by Melissa Marr
And Donia felt it. He was hers, and as his queen, she felt their connection vanish as his life was extinguished.
The desire to gather the slain rowan to her vied with barely bound rage. Rage won. She knocked several faeries aside as she pursued Bananach, but before she could reach the murderous faery, Donia was caught around the waist and dragged onto a steed.
She shoved her elbow backward to no avail. “Let me go!”
“No,” the Hound holding her said. “The Gabriel pursues her. If anyone can catch her, it’s him.”
Donia glanced at Gabriel’s mate, Chela. “You have no right—”
“Gabriel ordered you kept safe,” Chela snarled back. “He rules the Hunt.”
Beyond them, Far Dorcha stood and held out a hand to the shade of Evan. Other shades walked with Donia’s fallen guardsman. Their forms were almost as visible as when they were still alive. Far Dorcha looked past the dead to lock gazes with Donia.
“We could go with Gabriel,” Donia suggested to Chela.
“I’d like to, but no. He’s bright enough not to give me many orders, but when he does, I am still bound to obey. In battle, he is my Gabriel first, my lover second.” Chela scowled a little. “If it weren’t mutiny, I’d follow, but as his second, I stay here and mind our pack.”
The faery who had stood with Far Dorcha now strode through the combined Winter Court and Dark Court forces that fought Bananach’s faeries. Far Dorcha did not follow her, but he watched her with a studious gaze. She stopped at Evan’s bleeding body.
Chela’s arm tightened around Donia’s waist, forcing the Winter Queen to stay on the steed.
“You must not let her touch you,” Chela implored in a low voice. “Death-fey are not to be trifled with, Winter Queen.” The Hound raised her voice: “Ankou.”
Ankou glanced at Chela, but her attention quickly shifted to the fallen rowan. “I will take this.”
“No.” Donia exhaled a plume of frost with the words. She could not reach the faery to strike her, but she wasn’t limited to what she could reach. The wintery air she exhaled encased Evan in a thick, icy shell.
Ankou frowned. “He is dead.”
“And?” Donia tensed.
The faery shrugged. “What is dead in battle is mine to take. The body will be trampled here. The fallen dead are mine.”
“No,” Donia corrected. “He is still mine.”
“The rest?”
“Please, do not challenge her,” Chela urged Donia. “There are fights you cannot win. Do not make this one of them.”
“You are not welcome in Huntsdale. I know what you both”—Donia lifted her gaze to Far Dorcha—“are, but I will not allow you to take him. You do not need to. I will give him burial.”
Ankou frowned. Her paper-thin skin seemed likely to tear at the slightest wrong movement. “I collect the battle-slain. It is why I come here. More will fall. He”—she gestured behind her—“will take the other part when they are not-living.”
At Ankou’s vague hand wave toward him, Far Dorcha crossed the street. “Sister, she wants to keep this one.”
“And she will treasure the body?” Ankou asked.
“Yes. I do treasure him.” Donia’s voice wavered, but she did not hide her grief, not here, not from Death.
Ankou nodded and stepped past the Dark Man as a cart rolled up. To any watching mortal, it would appear to be a white paneled van. Ankou opened the back doors and began filling it with the bodies of the fallen.
Far Dorcha turned his back on the corpse collector’s work. Around him, the shades of the dead waited—including Evan.
Her slain friend looked up at Donia. He touched two fingers to his lips and then lowered them as if directing a kiss toward her.
“He does not regret his choice,” Far Dorcha said softly. “He would rather you do not either.”
Donia watched her friend, guard, and advisor stride away and vanish. Once Evan was gone from her sight, she angled her body toward Far Dorcha and said, “She killed him for no reason.”
Behind Donia, Chela tensed, but the Hound remained silent this time.
“She cannot keep killing our own,” Donia announced.
“While I am here in your village, she can be ended more easily.” Far Dorcha looked only at Donia. “If Disorder ends, one will need to take her place. She . . . cannot be negated.”
“What does . . .” Donia started, but her words dried up as the Dark Man sauntered away.
He did not pause beside Ankou or at the throne—which vanished after he passed it.
“What the hell does that even mean?” Chela muttered.
Silently, the Winter Queen shook her head. Killing Bananach was necessary, but there were consequences she didn’t understand. The alternative, however, seemed to be that the raven-faery would kill them all.
Chapter 25
Gabriel alone pursued Bananach. His pack fell away, unable to keep up with him. On some level he knew that he should fall back, wait for them to catch up. Once, he would’ve gone to his king for orders; once, he would’ve lost himself in comforts that were the domain of the Dark Court or taken solace with his family. Now, his king was unwell; his last king was dead. The Dark Court was a mess, and two of his children were locked away in Faerie—and a third was dead.
All because of Bananach.
The Hunt served vengeance. It was who they were. They would pursue, and they would mete out justice. He was the Hunt.
She has earned my justice.
Something outside logic compelled him.
I can’t kill her. Irial, Niall, and Devlin had explained that. Bananach killed my king. Killed my daughter. Killed Evan. If they didn’t stop her, she would keep killing. Till none of us are left alive.
She was just out of reach, ahead of him, but not so far that he lost sight of her completely.
It’s a trap.
Gabriel knew better than to stand against her when she was this strong. He had held his own, but only barely, when they’d fought. In his children’s home only a few days ago, he’d felt Bananach’s talons dig into his skin.
And watched her kill Irial.
The black feathers were in front of him, a blur as she turned another corner. Her mutinous faeries were gone. He dismounted and followed on foot. It was just the two of them now. As he entered the litter-strewn parking lot, he knew that he was making a mistake.
No help on either side.
Gabriel slid off his steed.
“Your child did not shriek overmuch when I gutted her,” Bananach said. “For a mortal, it was strange.”
The words were worse than a fist to Gabriel.
“Tish wasn’t mortal,” he forced out.
“No matter.” Bananach circled him, and as she did so, Gabriel turned so he could keep her in his line of sight.
“I would rather not kill you,” she added. “You fight well.”
“I want to kill you,” Gabriel assured her.
As Bananach laughed, her avian features repulsed him. Laughter from the raven’s beak seemed worse than when it was through her lips. She narrowed her gaze. “I want to kill you, too, but you could serve my purposes alive.”
“I serve the Dark King,” Gabriel growled.
“And if I were queen?”
“You won’t be.” He swung, relished the feel of his fist connecting with her face.
She retaliated. Her answering punch fractured ribs, caused him to muffle a gasp as the broken bones pierced something inside him.
“Where are your minions?” he asked.
“Elsewhere.” She dodged his next punch.
Fear filled him at the thought of the raven-faery’s troops going to the Dark King’s home while the Hunt was out.
Go back to the house, he told the Hunt. Protect the Dark King.
He’d never found her easy to fight, but never had her punches and kicks caused him to stagger as they did now. He’d understood that she was growing increasingly powerful, but as she struck him now, he realized that
War had become even stronger than she had been when she’d stabbed Irial mere days ago.
I’m sorry, Che. He sent his message through the Hunt. Privacy wasn’t a big concern among them. Protect the Winter Queen. Protect Niall.
Then, he focused all of his attention on the fight he was not winning. He deflected as many blows as connected, but Bananach’s punches were fierce. More bones shattered inside his body.
His own strikes against her were less sure, in part because he still carried bruises from their last encounter, while she seemed untouched by that fight.
He thought they might reach an impasse as they had so many times before—but then Bananach’s talons drove into his chest and ravaged the flesh there. The wet of the injury soaked his shirt. In some distant part of his mind, it occurred to him that this was the sort of injury that could result in bad things.
He stumbled backward.
“The Hunt must be led by a strong Hound,” Bananach crooned.
“I lead.” He forced the words out without allowing a growl of pain to escape as well.
Bananach gouged his stomach, tore it open so that he instinctively covered the wound with one hand. “You did lead, Gabriel-no-more.”
“Che . . . next . . .”
“Fine,” Bananach said. “I’ll kill her next.”
“Not what . . .” Gabriel shook his head to clear away the darkness that threatened. “Not mean . . . that. Chela leads Hunt if I fall.”
Bananach watched as he dropped to his knees. He didn’t collapse completely to the ground. With one hand, he drew a knife from his boot. The other hand covered his bleeding stomach.
He slashed the knife toward her, but she stayed out of reach.
“You used to be a worthy opponent.” She turned her back and walked away, leaving him on the ground, not bothering to give him the dignity of a killing blow. Instead, she turned her back as if he were already dead.
Still on his knees, Gabriel moved toward her, pursuing her as best he could. She didn’t pause.
Hate doing this.
Gabriel let himself slip into that other form, becoming an animal as he so rarely did, sacrificing the part of himself that thought. His body shifted into something that resembled the monstrous offspring of a saber-toothed tiger and an oversized dire wolf. As he did so, he could no longer remember who the bird was, why she mattered, but as he moved he felt his wounds and knew she had made them.
The Gabriel launched himself at her, tasted feather-hair-flesh in his mouth. His claws sank into her shoulder and shredded one of her wings.
The raven-faery screamed.
And the Gabriel pushed her body to the ground. She rolled so that she could strike at him with both beak and talons.
With one paw, he slammed her face to the side, but the necks of bird-things didn’t snap easily that way.
She slashed blindly at his throat with her talons and at the same time drove her other hand into his chest.
The Hound’s eyes closed as he roared, and they did not open again.
Chapter 26
On the other side of Huntsdale, the Dark King looked up as Keenan walked into the warehouse. The Dark King appeared haggard and, for some reason, was wearing only a pair of tattered jeans. His shirt and boots were missing. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Despite his state of dishevelment, he sat quietly smoking a cigarette and staring up at a metal cage.
“I expected the other one,” he said.
Keenan tried not to glance at the cage above the Dark King. “The other one?”
“The queen . . . no matter.” Niall waved his hand dismissively. “I assume you’re here about my pet.”
“Your . . . pet?”
The Dark King pointed at the cage. “He’s a troublesome thing, but you can’t have him. He owes me, and I’m not going to dismiss his debt.”
“I see. Who’s in the cage?” Keenan couldn’t see inside it. This was the Dark Court, and neither prisoners nor cages were unheard of within their court.
Niall scowled. “I didn’t expect it, but some animals are unpredictable.”
“Who’s in the cage, Niall?” Keenan repeated.
“Seth.”
“You know you can’t keep him there. I don’t like him, but”—Keenan shrugged—“I do not rule my court alone. My queen will not accept this.”
For several moments, Niall remained near motionless. If not for the regular inhalation and exhalation of his disgusting cigarette smoke, he would have seemed immobile. Then, Niall nodded. “I have a proposition. I’d thought to make it to her since I didn’t figure you’d come here.”
“Oh.”
“My pet sees things. Did you know that?” Niall stood abruptly and walked over to a lever on the floor. The broken glass that clung to the dried blood on his feet was pushed farther into his skin with each step, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Your feet—”
“Did you know?” Niall roared.
“I did,” Keenan admitted.
“So he’s betrayed me there as well.” Niall’s expression grew dark, and he stayed silent for a moment.
“What has he told you?” Niall shoved the lever, and the cage plummeted to the floor. Once it slammed to the ground, he stepped up to it and stood with his hands gripping the bars of Seth’s cage.
“Nothing about your court,” Keenan said.
Niall glanced over his shoulder at Keenan and asked, “You’d keep him as your court pet now, wouldn’t you? You’d look the other way far easier now that he is an asset. You’d let him bed your queen in exchange for the power he’d offer you.”
“She makes her own choices as to her bedmates.”
“Aaaah, your naïveté has always been amusing,” the Dark King said.
Keenan exchanged a furtive glance with Seth, who now had a band of shadows covering his mouth, keeping him silent.
Niall turned his back to Keenan and walked toward his throne. “Tell your queen that she may still visit him. I’m afraid he can’t speak to anyone but me, but I will let them enjoy each other in private . . . for a cost.”
“Which is?”
“Your faeries will do as I request in a scuffle I expect to come sooner rather than later. I will have Bananach stopped.” Niall looked at Seth, who was gesturing at them both now. “What’s that you say? You think it’s a brilliant plan? Sacrifice their faeries to do my work?”
Seth shook his head. His fingers were flashing wildly as if to convey words. Niall sighed, and black ribbons wrapped around Seth’s wrists.
“You care for him,” Keenan said. “He has been your friend. You struck me for him, offered your court’s protection. He is yours to protect.”
“Sometimes such emotion is a weakness.” Niall spread his hands wide. “Sometimes it’s a useful tool. Look at us. We can take your worry for your queen, her worry for my pet, and we can find a way to work on my problem.”
“This isn’t like you. Listen to yourself, Niall.”
“Sometimes a king has to do unpleasant things, kingling. Surely you understand that.”
Kingling?
Keenan stepped forward. “You were my friend. For centuries you were family to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
Niall’s lips curled in a wry smile. “I seem to be missing some stability.”
“I am sorry you are hurting. I hadn’t ever thought that . . . you would be so . . .” Keenan wasn’t sure of a polite word. Callous? Cruel? Broken?
Niall sat silently for several moments. Finally, he stood and stepped around Keenan. “Go tell your queen my plan. I’ll not injure my pet, and she can have her visits, but he belongs to my court now. Her ability to see him is at my discretion, and my discretion requires her court’s support in a task. I want Bananach stopped.”
A task? Fighting War was not “a task.” It was a conflict that would echo through the mortal realm.
“We want her stopped too, but this is not the way. We can talk about this, approach it rationally. You, me, Donia . . . The Summer Co
urt isn’t as strong as Winter, but I have allies.” Keenan pleaded. “We all want the same thing here. None of us has declared war. She needs a declaration to start the kind of violence she seeks. There are rules that will prevent her from going any further if we all stand together.”
The look Niall leveled at him was uncannily like his predecessor. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“You’re grieving, but you can’t think—”
“Kingling,” Niall interrupted. “Do you truly think questioning me is wise? Surely, you haven’t forgotten the things the Dark Court can do. Have you forgotten what the Dark King has done to you? The curse that bound you for centuries? Shall I see if I can do it again?”
The friendship that Keenan felt for Niall was all that kept him from letting go of the rage that simmered at the allusion to the past. In as composed a voice as he could manage, Keenan asked, “And if Aislinn doesn’t like your terms?”
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.
