by Melissa Marr
Chapter 25
Irial watched Leslie walk away with the Summer Queen's mortal. What would he tell her? It didn't truly matter, not now; she was his. Whatever they said or did wouldn't undo that.
"If anyone tries to take her from me, to come between us" — he pulled his gaze from Keenan to look at the Summer Queen—"you understand, don't you?"
She looked reluctant to answer.
"Aislinn?" Keenan took her hand in his.
She didn't react to either faery. "She's my friend. Leslie is not just some mortal; she's my friend. I should've acted when I saw you at the restaurant."
"It wouldn't have changed anything. She was already mine. That's why I was there." He reached out as if he'd touch her cheek, hand hovering by her sun-kissed face, and whispered, "What would you do to keep your mortal safe, Ash? Your Seth?"
"Anything."
"Exactly. You don't want to try to take Leslie from me. Your little kingling did tell you who it was that bound him, didn't he?" Irial waited for the flood of worry, of anger, of despair, and was surprised to find that the Summer Queen was in reasonable control of her emotions.
Looking rather like Gabriel's daughters, the Summer Queen cocked her head. "He did."
She stepped forward. Keenan didn't move to stop her. Instead he watched her with confidence, his emotions calmed. The Summer Queen let a trickle of sunlight seep into her voice, a tiny reminder of what she was, what she was capable of. She was close enough that the desert heat of her breath scorched Irial's face when she whispered, "Don't threaten me."
Irial held his hands up. "I'm not the one starting quarrels. I had business here: she's my business now." He felt ill at ease talking about her that way, his Leslie, his vulnerable mortal. So he changed the subject. "Thought I'd pay my respects to you while I was in the area … and check in on our Gancanagh. I find myself missing him lately."
Neither of the summer regents moved.
"To think of all the years he's wasted with you …" Irial shook his head. "What do you suppose it'd take to call him home to me?" Then he waited, looking forward to sating his hungers well enough to buy Leslie a few more hours to adjust before he started funneling the full weight of his appetite through her.
As the burst of Keenan's emotions seeped into Irial, the Dark King walked toward an open table. Keenan and Aislinn followed, as he knew they would, and sat down across from him. He traced a finger over the names—signs of mortals trying to leave a mark of their passing—that were carved into the surface. A waitress paused to offer them drinks, calling Aislinn and Keenan by name.
Irial accepted. "Whatever they usually have and coffee for me. Dark black."
The girl left, smiling a little longer than necessary at him.
If I could feed on them without an intermediary, like Gabriel's daughter had … He paused at that thought. Had I known about Ani sooner … But he hadn't. He was on this path, had found a solution. He'd look closer at Ani later.
First he'd get things with Leslie settled. If she was strong enough, she'd survive awhile, but in the end … in the end mortals always expired before faeries. They were such finite creatures. Their first heartbeat and memory were but a blink from death. To add the weight of nourishing his insatiable court in a time of peace was to hasten that unconscionably. Peace would kill his Leslie too soon, but war was never wise. It was a balance he needed. Being on the edge of violence but not down in it was what the Dark Court needed.
Irial returned his attention to the pair across from him. Aislinn was murmuring to Keenan, soothing him. "Calm down. Niall's not going anywhere … especially not to the Dark Court. He's safe—"
"Precious, you wound me." Irial laughed, immensely pleased by such naïve belief, a true rarity in the courts. "Niall and I were close, if you will, before the young kingling was alive."
Keenan's anger flared. His fists were clenched so tightly, he was hurting himself. "And he's spent centuries suffering for it."
Irial leaned across the table. "Do you know how he struggles to deal with his yearning for Leslie? How very difficult …" He paused, pleased to see the tightening expression on Keenan's face. "But perhaps there's a reason he didn't tell you? Perhaps he's still more my court than yours. Perhaps he's been mine all along. …"
"Stay away from Niall," Keenan said. Waves of desert heat radiated from him, pulsing against them all.
Beside him, Aislinn absorbed that heat as quickly as Keenan released it. "Keenan. Damn it. We need to discuss Leslie's situation. Calm down or take a walk."
What a nice idea. Irial smiled at Aislinn. Then he turned back to Keenan, holding his gaze as he said, "He could reign in my court. What do you offer him? Servitude? Faeries? He's a Gancanagh, Keenan. He needs mortal touch or some focus to assuage the yearning. He has denied himself for centuries to protect you. What's he to do without a cause? Play nursemaid to the Summer Girls?"
Keenan struggled—and failed—to hide a flash of despair. A tiny rain shower began on the dance floor. The patrons squealed and laughed, no doubt explaining it away with a mundane answer—a faulty sprinkler head or leaky pipe.
"Niall is better off with me. His loyalty is to my court; that's cause enough," Keenan said.
"Did you know that he has seen Gabe of late?" Irial lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, "He's been under watch by Bananach. Do you think she'd bother with him if he weren't a part of my court?"
The heat radiating from Keenan's skin made the water in the room hiss into a steam. "He's not Dark Court. He belongs among faeries who don't torment him. He's happier—"
"No. He's not. The best we can hope for, kingling, is to find ways to be at peace with what we are. You understand that, don't you? He's teetering on the edge. You've given him the keys to his own destruction." Irial watched Keenan, saw the acknowledgment he knew he'd find if he pushed hard enough.
"Don't go there." Keenan was carefully not glancing at his queen, carefully not admitting that he'd manipulated Niall and put Leslie at risk.
"Walk away from this, kingling," Irial warned. "This isn't a conversation you really want to have. Is it?"
The Summer King lashed out, a sharp wind that burned across Irial's face, drawing blood to the surface. The intensity of the fury made it all the more nourishing for Irial.
Aislinn kissed Keenan's cheeks. "Go on. I can deal with him." She waved her hand at the crowd of mortals. Too many of them were watching, curious and eager. "They don't need to see this."
Keenan made an abrupt gesture toward several of the rowan-men, and the guards—who looked like nothing more than the ominous young men in the dark alleys of most cities—moved closer. They leaned against a nearby wall, shooting menacing looks at Irial. It was a charming little show, their posturing—as if any Summer Court fey could daunt the head of the Dark Court. Without another word, Keenan vanished into the half-drenched crowd on the dance floor.
Irial smiled at the young Summer Queen. "Now that he's gone, let's you and I get to know each other."
Aislinn gave him a smile that was caught between mortal innocence and faery cunning.
I could grow fond of this one. She was a more challenging adversary than Keenan right now.
"You shouldn't try Keenan like that. I'm not sure what secrets you two were exchanging, but this is my court now. Needling him isn't going to help." She didn't bother to keep the heat out of her voice, but unlike her king's, Aislinn's temper wasn't a concentrated slap. Instead the blistering summer heat pushed against Irial like a sudden gust, causing him to swallow hard against the taste of sand on his tongue.
Delicious. He drank down her acrid temper with relish. "Secrets? Keenan was brought up longing for power— power I took from him under the will of the Winter Court. We have a history … not quite as fulfilling as my bond with Niall, mind you, but the kingling has impotence issues with me."
"I know what your court is. I know what you do. You're responsible for the evil—"
"Evil?" He laughed then, letting every bit of his courts true nat
ure into the sound.
The Summer Queen caught her breath. Her face flamed red, and the waves of anger radiating from her brought blisters to his skin.
"Not evil, child, and I'd rather you didn't insult me so" — Irial leaned closer, watching her face as she wrestled her emotions back into place—"because as much as I like your reaction, you've too many complications to interest me that way."
"If Keenan hears—"
"Tell him. Give him the extra reason to attack me." Irial licked his lips as if sand were truly a tangible thing, not simply a flavor in the air.
She switched topics. "Why are you trying to cause him troubles with Niall?"
"It behooves me." Irial saw no reason to be other than honest. "I understand addiction: it's one of my court's coins. Niall doesn't belong with Keenan, not now, not anymore. Keenan's mistreated him more than you know."
Aislinn's placid smile didn't waver, but tiny sparks of sunlight showed in her eyes. "What difference does it make to you?"
He leaned back and stretched his legs out in the aisle, as comfortable as he could be in the crowd of frolicking mortals. "Would you believe I care for Niall?"
"No."
"Fey don't lie."
"Not overtly," she amended.
"Well, if you won't believe that" — he shrugged—"what can I say? I enjoy provoking the kingling." He reached out for her hand. Unlike most faeries, the Summer Queen had enough speed to avoid his touch—sunlight can move as quickly as shadows—but she didn't. Keenan would've.
Queens are so much more pleasing to deal with.
Irial was assailed by the seeping heat of summer's languor, steamy breezes, and a strange-sweet taste of humid air. It was lovely. He held on to her hand, knowing that she felt his court's essence as surely as he felt hers, watching her pulse flutter like a captured thing, caught and struggling.
She flushed and pulled her hand away. "Being tempted isn't the same as being interested. I'm tempted by my king every moment of every day … but I'm not interested in sex for empty pleasure, and if I were, it wouldn't be with you."
"I'm not sure who I should envy more—the kingling or your mortal toy," Irial said.
Sparks illuminated the club as her temper finally became less stable. But even as her mood vacillated, she wasn't as temperamental as Keenan. "Seth is not a toy" — she appraised him then with a clarity Keenan didn't have—"any more than Leslie is a toy to you. Is she?"
"Keenan won't understand that. When he took mortals, he took their mortality."
"And you?"
"I like Leslie's mortality the way it is." He shook out a cigarette, tapped it on the table. "This isn't a secret you'll get from me … any more than I'll tell you the kingling's secrets or Niall's."
"Why not just let her go?"
He stared at her, wondering idly if she'd light his cigarette. Miach, the last Summer King, used to derive curious amusement from lighting things afire. Somehow, Irial doubted Aislinn would, so he pulled out a lighter. "I'll not answer that, not now, not without a reason. She's mine. That's all that matters."
"What if I told you our court would take her back?"
He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled. "You'd be wrong."
Irial didn't mention that the Summer King didn't care one whit about Leslie. The Summer Queen might care for his Leslie, but Keenan? He didn't truly care for anyone other than his own fey and his queen. And not always to their best interests.
Irritated but still in control of her emotions, Aislinn gave Irial a look that would send most fey to their knees. Before she could speak, he caught one of her hands again. She struggled in his grip, her skin growing hot as molten steel.
"Leslie belongs to me, as surely as your Seth belongs to you, as the Summer Girls belong to Keenan."
"She's my friend."
"Then you should've done something to protect her. Do you know what's been done to her? How lost she's been? How afraid? How very, very broken?"
As much as he found it touching that Aislinn cared for his girl, it wasn't reason enough to sacrifice Leslie. They hadn't protected her, hadn't kept her safe, hadn't made her happy. He would do those things. "When she adjusts to the changes—"
"What changes? You said she was still mortal. What did you do?"
Tiny storm clouds clustered around them until the club was hazy with them. The conversation wasn't going to improve, so Irial stood and bowed. "My court deals in darker things than yours. The rest is not mine to say. Later, if she wants to, she'll tell you."
Then he left the Summer Queen and her retinue of scowling guards. Despite his court's need for dissension among the denizens of Faerie, he had no patience for politics, not now. He had something—someone—more important to attend to.
Chapter 26
Leslie and Seth were several blocks away before she finally asked, "Do you know what's going on?"
Without missing a step, Seth said, "They're not human. None of them."
"Right." She scowled. "Thanks. Joking really helps."
"I'm not joking, Leslie." He glanced past her as if someone were there and smiled at the empty street. "Ask Irial for the Sight. Tell him you deserve it."
"The Sight?" She didn't smack him, but she wanted to. She felt utterly off-kilter, and he was mocking her.
"And guards," he added. Then he stopped and motioned to the open space in front of her. "Show her."
"Show me wha—"
A girl with black leathery wings appeared. She smiled in a predatory way. "Ooh, are we going to get to play?"
Niall's voice came from behind her, "Take a walk, Cerise. She belongs to Irial now."
"Irial took a mortal? Really? I heard rumors, but … hmm, she's a bit plain, isn't she?" The winged girl looked astounded, amused, and curious all at once.
Leslie stared at her: she couldn't turn to look at Niall, couldn't begin to get her head around what he had just said. Belong? What about us? What about everything he whispered to me? Belong? A burst of anger consumed her sadness but faded immediately. Belong? Like a trinket? I belong to myself. But she didn't say any of it, didn't turn to face him with confusion written plainly on her face. Instead she stepped up to the winged girl, Cerise.
Cerise flapped her wings. "They're real." And with her backless top, it was obvious that the wings were truly sprouting from her skin. "Oh, sweetie, you're in for a good time. That one has stamina you wouldn't believe—"
Then something—unseen—grabbed Cerise from behind; she started to move backward without any obvious effort on her part. Surges of loathing for Cerise rolled through the air from that unseen thing into Leslie's skin, filling her and fleeing before they settled.
"Fine. I'm going," Cerise snapped. Then she waved as she disappeared. Her disembodied voice called, "See you around, babe."
Leslie slid to the sidewalk. She was trembling, shaking from whatever was wrong with her. It wasn't just that she could tell what others were feeling: it was more now. The feelings around her were almost tactile, and they were slithering under her skin.
"She had wings," she said.
Seth nodded.
"And vanished? She really vanished?" Leslie tried to keep her focus. Somewhere in the apartments above her, a woman was weeping with a sorrow so heavy, it made Leslie think she was swallowing copper.
Niall reached down and helped Leslie to her feet. He bent so his lips were against her face. Gently he murmured, "I've failed you yet again. But I'm not giving up. Just remember that: I won't let him keep you."
Leslie looked from him to Seth. She wanted Seth to tell her this was a joke, wanted him to tell her things hadn't become hopelessly weird. Seth had been around as long as she'd lived in Huntsdale. If he told her it was okay …
But Seth shook his head. "Ask Irial for the Sight and guards of your own."
"Guards? They can't protect her from what she needs protection from, from him," Niall snarled before looking back at her. His expression softened then, and he whispered, "Don't forget: surviving is
what matters. You can do this."
Tish stepped from the shadows in front of them. "You shouldn't touch Leslie."
Leslie tried to focus on the girl. The whole world had shifted, and Leslie was starting to believe that it wouldn't be getting stable again anytime soon. The symphony of flavors wafted from the walls around her, crept toward her from nearby rooms, and battered her skin. She closed her eyes and tried to catalogue the tastes as they ran through her. There were too many.
Niall slowly stepped back, assuring that she was steady on her feet before he let go.
"Are you sick?" Tish had her tiny hands on Leslie's forehead, her cheeks. "Is it from the ink? Let me see."
"I'm fine." Leslie slapped Tish's hand away from her shirt, anxious at the thought of sharing her tattoo—our tattoo, mine and Irial's—right now. "What do you want? Why are you—"
"I saw you at the club but couldn't expose myself there." Tish still stared only at Leslie.
Expose herself? With the deluge of emotions distracting her so, Leslie was having trouble figuring out what to say or do. All she could ask was, "Do you know Seth?"
Tish glanced briefly at Seth, sizing him up with a look that would've done Ani proud. "Ash's toy?"
Beside Seth, Niall stiffened, but Seth put a hand out.
"I don't get it, but" — Tish shrugged—"not my business.
Then she laced her fingers through Leslie's and started talking as if there were no one else around. "You seemed like you were having fun earlier. Rabbit would kick my ass if I didn't bring you to him, though. You're pale. The first day is rough for humans."
"Humans?" Leslie almost laughed at how very surreal the night had become. "What does that makeyou?"
But Tish was still talking, ignoring the question, "Let's get you checked out. Make sure you're all good when he comes for you."
"I'm fine," Leslie insisted although she knew she wasn't. "But yeah, let's go see Rabbit. Just to … He?"
"Iri," Tish said gleefully. "You want to be ready for him, don't you?"
"For Irial?" Leslie repeated, looking back over her shoulder at Niall. He had a horrible expression of pain on his face. Chicory tangled with copper sorrow.
