frowned at the astonished Silver King. “Now, now. Hurry up. Show me the queen. We need to get started.”
And the king swallowed hard, pushing the bubbling emotions back in their places. Cara hadn’t come, but she had sent something even better in her place.
Chapter Five
Brendan
Bran’s eyes fluttered open two days later.
“Well, it’s about time,” Brendan said lightly, gesturing to one of the soldiers at the door to go fetch fresh water. He had been truly concerned, but he didn’t want Bran to worry unnecessarily.
Bran tried to sit up, blanched, and then fell back against the pillow. He attempted to speak, but couldn’t, so Brendan bade him to be silent. When the soldier returned, Brendan made Bran drink some honey and water. Bran spluttered his way through the first sip then drank deeply until Brendan took the fluids away.
“I’ll bring you some clear soup soon,” Brendan said to fill the silence.
Bran rested his head on the pillow, looking exhausted. “Where am I?” he asked after a few minutes.
“My cabin.”
“Your bed?” Bran’s eyes widened, and he tried to get up.
“Don’t be foolish,” Brendan said. “You saved my life, Bran. The least I can do is let you sleep in a better cabin.”
“I don’t remember what happened,” Bran admitted.
The king joined his hands, twining his fingers as if holding his strength together. “There was a terrible storm. I thought we wo
uld be lost at sea. A mast cracked and fell. You were hit in the head pushing me out of the way. Enough of the heroics, Bran. You’ve been in here for two days. On the plus side, you haven’t thrown up.”
“I’m feeling better,” Bran said. “Any sign of… anything?”
“Not yet. Soon though. I’m sure it’ll be soon.”
He hoped. He was tired of the boat, of the motion, of the taste of salt on his lips. Exhausted by Yvette’s constant hints. It wasn’t right to marry yet, not on such a journey. Not when… He knew he was making excuses. He knew it, but he didn’t care. He had goodbyes to say before he finally agreed to Yvette’s requests.
His kingdom expected a sacrifice, desperately needed one to feel safe, and he was the only person who could give it them. It was his duty. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold off for as long as possible. It didn’t mean he couldn’t find a sliver of joy first. His shoulders slumped. Cara would hate him if he married, even if she didn’t mean to. She couldn’t be friends with Yvette, and he would be as miserable as Drake. When had he become so morose?
The soldier at the door cleared her throat. “Shall I fetch him the broth? Saves you…”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Even his soldiers sensed his willingness to avoid Yvette.
“Please,” he said.
When she returned, he took the bowl and allowed the younger fae a few mouthfuls. “We don’t want to overdo it.”
Bran yawned loudly, his periwinkle veins fading slightly. Unlike some fae, Bran freely displayed his wings. They stretched out beneath him like a halo. As a child, Brendan had wished to know what it was like to have wings. After a number of months in Drake’s body, he could safely say he never wanted to go back.
“Get some rest.”
“I’ve been asleep for two days.”
“That was healing. Now it’s time for resting. Listen to your king, boy.”
Bran obediently closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing slowed.
Brendan left him to go to the upper deck for some air. He stalked the deck, growing more restless by the second. He needed a release. He needed to hunt, to kill, to do something.