Darkest Mercy

by Melissa Marr

  “Being apart is unnatural, Aislinn. Tell me you don’t feel it.” He smiled at her, and she thought back to the first time he’d kissed her. Then, she was a mortal, and she didn’t understand how anyone could refuse him. Then, she’d thought it was simply faery allure, and she didn’t think it would stay so difficult when she became a faery. Now, she understood. I wanted him then because I am the Summer Queen, not because he’s a faery. As long as they were sharing the court, this feeling wouldn’t end when they were near each other. When he was gone, she was fine. She’d missed him as a friend, but that wasn’t what he deserved.

  “I don’t love you the way you need to be loved,” she said.

  “I know.” His smile was sad for a fleeting moment. “Summer isn’t renowned for soul-searing love, Aislinn. Passion is the domain of Summer.”

  “We both feel that sort of love, though,” she reminded him.

  “Because you weren’t always Summer, you are different.” He gave her a sad smile.

  “And you? Why are you different?” she asked.

  He said nothing, but he pulled her back into his arms.

  Aislinn swayed to the music. Summer Girls and guards danced slower, tangled together in embraces, and in some cases danced and kissed. She understood. The Summer Queen and King both felt the longing for what their faeries had: touch and passion.

  He followed her gaze. “We could have that too. Pretend it was the night you asked me to seduce you, start from that moment again. I can make you happy.”

  At that simple statement, Aislinn’s sunlight flared brighter. She had no doubt that he could make her happy—maybe not for all of eternity, but there was little doubt that she could know passion in his arms. “In moments I shouldn’t admit to you, not here, not ever perhaps, I’ve wondered what it would’ve been like.”

  “Say the word, my queen, and we can answer that question right now. We are Summer. Ours is the court of forget-your-name pleasures. I promise you that it will be good . . . and good for our court.” Keenan’s sunlight had brought her own light to the surface, and between them, the plants in the loft were growing visibly. Summer Girls laughed, and the room was filled with song. Keenan didn’t look away from her, however. He stared directly into her eyes. “Let us answer your question, Aislinn. Be my Summer Queen. Take the pleasure that is your right.”

  Even though she was breathless with the things she wanted—things Seth refuses me—Aislinn had the sense to say, “Maybe some questions aren’t meant to be answered.”

  Keenan leaned close enough that his words were whispers on her lips and asked, “Are you sure this is one of them?”

  A rowan cleared his throat. “My Queen?” he said, and then added hurriedly, “and King?”

  Aislinn stepped away from Keenan. “Yes?”

  “The Winter Queen is here.”

  Chapter 22

  Keenan stood in the study and watched Donia walk into the room with a mixture of joy and fear. Neither was evident in his expression, but the combination of the two made him momentarily speechless.

  “Donia,” Aislinn greeted the Winter Queen from the sofa where she sat.

  The Winter Queen pursed her lips as she looked at the two of them. “If I had any other regent to visit, I would.”

  “Has something happened to Niall?” Keenan asked.

  “Yes. Maybe. . . . I’m not sure.” Donia folded her arms. “Gabriel visited me. He wasn’t able to tell me anything overt, and my requests for an audience with Niall were denied. The guards turned me away at the door.” A troubled look came over her face. “So I went to the gate to Faerie, but that was inaccessible as well. The gate to Faerie is closed. Now I am here.”

  With a self-confidence that befit her position, Aislinn gestured at the sofa across from her. “Please, sit.”

  “The gate is closed?” Keenan echoed.

  “I couldn’t even find it.” Donia looked directly at him as she added, “And Niall is locked away in his house.”

  Despite the worry writ plain on her face, Donia was regal as she walked over to the sofa. The Winter Queen sat opposite the Summer Queen. Whether it was intentional or not, the two queens had made it so that he had to sit next to the faery who shared his court or the faery who owned his heart. What I want and what I can have in life are not ever the same. Keenan took his position next to his queen. Duty first.

  “Tavish has had reports that Irial was injured in the fight with Bananach,” Aislinn said.

  The surge of shock he felt wasn’t masked quickly enough. Donia’s gaze narrowed as she realized that he had been unaware of this news until that instant.

  My queen has become used to ruling without me. He gave Donia a wry smile, but neither of them commented. That’s what I get for leaving.

  “I have reason to believe that Irial’s injury is a fatal one,” Donia added. “Perhaps Niall is mourning.”

  “Maybe . . . Seth went straight from the fight with Bananach to Faerie. He returned here yesterday, to see me.” Aislinn tensed slightly, but did not look at Keenan as she added, “He had to leave suddenly, but he didn’t mention anything about Irial’s injury when he was here . . . or about Faerie being closed.”

  “And where is Seth now?” Donia prompted. “Did he return to Faerie?”

  “He didn’t say where he went, just that it was something he had to do immediately,” Aislinn told them.

  Keenan did look at Aislinn as he said, “When I left him, he said he was going to see Niall.”

  His queen scowled at him, but said nothing.

  “And neither of you thought to tell the other one these details?” Donia asked incredulously. “What were you doing?”

  “The day had just begun, and we were dancing,” Aislinn said.

  “Dancing?” Donia looked at the Summer Queen with the same disdain Keenan had once seen on her face when she looked at the Summer Girls. “Of course you were. Bananach is attacking faeries, stealing from our courts. Irial is injured. Faerie is closed. Yes, dancing is precisely what will help.”

  Before Keenan could speak, Aislinn said, “Your court is not ours. Snowy calm may be what you need, but summer is joyous. They require rejoicing to stay strong. Maybe you should try it.”

  “Not all of us have reasons to rejoice,” Donia bit off.

  Aislinn’s skin sizzled. “Then maybe you ought to find one.”

  “Perhaps I should.” Donia smiled a sad smile, and then took a deep breath. “When I went to the veil to enter Faerie, it was gone. While we searched, Far Dorcha approached me.”

  “I met him as well . . . after I left you.” Aislinn walked to the counter and grabbed her cell phone.

  Keenan looked from one queen to the other. “You both met the head of the death-fey?”

  “It had to have been there yesterday. Faerie, I mean,” Aislinn said absently as she dialed and raised the phone to her ear.

  While she waited for Seth to answer, Keenan told Donia, “Seth stood beside me yesterday when Bananach attacked me.”

  “After he left here.” Aislinn clutched the phone, but she spoke to them: “He came from Faerie to the loft, and then left here to . . . help Keenan.”

  The question in Donia’s eyes wasn’t one Keenan was sure he should answer. He had spent decades keeping secrets from her because of the search for the missing queen.

  I don’t want secrets between us anymore . . . but she is not a part of my court.

  They sat silently, looking at each other while Aislinn texted Seth.

  “I’ll go see if Tavish has any new information.” Aislinn glanced at the phone again, and then she looked from Keenan to Donia—and left.

  Once the Summer Queen was gone, Donia stood and walked to the window. Her arms were folded tightly over her chest, and her gaze was fixedly not on him.

  “Don?”

  She glanced at him and then quickly looked back at the window. “Please, Keenan, not right now.”

  “Can I do anything?” He didn’t move from his spot on the sofa. “Wou
ld you rather I left the room? Maybe you and Aislinn can talk and I could . . . wait somewhere?”

  She turned to face him and smiled wanly. “I am worried for Niall. I am worried for all of us. I haven’t lost many of mine to Bananach, but almost a dozen of my fey are missing. I suspect they are with her . . . or dead . . . or running away.”

  “Ours as well,” Keenan said. “Tavish mentioned that a full score of ours have vanished. I have no idea what has happened in the Dark Court.”

  The Winter Queen relaxed a little, so that her hands were not clutching her arms so tightly. “He loves Niall, you know. Irial.”

  “He hurt Niall. I’ve seen Niall fall apart time after time when Irial was in town. It destroyed him. The scars on his back and chest . . .” Keenan remembered the first time he’d seen the webs of scars that covered much of Niall’s torso. He’d been young, too foolish to know not to ask, but he’d regretted it the moment after he’d spoken the question. The look of pain on Niall’s face was one he’d not forgotten nine centuries later.

  “Irial has been living there. If he dies, Niall won’t deal well. You know him.” Donia shivered. “He doesn’t forgive easily.”

  “I am well aware of that, Don,” Keenan muttered.

  Donia relaxed enough to sit on the arm of the chair farthest away from him. It wasn’t unusual for her to be so far away. They’d had more time of tentative distance than trust, but the memory of holding her in his arms made the renewed distance hurt like it had when she’d failed the test.

  I want to tell you I can change. I want to tell you we can run away and abandon everything. He watched her in silence for several moments. Every promise he should be able to make was forbidden to them. No gift, no word, nothing would undo all of his failures. I want to be the faery you saw when you met me. I want you to see me that way again. Even if they couldn’t be together as he had dreamed, he wanted her to look at him like she had so many times, to see him instead of the Summer King.

  “I could talk to him, to Niall,” Keenan blurted. “If you think it would help, I can try.”

  She startled. “The last time you saw him, he knocked you unconscious.”

  “That wasn’t the last time.” Keenan flushed. “He was trained in the Dark Court. It’s not like it was just anyone who punched me.”

  “I wasn’t judging. Merely reminding.”

  “Perhaps rejoicing a little that I was knocked down?” he asked.

  “No,” she sighed. “Even when you infuriate me or break my heart, I don’t rejoice in your pain. Would you relish my pain?”

  “Never,” he swore.

  Aislinn came back into the room. She stayed in the opposite doorway, placing herself at the far end of the room from Donia. “Tavish has heard nothing about Faerie. He has our people looking into it, and he’d”—she gave them a small smile—“‘very much appreciate it if the regents had the sense to stay here until such time as we have more data,’ as he says.”

  “You don’t need to stay that far away, Ash. I won’t injure you just because he’s back.”

  The Summer Queen grinned. “Nor I you, Donia.”

  The two queens smiled at each other, and Keenan couldn’t help but think—again—that they’d both be happier if he was gone. Awkwardly, he looked from one to the other. “I need to talk to the rowan. Make sure that everyone is safe and accounted for.” He stood and glanced at Donia. “If you leave before I’m back, I would ask that you summon your guard or take some of ours to see you home.”

  The Winter Queen smiled, not cruelly, but with an unpleasantly familiar reserve. “I am not your concern, Keenan.”

  “You will always be my concern, Donia.” Keenan bowed to her before he could see her reaction to his words and walked away.

  At the doorway, Aislinn squeezed his hand briefly, but said nothing.

  Chapter 23

  Seth stretched his legs out as much as he was able to within the confines of the cell into which he’d been cast. It wasn’t as horrible as he’d expected, but the size was more fit for a small animal than a six-foot faery. The space was barren: no cot, no blanket. The cell was nothing more than a scarred and pitted floor and a dirty open grate in the back corner. Dark stains on the floor reminded Seth that he was lucky he’d only been bruised. So far, at least. The cell across from him had no visible floor. All Seth could see were broken metal spikes jutting up from somewhere beneath the empty cell. It made him extremely glad that he hadn’t actually been given the worst cell in the dungeon—neither had Elaina.

  “You okay, pup?” she called from somewhere off to his right. He couldn’t see her, but he had heard no screams when she was brought down to the cells.

  “Great. You?”

  She snorted. “Been better.”

  He stood, crouching slightly as he did so. Neither sitting nor standing allowed him to be remotely comfortable. “Been worse?”

  Elaina’s low laugh carried through the distance. “A few times, yeah.”

  “That’s something.” He paced to the front of the small cell.

  The Hound was quiet. “Is it true that you are the High Queen’s heir now?”

  “It is.” Seth closed his eyes, imagining the fury that would have been unleashed in the mortal world if Devlin hadn’t closed the gates to Faerie. Faery regents in mourning really shouldn’t be allowed loose. He sighed. It wasn’t his mother who was running amok this time, though. Instead, it was the grieving, infuriated, sleep-deprived, volatile, no-longer-balanced Dark King.

  Seth weighed the benefits of telling Niall that the closing of Faerie had unbalanced him. He had seen the madness lurking in Niall’s eyes; he had watched dark fey cringe as they approached their king with battered bodies. Now that the Shadow Court balanced the High Court, Niall was left untethered. Unless I can figure out a way to help him. Unlike with Sorcha’s recent spate of instability, Seth couldn’t see a solution to Niall’s.

  “You still there?” Elaina called.

  “I am.” Seth squatted in front of the door, examining the bars that kept him caged. They were woven of something no other faery could weaken. If it had been sunlight, Donia could negate it; if it were ice, Aislinn or Keenan could remove it. If Seth were in Faerie, Sorcha could undo it with a thought. He was in the mortal world, though, and trapped by bands of darkness that were the material of a regent without an opposing court in this world.

  And Faerie is sealed.

  The same fact that comforted Seth also removed hope of any rescue.

  This is on me to sort out.

  There was only one faery of the High Court in the mortal world, and the High Queen had only one heir. Of course, that didn’t provide any grand insight on how one became the balance to a grief-mad, tether-free king.

  Maybe there is a strong solitary who can balance him.

  Once they got past the grief of losing Irial, Niall and the other regents could talk about it. Seth might not know who could balance the Dark King, but assuming Niall released him, Seth would try to find that answer—even if it meant going to Keenan for help.

  For now, Seth tried to sift through the ever-changing threads of possible futures, hoping for some clue that would help him reach Niall. Not all of those threads revealed things Seth wanted to see; some made his chest constrict in fear; and none of them offered any more clarity into the immediate future.

  He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed as he sorted through future possibilities, but eventually a thistle-faery approached the cell.

  “Come.” The faery opened the door to the cell and grabbed Seth’s arm. The thistles that covered her skin pierced him.

  “You don’t need to hold on to me: I’m not going to run,” Seth said. “You have my word. I will walk beside or in front of or behind you to where your king wants you to take me.”

  The faery reached out with her other thistle-covered hand and grabbed his shoulder. “I follow my king’s precise orders.”

  “Right,” Seth said.

  As he was escorted from the
cell and through the hall, Seth tried to ignore the stinging of the thistles. Body piercing was perfectly fine—and sometimes pleasurable—but the sensation of dozens of tiny cuts was far from appealing. Later, if there was a later, he and Niall would have work to do in order for their friendship to stand a chance of recovering from the injuries they’d both inflicted.

  Before Seth had become a faery, he hadn’t truly understood the weight of the decisions the fey made. Now, he was facing the possibility of an eternity of seeing the threads of those around him. Interfering with the future could change the future. At what point is that my right? At what point is it wrong to act? To not-act? He didn’t know if he’d have been able to make the same decisions if the faery who had fallen to Bananach’s poison that day had been someone else. If it had been Niall, could Seth have let him die to save Faerie? What if it had been Aislinn? Those were choices he was glad he hadn’t had to make.

  “Up.” The thistle-faery released Seth’s arm, but immediately pressed the flat of her hand to his back and shoved him forward.

  She took every opportunity to inflict stinging pain on Seth as she conducted him from Niall’s house, through the streets, and into the warehouse where the Dark King currently held his court.

  The same Dark Court faeries who’d trained him to fight now watched Seth as he was shoved into what looked like an enormous metal birdcage. It was tall enough that he could stand and wide enough to walk several paces. Many faeries in the court could reach through the bars to injure him if they so desired, but it provided just enough room for him to try to dodge them. Got to make it sporting. In the moment, Seth clearly saw the side of the Dark Court that Niall had once said he wanted to keep hidden from Seth. And here I am.

  Niall sat on his throne, silently watching as the cage—with Seth in it—was raised to the ceiling. He remained still and silent until the denizens of the Dark Court began to shift nervously. All the while he stared at Seth.