Darkest Mercy

by Melissa Marr

  “I’m not angry with you,” Aislinn muttered. Every bit of self-control she had was going into keeping her temper in check.

  So really not the time to do this.

  Tavish advised, “The rain is fine, my Queen, but the sunlight in here is growing dangerous to any not of our court.”

  “Oh.” Aislinn concentrated specifically on dulling the light and heat. She inhaled the warmth with a steady breath and then stared at her advisor with sunlight still pulsing on her tongue. Carefully, she said, “Let’s take it to where it can be dangerous to the right one then.”

  Tavish nodded. “The Summer Guard will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine, but I’m leaving in five, with or without guards.” Aislinn strode off.

  The Summer Queen returned to her room to pull on boots and jeans. Getting her feet crushed by flailing faeries was an avoidable injury, and her wet sundress was far from ideal for movement. Or fighting. She shucked off her clothes and yanked on jeans. I can’t fight worth a damn. She’d taken lessons from Tavish, trained with the guard after Donia had stabbed her. It’s not the same as centuries of experience. The handles of her drawer turned to ashes in her hand. Or any experience with all of summer inside me. Ashes slipped from her hand to the floor.

  Siobhan came in. “Let me help.”

  “Stupid wood.” Aislinn wiped her hand on her jeans.

  The new Summer advisor pulled out the charred drawer.

  Aislinn blinked away sudden tears of frustration and worry. “How am I to do this? I can’t control this yet.”

  “You don’t need to keep it in check in a fight, Aislinn.” Siobhan reached in to grab the blade nestled among the T-shirts and immediately pulled her hand back when she realized that the blade was steel.

  “Got it. That I can touch.” Aislinn wrapped her hand around the hilt. “I want you to stay here.” Then she yelled over her shoulder, “Two minutes!”

  “I can fight.” Siobhan glared at her queen. “I’ve been—”

  “Not doubting you.” Aislinn pulled her hair back into a hasty braid. “I need someone to handle things here if we don’t . . . If anyone gets past us, there are faeries here who are not designed for fights. You are in charge until I return.”

  Siobhan bowed. “I won’t fail you.”

  “Hopefully, it won’t come to that, but . . .” Aislinn shook her head, and then she looked at her friend and advisor. She took a deep breath and nodded. “I can do this.”

  “You can.” Siobhan squeezed Aislinn’s free hand. “You are the Summer Queen. The first faery to hold the full weight of Summer in more than nine hundred years. Trust your instincts.”

  Aislinn laughed. “My instinct is that I want to incinerate Bananach. Summer is to rejoice. Threatening my faeries?

  Starting conflicts with my friends? Injuring Seth? Not encouraging much rejoicing.”

  “He’s going to be fine.” Siobhan stared directly at her.

  “How can you say that? You don’t know—”

  “Neither do you,” Siobhan said firmly. “And if he’s not, we’ll deal with it, but right now, your beloved needs rescuing.”

  Aislinn leaned in and kissed Siobhan’s cheek. “I knew you would be a fabulous advisor.”

  Then the Summer Queen strode through the loft, calling, “Time’s up.”

  Some of her faeries were still strapping on weapons, but Tavish was at the door. “Those not ready will follow in short order.”

  Admittedly relieved that he was at her side, Aislinn nodded, and together she and her advisor led the Summer Guard toward the Dark Court’s warehouse.

  Chapter 35

  While the remaining Dark Court faeries assembled, the Dark King turned to Keenan. “Seth. He’s still at the warehouse. If the Summer Queen learns . . .”

  “Ash will meet us there, and unless someone speaks other-

  wise, she’ll think it was Bananach who . . . caged him,” Keenan said.

  The Dark King nodded. “He was alive when I left.”

  “Let’s hope he’s still that way when we get there,” Keenan muttered, “and when Ash gets there.”

  “Sorcha was ready to kill us all to protect him,” Niall-Irial said almost absently as he walked over to a panel on the wall and opened it. “I didn’t intend him to die . . . else I’d have given him to Far Dorcha.”

  “Am I the only one who hasn’t crossed paths with the Dark Man?” Keenan asked.

  The Dark King walked over to the mortal on the sofa. He knelt in front of her and handed her a gun and a spare clip. “Solid steel bullets. We can’t use them, but you’re still mortal enough that you can. Use them if she comes here. I think you’re safer here than anywhere else, but . . .”

  Leslie nodded.

  “If I . . . we die . . .” The Dark King faltered. “Don’t hesitate to ask them for help. Seth, Keenan, Ash, whoever lives. Whatever you need to do to survive. . . . I wish you didn’t have to deal with this, Shadow Girl. This world, this—”

  “If Bananach wins, she’ll kill me.” Leslie trailed her fingers over Niall’s scarred cheek and added, “I love you.”

  “And we love you.” The Dark King kissed her softly, and then he looked around the room at the assembled faeries. “Seth says we can kill Bananach. Let’s go find out if he’s right.”

  “And if he’s not?” Keenan asked.

  “We either die by her hand or as a result of killing her.” The Dark King shrugged. “I’d rather go out in a fight.”

  The former Summer King lifted a short sword. “It’s a shame we can’t use guns. Walk in, shoot her, and be done with it.”

  Niall laughed. “You stop being king for all of what . . . a day?”

  He glanced at Keenan, who shrugged. “About that.”

  “A day of being solitary and you want to throw Faerie Law aside.” Niall gestured for the remaining faeries to precede him and slung an arm over Keenan’s shoulder. “You might be qualified to advise the Dark Court after all.”

  “Assuming we aren’t about to get slaughtered,” Keenan added.

  “Sure.” Niall followed his faeries into the street. “Some of us will live . . . or we’ll all die. Either way, I don’t see the benefit of worrying about it.”

  Dark Court faeries laughed, and Keenan shook his head. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore, what he was, or if there was a tomorrow, but now that Irial and Niall were shifting in and out of steering the Dark King’s body, Niall seemed almost sane—or at least as sane as possible when they were off to fight War—and the faeries he would fight alongside were the most vicious of the courts.

  Except Winter. Don will be there too. Other messengers had gone to Summer and Winter. Not apart but working together. It seemed like that should matter, but a dethroned Dark King, an untrained Summer Queen, and a former Summer King weren’t the ideal group even if they were together.

  Which leaves Donia . . .

  With thoughts of his beloved on his mind, he ran across Huntsdale in the company of the members of the Dark Court who hadn’t sided with Bananach, the Dark King who was possessed by the dead Dark King, and a few solitary faeries who joined their group.

  Half a block away from the fight, they had to stop running. Even at this distance, the roar of the fray they were about to enter made more than a few passing mortals look to the sky as if a storm rode in overhead. Be grateful you can’t see, he thought. Then he exhaled a gust of cold air toward them, hoping to send them farther from the fight that had spilled into the street in front of him. Some of the mortals scurried away.

  The former Summer King put a hand on his once-advisor’s arm. “I am no longer a regent. Her declaration of regency could mean that I am useless against her.”

  “She is not a regent,” Niall snarled.

  Then Bananach’s troops swarmed toward them with weapons raised.

  Niall’s faeries fought against those who should be his. The Dark Court had been weakened by Bananach’s

  machinations—as Summer would’ve
been if I’d tried to stay.

  Hounds and their steeds were already fighting, but far too many faeries had been called to Bananach’s aid. Keenan looked around at the staggering number of faeries.

  Where did they all come from?

  War had been recruiting solitaries and faeries who should belong to other courts. He saw lupine and rowan and thistle-fey fighting alongside the Ly Ergs. He wasn’t sure how they could tell enemy from ally, but one enemy was clear—Bananach. There was no doubt there. They just had to get to her.

  “Safe hunting,” Niall called as he launched himself into the fray.

  Any answer Keenan could’ve offered would have been swallowed by the cacophony of violence. The loyal clashed with those who’d tried to usurp their king, and the result was already obvious: the dead, of both sides, littered the ground.

  The Summer Queen and Tavish were three blocks from the Dark Court’s warehouse when Aislinn found the composure to say the words she didn’t want to speak: “If she hurts him or . . . worse, I will kill her.”

  “Even if she doesn’t, she needs to be stopped.” Tavish kept pace with her despite the increasing speed at which she traveled.

  Aislinn’s self-control was not as thorough as she would have liked: snow melted in floods in her wake; trees burst into bloom; and rivers of mud rolled into the street.

  Finally, as they were almost at the warehouse, she asked, “Advice?”

  He gestured for her to pause for a moment. As the Summer Guard raced up behind them, he said only, “Trust your instincts. If we can’t stop her, we’ll be looking at our deaths anyhow.”

  In front of them, Aislinn saw Dark Court fey fighting Dark Court fey, and she wasn’t sure which was the side her court fought with and which was the side they fought against. “How do I know who to fight?”

  Tavish lifted his sword. “If they swing at you, defend yourself.”

  “Right.” She shoved sunlight like a blade into the chest of a faery running at them. “Did we have a plan? You’re the one with experience at this.”

  “The plan? Thin Bananach’s numbers, hope we can nullify or kill her, not die, and rescue Seth.” Tavish swept a Ly Erg’s legs out from under him, and then sliced open the faery’s throat.

  The sight of it gave her pause. “Is he . . .”

  “Dead? Yes.” Tavish no longer looked like the diplomatic advisor she’d known. Every semblance of civility was gone as he neatly cut down another faery without hesitation. “They knew the risk when they stood with Bananach. As do our faeries when they fight against her. . . .”

  At that reminder—my faeries or the madwoman’s

  faeries—the twinge of horror Aislinn felt was replaced by resolve. I am the Summer Queen. These are my faeries. She saw Keenan, cornered by three Ly Ergs—and holding his own. My faeries and my friends.

  With a concentrated look, she sent a sunbeam sizzling at the chest of one of the Ly Ergs. The faery fell, and Keenan flashed her a grin before resuming his fight with the other two. As Aislinn started to strike another of the faeries Keenan fought, four former Dark Court faeries charged her and Tavish.

  Several more Summer Court guards came up on either side of her. Tavish stayed slightly in front of her. As far as Aislinn could see, faeries engaged in fights to the death, and somewhere in that morass of violence Seth was trapped.

  “Lead on,” she told Tavish as she directed several more sunbeams at the seditious faeries.

  Tavish nodded to one of the guards, and as a group they advanced through the center of the conflict while the rest of her guard engaged the faeries fighting for Bananach. Blades of all sorts flashed in the sunlight that radiated from her skin. If it had been only Summer Court faeries fighting on her side, she could have let the full force of her light shine, but some of the Dark Court faeries were there to oppose Bananach. A solar flare would blind and injure allies too.

  A storm wouldn’t favor only her side either.

  One at a time, then.

  She didn’t know how many faeries stood between her and Seth, or even where to look for him, but he was in there.

  As are my faeries and my friends.

  Aislinn, Tavish, and the rowan advanced slowly, and as they did, she aimed sunbeams and sent vines tangling the enemies. They weren’t fatal strikes, but killing still made her squeamish. In defense, she could do it. Or if Seth is injured. She blanched as a thistle-fey skewered a vine-wrapped faery, but she continued as she was. Mercy wasn’t the way of the Dark Court fey.

  It won’t be mine either if Seth is injured . . . or worse.

  Chapter 36

  The Winter Court was last to arrive. In front of her, Donia saw Summer Court and Dark Court fey. The crush of

  faeries extended from the warehouse to the edge of the street and spilled into the block around them. Various rowan and Summer Girls—Summer Girls?—fought the enemy. Others dragged mortals away from the violence.

  “Summer, move!” Donia waited the count of three for the faeries to get to safety before she hissed a breath of ice into the street, chasing the mortals away effectively and quickly. The ice from her lungs wasn’t thick enough to kill the Summer Court faeries who weren’t out of her reach, but it did make a couple of them falter.

  “Winter, here.” She let another, much stronger gust of ice coat the ground. She could keep the mortals from crossing the line into the faery war that had erupted.

  Beside her several of the most dominant of the Hawthorns and Scrimshaw Sisters and lupine stood awaiting her decisions. She gave her faeries an icy smile. “Winter shows no mercy to Bananach. Push forward into the thick of the fight—but only if doing so does not make the boundary porous. No escapes.”

  At her word, all of the faeries beside her except for Cwenhild carried the word to the troops. The Scrimshaw Sister waited. Without any ceremony or drama, Cwenhild had stepped up to fill the role of chief guard and advisor.

  Donia looked at her questioningly.

  She shrugged and said simply, “I protect my queen.”

  “I will fight.”

  Cwenhild shrugged again. “So be it.”

  Donia hadn’t had the years of fighting experience that the Dark Kings or the Hunt had, but what she did have was power that ached to be released. The sheer number of faeries

  fighting in the streets outside the Dark King’s warehouse

  made it impossible for her troops to get inside, so Donia stayed with her fey. She felt the pain of loss strike her when her faeries fell, felt the cold satisfaction of their victories, and she shivered at both sensations.

  Mine. They are mine to protect.

  In the midst of the fight, Ankou and Far Dorcha strode through the bodies; the death-fey were untouched by the violence. No stray arrows or knives’ tips pierced them. Their clothes were torn, and the hem of Ankou’s winding sheet was heavy with blood and dirt and ice. She went about her macabre business, collecting the corpses, removing them from the fight—and for the first time, Donia understood the need for the death-faery’s work. The fallen did not deserve to be left to be trampled; the living didn’t need to see their comrades dead in their path. Ankou did necessary work in the midst of battle.

  “My Queen?” Cwenhild prompted.

  “None of Bananach’s faeries are to get past you.” Donia looked up, aware that both Far Dorcha and Ankou had stopped mid-step to look at her. The suddenness of their gazes made her falter. Seeing Death gazing back at her so studiously wasn’t encouraging.

  My faeries bleed.

  “I go with you. I protect my queen first and always,” Cwenhild insisted.

  “No.” Donia pulled her gaze away from the two death-fey. “You know how to lead them in battle. That is my order, Cwenhild. They need a general, and I need you to lead them, not guard me.”

  “I disagree,” Cwenhild said, “but I will do as you order.”

  As Donia pushed through the fight, she saw Keenan near the door of the warehouse. He hadn’t yet reached Bananach, but he was obviously tryin
g. Frost and frozen flecks of blood clung to his skin like a dusting of silver and crimson glitter.

  “What are you doing?” she muttered. Keenan wasn’t a king anymore; he couldn’t stand against Bananach if she was a regent in truth. Only regents or equally powerful faeries could kill regents, and Keenan had surrendered most of his power.

  The Winter Queen had swords of ice in both hands, and when that wasn’t enough of an offensive, she exhaled and encased faeries in sheets of ice. While she had been queen less than two years, she’d wielded Winter as the Winter Girl for almost a century.

  Donia battled her way to Keenan, and then fought

  side by side with him. As she speared the chest of a thistle-

  fey, she told Keenan, “You waited for me. How sweet

  of you.”

  “I am a gentleman sometimes.” The glee in Keenan’s eyes reminded her that while he had never been as adept at fighting as he was at seduction, he was still far more experienced at fighting than either she or Aislinn were.

  We can do this.

  Donia turned so that she was back-to-back with Keenan; she erected a wall of ice in the path of the faeries who advanced toward them, effectively dividing the fight. All those who would come up behind them were now locked out. Her faeries, along with the dark and summer fey, would deal with the mutinous lot outside the warehouse. The Hounds, the rowan, and the Dark Court fey inside would stand against the faeries left on this side of her barrier.

  She turned back to face Keenan, and for a brief moment, they were alone with a wall of ice behind them, and the chaos of violence in front of them. “Where’s Niall?”

  “Somewhere in there.” Keenan motioned with a lift of his chin toward the warehouse. “He’s a bit more determined.”

  “Nothing to do with his skills,” Donia teased.

  “Maybe a little, but”—Keenan gave her a look that was every bit the wicked faery she’d woken up next to—“I’m sticking to the ‘waiting for you’ answer.”

  “You sure you want to do this?” Donia glanced his way.