Darkest Mercy (2 page)

Bananach is growing stronger by the day.”

“I know.” Donia felt a flush of guilt.

Faeries from all of the courts had been slipping away, and Donia knew that they were joining Bananach. Can she form her own court? The

mortality of the newer monarchs caused more than a little unease, and War had made sure to nettle to heighten the tension. Likewise, worries over

the interrelations between courts caused traditionalists to rally around Bananach. Niall wasn’t openly sympathetic to the Summer Court, but his

centuries advising them made his faeries ill at ease. Her whatever-it-was with Keenan had a similar effect on some of her court, and Summer’s

attempts at imposing order on their court made faeries who were used to freedom chafe.

Donia wished that a new court was what Bananach sought, but the raven-faery was the embodiment of war and discord. The odds of her settling for a peacefully created court—if such a thing was even possible—weren’t high. Mutiny and murder were far more likely goals for Bananach and her

growing number of allies.

War comes.

Once the others were out of sight, Evan announced, “I have word of trouble from the Dark Court.”

“More conflict?” she asked, as Evan led her around a group of junkies on the stoop of an abandoned tenement building. When she’d walked

with Keenan over the years, he’d always sent a cloud of warm air to such mortals. Unlike him, she couldn’t offer them any comfort.

Keenan. She felt the fool for being unable to stop thinking about him. Even now . Every other thought still seemed to lead to him, even though

he’d been gone for almost six months. With no contact.

She exhaled a small flurry of snow. In almost a century, she’d never gone very long without seeing him, or hearing from him, even if it was nothing

more than a letter.

“Bananach attacked the Hounds two days ago,” Evan said, drawing Donia’s attention back to him.

“A direct attack?”

Her guard and advisor shook his head. “Not at first. One of the Dark King’s halflings was caught and killed, and while the Dark King and the rest

were mourning, Bananach attacked them with her allies.

The Hunt is not reacting well.”

Donia paused mid-step. “Niall has children ? Bananach killed his child ?”

Evan’s lips curved into a small smile. “No. Neither Niall nor the last king has children of his own, but the former Dark King always sheltered his

court’s halflings. His fey— Niall’s fey now—are amorous creatures, and the Hounds mate with mortals far more than any other fey. It is an old

tradition.” Evan paused and flashed a faux-serious look at her. “I forget how young you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you don’t. You’ve known me most of my life. I’m just not ancient like you.”

“True.”

She waited, knowing he wasn’t done. His patterns were a familiar rhythm by now.

“The Dark has a regard for family that is unlike the other courts.” With a slight rustling of leaves he moved closer. “If Bananach is killing those

dear to Irial . . . the court will be unstable. Death of our kind is never easy, and the Hounds, in particular, will not deal with pointless murder. If it were in battle, they would accept it more easily. This was before the battle.”

“Murder? Why would she kill a halfling?” Donia let frost trail in her wake, giving in to the growing pressure inside. It was not yet spring, so she

could justify freezing the burgeoning blossoms.

Evan’s red eyes darkened until they barely glowed, like the last flare of coals in an ashy fire. He was watchful as they moved, not looking at her

but at the streets and shadowed alleys they passed. “To upset Irial? To provoke the Hunt? Her machinations aren’t always clear.”

“The halfling—”

“A girl. More mortal than fey.” He led Donia down another street, motioning for her to step around several more sleeping vagrants.

She stopped at the mouth of the alley. Five of Niall’s thistle-clad fey had captured a Ly Erg.

When Donia stepped into their field of vision, one of the thistle-fey slit the Ly Erg’s throat. The other four faeries turned to face her.

She formed a knife of her ice.

One of the thistle-fey grinned. “Not your business.”

“Does your king know—”

“Not your business either,” the same faery said.

Donia stared at the corpse on the ground. The red-palmed Ly Erg was one of those who often lingered in the company of War. They were all

members of the Dark Court, but the Ly Ergs gravitated to whoever offered access to the most fresh blood.

Why are they killing their own? Or is this a result of factions in the Dark Court?

The murderous faeries turned their backs to leave.

“Stop.” She froze the metal fence they were about to scale. “You will take the shell.”

One of the thistle-covered faeries looked over his shoulder at her. The faery flashed teeth. “Not your business,” he repeated again.

The Winter Queen advanced on him, icy blade held out to the side. It was a sad truth that the fey, especially those of the Dark Court, responded

best to aggression. She raised the blade and pressed it against the dominant faery’s throat. “I may not be your regent, but I am a regent. Do you

question me?”

The faery leaned into her blade, testing her resolve. Some residual thread of mortality made her want to retract the blade before it was bloodied,

but a strong faery—especially a queen—didn’t fold under challenges. She willed serrated edges to form along the blade and pressed it hard to the

faery’s skin. Blood trickled onto the ice.

“Grab the body,” the faery told the others.

She lowered the blade, and he bowed his head to her. The thistle-fey held their hands up in a placating gesture, and then one after another they

scaled an unfrozen section of the aluminum fence. The rattle of the metal joined the growing din of traffic as morning broke.

The last faery heaved the corpse over the fence, and then they ambled off with the body in their hands.

Beside her, Evan said quietly, “Violence is here, and conflict is growing. Bananach will not stop until we are all destroyed. I would suggest that

you speak to the Summer Queen and to the Dark Kings.

Divisiveness will be to our detriment. We need to prepare.” Donia nodded. She was tired—tired of trying to bring order to a court that couldn’t remember life before Beira’s cruel reign, tired of trying to find

a balance between discipline and mercy with them. “I am to see Aislinn soon. Without Keenan . . . between us , we are communicating better.”

“And Niall?” Evan prompted.

“If Bananach is striking Irial’s family, she is either testing for weaknesses or has found one already.” Donia whistled, and Sasha came toward

her, the wolf appearing from the shadows where he’d waited. “We need to find out who the girl was before I seek out the Dark King. Summon one

of the Hounds.”

Evan nodded, but his expression darkened.

“It is the right course of action,” she said.

“It is.”

“The Hunt is not all bad.”

Evan snorted. The rowan had a long history of discord with the Hounds. Her advisor did not, however, object to her plan. She took comfort in

that. The tranquility of Winter was pervasive in her fey.

Typically, they could consider the situation, weigh the possibilities, and bury their tempers under the cold. Most of the time. When those tempers came screaming to the surface, the winter fey were a terrifying force.

My terrifying force.

As comforting as it was to have such a strong court, the pressure was daunting. She’d never thought to be sole monarch of a court. Once when

she was still mortal, she’d dreamed of joining Keenan, ruling at his side. Barely a year and a half ago, she’d expected to die at Beira’s hand. Now, she was trying to function in the role into which she’d been thrust. “Some days, I am not ready for what approaches.”

“No one is ever ready for War,” Evan said.

“I know.”

“ You hold the most powerful court. You alone . You can lead the way to stopping Bananach.”

“And if I can’t, what then?” She let her defenses drop for a moment, let her fears show in her voice.

“You can.”

She nodded. She could if she didn’t let her doubts get in the way. She straightened her shoulders and peered up at Evan. “If I allow another early

spring, Summer will grow stronger, closer to an even balance with our court. I will speak to Aislinn. You will find out what you can about the Dark and

send word to the Hounds. Sasha and the Hawthorn Girls will see me home.”

“As you wish.” With a fiercely proud look, Evan nodded and walked away, leaving her with the wolf and the trio of Hawthorn Girls, who were silent

but for the whirring of their wings.

Chapter 2

When he’d left Huntsdale, Keenan had spent the first month wandering, but after centuries of leading his court, he could only remain unoccupied

so long before the reality of being Summer King became too pressing. Violence seemed more inevitable by the day, and the Summer Court was

not yet strong enough to face conflict, so Keenan had used the last five months pursuing alliances—with no success yet.

His meetings with various solitaries, especially those in the desert, hadn’t gone well, but Keenan held hopes for those in the ocean. Over the

past several months he’d shown himself at the ocean and then withdrawn. This time, he was staying until they spoke to him.

Entice and retreat. Appear and retreat. Approaching the solitaries was in many ways no different from the seduction he’d used on countless

mortal girls over the centuries: they required strategies fitting to their personalities. With court faeries, he had to observe protocol. With various

solitaries who functioned in pack mentalities, he had to demonstrate those traits they valued. In the desert, that meant strength and manipulative

negotiation; at the ocean, that meant temptation and feigned disinterest.

A green-skinned merrow opened his whiskered mouth in a faux yawn, flashing serrated teeth at Keenan, and then resumed staring silently. The

water fey weren’t often likely to ask questions, not finding themselves interested in land dwellers’ dramas, but with patience, their curiosity could be

piqued. Keenan had counted on that.

With their volatility, they were closer in temperament to his court than any others, but water creatures were unpredictable in a way that perplexed even the regent of the most impetuous court. Whether river fey, lake fey, or ocean fey, they had moods that were as fluid as the water in which they

existed.

Keenan walked on the beach. Waiting. The water lifted in well-formed waves; the sky was purest blue; and the air was mild this far south. If he

looked at the water with only a mortal’s gaze, he’d see colorful fish darting in crystal-clear water. Shells drifted and skittered over the sands, pulled

and pushed by the waves, and the Summer King took pleasure in the beauty of the sea. It was a welcome respite: in nine centuries, he’d never had time to be anything other than the Summer King. When he hadn’t been trying to tend a weakened court, he’d been seeking or romancing the

mortals he hoped would be his missing queen. Once he’d found Aislinn, he’d needed to be there while she adjusted, and then he’d needed to be

there while she was mourning Seth’s abandonment—both to help her and to encourage her affection for her king and court.

It was what any monarch would do.

The Summer Court needed a queen who was tied to her court and king first. Her divided affections had weakened them in a time when they

should be growing stronger. If Seth had stayed in Faerie, Keenan had no doubt that his court would be strong, with two monarchs who, if they were

not truly in love as he had hoped they would be, were fond of each other.

It could’ve been enough.

Instead, they were facing an even more complicated dilemma. He was drawn to his queen—and she to him—

on such a level that ignoring their

connection was impossible. He’d been guiltily grateful that she clung to her mortal lover; it had given Keenan one night with the faery he loved and

couldn’t have, but when Solstice ended, so had the dream of being with Donia. The second Winter Solstice since Donia had been queen had

passed while he was away, and the inability to run to her that day had made him despondent. She is not mine . . .

and neither is my queen. The boy

Keenan had thought would be a brief distraction to his newly found queen—a distraction that allowed Keenan time with Donia—had become a

faery. Worse still, he was now protected by an angry Dark King and the dangerous High Queen. Keenan wasn’t sure how one previously mortal boy

had become such a problem.

Between Seth and the external threats the court faced, Keenan was more afraid for the future than he had been when his powers were still

bound. Then, he’d had a single threat: Beira. Now, his court was headed toward dangers from too many directions. Bananach had grown stronger, as had Niall’s Dark Court. Even Sorcha’s High Court, which stayed hidden away in Faerie, had still managed to cause complications. Keenan had

heard enough to know of her recent instability.

Over Seth.

The water edged closer as the tide came in, and Keenan stepped away from the lapping waves. In doing so, he moved toward a rocky

outcropping. The sand under his bare feet wasn’t as soft now, but it wasn’t yet covered with the sharp-edged black mussels.

“What do you seek here?”

Even though he’d hoped to gain conversation with the water fey, the suddenness of the faery’s appearance startled Keenan. He lifted his gaze

to an indent in the rocky alcove beside him, where a slender salt faery hid. Her salt-heavy hair hung in thick ropes to her thighs, covering much of her translucent body; the exposed skin glistened with the crystals that gathered there when she left the water for more than a few moments. One