Darkest Mercy (21 page)

unchanged, but the glints of sunlight were replaced by a sheen of frost. He looked up. “I’ve never felt at peace here, you know.”

“What happened?” She stared at him. The sunlight that he had wielded as a weapon, as an extension of himself, as a part of his very being, was

gone. He was still fey, but he was not filled with light.

He slid over and patted the bench beside him. “Would you sit with me?”

“What have you done ?” The cold air from her lips didn’t steam away as it touched him.

Keenan smiled tentatively. “Changed.”

“I can see that .” Without meaning to, her hand lifted as if to touch the glitter of frost on his skin. She lowered her hand almost guiltily.

And he sighed. “I’ve given my sunlight to the Summer Queen. I am not of that court anymore.”

“Is it . . . real ?”

He nodded. “I came here as soon as I was . . . free.” For a moment, she looked at him, the faery who’d stolen her mortality, whom she’d been willing to die for, whom she still dreamed of—and she

couldn’t help but marvel at him. After all the things she thought she knew about the world, this was new. He was new.

Yet he was still the faery she’d known, and as they sat there, she realized that she needed to tell him about the loss that had left her in sorrow.

“Keenan?”

He looked at her, and she said softly, “Evan’s . . . gone.”

“Gone how?”

“Bananach kill—”

“When?” Keenan’s no longer summer-green eyes widened. Icy blue filled them, reminding her of the other side of his heritage.

The side that makes him able to sit in the winter garden so comfortably.

“When I left the loft,” she admitted. “Bananach was waiting for me. The Hounds came; my guards came. Including Evan, we lost just over a dozen

faeries.”

As calmly as she could, she told him all she knew, all that had happened. She did not weep on his shoulder, although the temptation was there.

“She’s taken Irial, Evan, and . . .” Keenan exhaled a cloud of frost, but didn’t seem to notice that he’d done so.

He belongs to my court. He is the last Winter Queen’s son.

Donia was speechless at the revelation, and at his seeming obliviousness to it. He was never as unaware as he appeared, though; he was

merely skilled at disguising the things that he would rather not share.

For several moments, they sat in silence, and then he looked at her with now winter-blue eyes and said, “I have no right . . . to be here or to touch you. I know that.”

“You don’t have the right to touch me,” she agreed, but she wanted him to claim the right to do just that. He’s hurt me. He’s failed me. He’s

promised things he couldn’t do.

“I want to hold you, not just because you are hurting but because I can now,” he admitted. “May I?” He held open an arm, and she slid closer. Cautiously, she leaned her head against his shoulder. The rightness of it, the way her body felt

against his, filled her with a sense of completion that she’d never known.

They sat there together for several moments in silence until he said, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“And yours.” Donia lifted her head and looked at him. “He was your faery first.”

“I was relieved that he came to you when you became queen.” Keenan kept his arm around her. His fingers were curled around her shoulder still,

holding her to him as if afraid she’d flee. “I knew he would keep you safe the way I hadn’t.”

She couldn’t stop herself: she reached up and ran her fingers through Keenan’s hair. It felt different, not sharp enough to hurt, but soft. There was

no pain, no steam, no clash—so Donia continued trailing her fingers over his changed body.

He closed his eyes. He stayed perfectly still as she caressed his cheek and traced her fingertips across his jaw. In several decades, she’d only

had one Winter Solstice, over a year ago, in which she could touch him without pain to either of them.

“You’re not a king now. What does that make you?” His lips curved in a smile, and he opened his eyes to stare directly at her. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve not offered fealty to anyone. Yet . I

would. I would offer anything I have to the right queen.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

“I don’t belong in the Summer Court, not now, not ever again.” He ran his fingers through the snow that had accumulated on the bench on the

other side of him. “When I was a child, I could exhale frost into the air, and then melt it in the next breath.” He knew. He wasn’t oblivious, but he wasn’t hiding it either. At least not from me. Keenan carried his other parent’s heritage, had buried it under sunlight for centuries. “I didn’t tell anyone. My mother knew, but she didn’t tell anyone either.”

“You are of my court,” Donia said, her words as much a question as a statement. “You are heir to the throne I hold.”

“No. I don’t want your throne, Don; I only want you. ” Keenan stared into the snow-covered garden. “My mother told me that she’d loved only

once. She would’ve done anything for him, but he betrayed her. She didn’t recover from that.” Donia moved away from him. In the midst of everything going on, on the edge of war, with faeries defecting and faeries dying, Keenan was

sitting in her garden telling her about his childhood.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” she told him.

Several moments passed, and he said, “I am going to see Niall. I need to help him if I can. After that”—he stood and turned to face Donia—“I will

be back. I’m a solitary faery now, strong enough to be . . .

whatever you are willing to let me be. You see what I am.

Both summer and winter lived

inside me as a child. I chose one because my father was slain and his court needed me, but I’ve left the Summer Court. Once Niall is well again, I

will swear fealty to you, or I will remain solitary. I will be your

subject, your servant, solitary but not of your court.

Whatever it takes to have the chance at being yours, truly and forever—that’s what I want.”

He bent down and pressed his lips to hers. Then he said,

“I am my mother’s son in some things, Donia. I would’ve tried to be loyal to my queen if

I had to, but she knew—and you know—that she was never first for me. I know I don’t deserve you. I never have, but I want to find a way to be worthy of you.”

“Keenan, I don’t—”

“Let me say this.” He knelt in the snow that drifted around the bench. “When I told you I wanted to try, I spoke the truth. When I turned away, it was

for my former court, and when I tried to make another faery love me, it was for that court. I’ve lived for my whole life trying to bring the Summer Court back to the strength it once was. In all of those years, in centuries , I’ve only wished myself free of duty because of one reason. You.”

“What if—”

“Please?” he begged. “The only thing that stood between us was a court that is no longer my concern. Tell me what vow you want me to offer

you, what promise. Anything.”

Donia thought back to the times when he’d looked at her with that same raw hope—and the times she had felt that hope. They’d been in this

moment so many times. This time is different. She felt it, knew it the same way she’d known they would fail before.

She took a breath, exhaled slowly, and then told him, “If you fail me, I’ll kill you. I swear it, Keenan. If you fail me, I’ll rip your heart out with my own

hands.”

“If I fail you, I’ll cut it out for you . ” He stared up at her.

“Let me love you, please? Tell me you’re saying there’s still a chance, Don?”

She couldn’t breathe around the pain in her chest. “Tell me I’m the only one.”

“You are the only one. I love you,” he swore. “I have loved you for years, and if I could’ve, I would’ve made you my queen. You know—”

She leaned down and kissed him, stopping his words, and tumbled to the snowy ground and into his arms. It wasn’t Solstice, but that didn’t

matter anymore. He was here, in her garden, in her life.

Mine.

For now and for always.

Chapter 29

After the king-no-more had left, Aislinn remained in her park, surrounded by her faeries, and wondered at the intensity she felt. If she’d thought

being coregent was overwhelming, having the other half of Summer fill her was soul-melting.

I can’t imagine if all of this had hit me at once. How did Donia do it? How did Niall?

At the thought of the other recent regents, she straightened. They had done it; they’d taken control of their courts, led them, guarded them.

Undoubtedly, they’d had struggles she hadn’t known of, but they’d done it.

And so will I.

She squared her shoulders and looked at her court. First things first. You’ve been doing this with half the strength and handling it while he was

away. You can do this. The Summer Queen smiled at her faeries.

Tavish came to stand beside her throne. Several of the Summer Girls stepped forward. Some of the rowan took position as guards; others

moved throughout the crowd. Three glaistigs who were attached to the court under temporary vows of fealty divided into other positions—one to

either side of the throne where she sat and the third to the far edge of the park. Aobheall had stepped outside her fountain and stood between the

Summer Girls and rowan people.

Her court waited for her to lead them.

“I’m guessing all of the Summer Girls”—she let her gaze drift over them—“are free to leave the . . . my court, but I would like you all to stay.”

Most of them nodded or smiled; a few looked unsure.

“You do not have to decide today,” Aislinn added. Then she sought two of the girls who had been instrumental in helping her understand what it

took to lead the court. “Siobhan? Eliza?”

“My Queen,” they said in tandem.

“I’d like you to join Tavish as my court counselors,” she said.

Eliza gasped quietly, but Siobhan grinned.

“Summer Girls are foolish, spinning things, my Queen,” Siobhan said lightly. Her eyes widened in a faux attempt at naïveté.

Aislinn laughed. “If you wanted me to believe that was all you were, you shouldn’t have advised me when Seth was missing. You can all remain

exactly as you were before. I expect that you will still rejoice and frolic. All of my court will do so. . . . First, though, we will consult with the Winter and Dark Courts, and we will figure out how to contain Bananach.”

The Summer Queen turned her attention to Tavish. “You will be sole commander of guards in addition to advising me with”—she glanced at

Siobhan, who nodded, and Eliza, who shook her head—

“my new advisor, Siobhan.”

After a brief proud look, Tavish bowed his head. “It is my honor.”

Three matters resolved. She had her guard, her new advisor, and had extended welcome to the Summer Girls.

Now, she needed to deal with a

situation that had grown unacceptable.

“You”—Aislinn turned her gaze to Quinn—“need to answer some questions.”

Quinn had stood silently while she selected his replacement. He hadn’t approached when she began tending business, nor had he functioned as a guard. Instead, he had stayed at the edge of the group of assembled faeries. “My queen?”

“You’ve questioned me.” She advanced toward him, noticing that bands of flowers rippled out from wherever she stepped and making a mental

note to figure out how to turn that off.

Quinn watched her approach without backing away.

Point for that. She paused. Or not. Is it courage or disdain?

“You do not treat me with the respect one accords his queen,” she said softly.

Quinn locked his gaze with hers. “I serve my court.”

“The question is if you serve my court,” she countered.

When he didn’t reply, she pressed, “Do you serve the Summer Court?”

As Quinn stared at her, Aislinn felt the heat of the Summer Court burning in her skin. She put her hand on his shoulder. At her touch, his shirt

burned away, and his skin sizzled.

Turn it down , she cautioned herself. Her expression showed nothing, but a brush of guilt slid across her chest.

I didn’t mean to . . . . She steeled

herself. These are faeries, and

I am their queen. Seeing me falter will do more harm than good. She forced Quinn to his knees. “What court do you serve, Quinn?”

“I am the advisor to—”

“No,” Aislinn said quietly. “What court do you serve? You are not here to serve my wishes, so whose will do you serve?”

“Sorcha’s,” he admitted. “The High Queen sent her representatives and . . . she wanted word of our court.”

“ My court,” Aislinn corrected. “If you were spying on my court for another regent, this is not your court. Go.”

“Go?” he echoed.

Aislinn gave him the faery-cruel smile she’d learned when she became Summer Queen. When Keenan taught me to pretend I was not

overwhelmed. The smile did not falter, nor did her voice as she said, “She wants you, go serve her court. My faeries do not serve the wishes of

other regents without my consent.”

“But . . . but the veil is closed. I can’t go to Faerie.” Quinn’s usual self-confident expression was absent as he looked up at her. “I . . . beseech

you: grant me your mercy, please.”

The Summer Queen stared at the kneeling faery. Around her, the court was silent. Mercy? She didn’t want to be cruel, but she now understood

what it meant to lead. Sometimes, a regent had to do things that would keep her up at night. It wasn’t always clear, but absolute good and evil were the stuff of children’s fairy tales.

Firmly, she told him, “I don’t trust you, Quinn. You put another court’s interests ahead of my court while claiming to serve me. The safety of my

faeries is my first priority. It must be.”

“But . . .” He bowed his head. “I cannot go to her, and out there . . . War is angry. Please?”

Aislinn sighed. “Advisors?”

“He cannot be allowed to remain in the loft or within the upper levels of the building,” Tavish said.