Old Habits (3 page)

Irial was relieved to taste the High Queen’s lighter emotions as he walked down the austere hallway. He’d actually considered speaking when he tasted the waves of regret she felt as he’d watched her dress. There were few faeries he’d count as friends—and fewer still Sorcha would trust—but for all of their opposition, they’d both valued their friendship. She didn’t speak of such things, of course, but he tasted her emotions.
Which she knows.
It would never be the sort of camaraderie that lead either regent to act in ways contrary to the good of their courts, but it was a valued bond.
One that has ended.

He held hope that the new Dark King would one day find himself in Sorcha’s good graces—for both of their sakes. Centuries ago, when Niall had left Irial’s side, the High Queen had taken him in and cared for him
. After I allowed him to be broken.
Although she didn’t point it out to Niall, she knew then that he’d be the next Dark King one day. She’d refused to admit it when Irial lamented Niall’s refusal to even speak to members of the Dark Court, but her emotions revealed what her words would not.

There were so many machinations, so many secrets, and so little time to share that with the new king. Irial remembered his own early days of kingship, the errors he’d made, and the dizzying pleasure of finding his place. Niall was different, though; he hadn’t wanted to be king. He’d run from it for centuries, and so when Irial decided to bestow kingship upon him, with it came a silent vow of aid. Irial would do all that he could to allow Niall to settle into his role as easily as possible. It seemed a wise vow at the time.

Unfortunately, the inevitability of his dealings behind the thrones—of his court, of the High Court, and over the years, behind the Summer Court and Winter Court— weighed on Irial. Revealing the degree of the machinations that Irial had indulged in over the years took time. Going into Niall’s office and dropping the full extent of the job on him was cruelty that remained unnecessary. Eventually, he’d need to tell Niall everything, but in the interim, Irial would do what business he could.

It staves off boredom anyhow.

He stood at the gate to the mortal realm, and for a moment, he let himself wonder how life would’ve been if he’d brought the court home when Beira’s reign became so overpowering. Back then, when Miach died, the thought had occurred to him. It felt like a wise possibility—but it also felt like retreating. The Dark Court thrived on upheaval, so returning to Faerie instead of letting them grow strong while the young Summer King tried to find his missing queen . . . it simply wasn’t logical.

Irial snorted.
Logical.
Clearly, he’d been too long in her presence.

He pressed his fingers against the veil that divided the two worlds. The material twisted around his hands, holding him for a moment. It had always done so before, recognizing him as its own. The fact that it still did so comforted him. He was no longer Dark King, but in actions, he functioned as if he still retained a share of the mantle.
Like a consort.
He smiled to himself at the thought of telling Niall that he’d opted to fill the role of Dark Court consort.

Actually . . .

Telling Niall such a thing was sure to set off an entertaining argument. The new Dark King had the infuriating habit of trying to pretend he was merely a seat-warmer holding the court. He clung to his maudlin mourning— as if Keenan hadn’t been likely to betray Niall since the beginning.
Inevitable.
That was one thing that Irial knew for certain: some truths are inevitable. There are surprises, pleasant and not, but on the whole, faeries were who they were; courts were what they had always been; and centuries passed without too many unforeseen choices—but those who
did
take surprising routes were fascinating.

Niall was fascinating; Leslie was fascinating; the new Summer Queen had the potential to be fascinating. To one who had the possibility of living for eternity, encountering so many unexpected faeries and mortals was a treat.

“Irial?” Devlin had caught up with him.

The expected could be entertaining as well. “Mmm?”

The High Queen’s brother was never unexpected when he was within the boundaries of Faerie. His activities in the mortal world, however, belied his insistence that he was a creature of order.

Devlin began, “I will be in the mortal world for business. As a courtesy to the current Dark King, I would let you know—”

“I’ll tell him.” Irial paused, tasting Devlin’s emotions even as the High Court assassin repressed them. “Perhaps the court could offer you our hospitalities?”

“Your intercession is kind.” Devlin nodded curtly and turned away. The relief he vehemently suppressed was all the sweeter for the guilt that threaded through it.

“One of these days, you’re going to admit to her that you belong in the shadows,” Irial murmured.

But despite fey hearing, Devlin did not reply. He was a curious one, claiming allegiance to Order even though the shadows in him belied his court affiliation.

Like Niall before.
The new Dark King had clung to the frivolity of the Summer Court, denied his pleasure in a good fight or skillful manipulation, for centuries. He was settling in to his rightful court of late, but he hadn’t shaken the judgmental habit that he’d picked up over the years. Should he know of the things Irial handled behind the scenes, it would be worrisome. It wasn’t that any
one
secret would be particularly traumatic for Niall to learn of, but the sheer number of secrets Irial kept made waiting seem prudent. Niall was at a delicate place in adjusting to the court.

And I am unwilling to tell him things that will make him frown at me.

Ranting was acceptable. A certain amount of violence could be overlooked. It was disgust and disappointment that Irial hoped to avoid.

After centuries of making the transition, the journey from Faerie to the mortal world still felt jarring. The differently colored landscape, the disconnection time, and the hordes of mortals all thrilled and displeased him simultaneously. Faerie was unchanged for all of eternity, but the mortal world seemed to alter in a moment. Irial marveled at the ways the world had evolved in the centuries that stretched behind him, and he wondered what would follow their already remarkable progress. Some faeries found mortals to be little more than vermin, but Irial was enthralled by them.
More so since I am no longer a king.
Of course, he was more fascinated by the faery he now approached.

The new Dark King stiffened as Irial came to stand beside him. It was a conscious effort, an attempt at a lie of sorts to pretend that Niall was unhappy to see him. They were both aware of the fact that, as Dark King, Niall had known where Irial was for several moments prior to this. He’d felt Irial’s emotions, knew them well enough to identify Irial without looking behind him. Irial smiled and let his joy at seeing Niall flare.

The king glanced at him. “Why are you here?”

Irial lowered his gaze respectfully. “I am seeking an audience with the Dark King.”

“How did I you know I was here?” Niall asked.

“You are fond of the spot when you are pensive.” Rather than bother hiding it, Irial let himself reveal his happiness at that truth. Communicating with Niall was far easier now that Niall could taste all of Irial’s emotions. “I know you, Niall. I know your habits. This space”—Irial gestured at the small courtyard outside the mortals’ library—“soothes you.”

Irial smiled as he thought of the year it had been built. He’d been bored, and while he couldn’t create, he could fill the architect’s mind with visions.

“Columns?” the man repeated.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Irial murmured. “Utterly impractical. Who cares what a place looks like?”

“Right.”

Irial continued, “And there were statues, towering nearly naked women; can you imagine?”

Niall stood staring at the columns that stood on either side of the ornate wooden door to the library. “It always looks familiar.”

“Indeed.”

“The building . . . it’s like somewhere I’ve seen before.” Niall prodded, but he kept his attention on the building as he spoke. “Why is that?”

“It’s hard to say,” Irial demurred.

Niall glanced his way. “I can taste your emotions, Irial. It’s not a coincidence that I find it familiar, is it?”

“You know, my King, it’s much easier to get answers when you
order
people to obey you.” Irial smiled at a young mother with a pair of energetic toddlers. There was something enchanting about the unrestrained enthusiasm of children of any species. He had a fleeting regret that he hadn’t any young to indulge, but such regrets were followed by memories of half-mortal Dark Court offspring who were as easily contained as feral beasts.
Beautiful chaotic things, children.
He’d loved several of them as if they were his own.

“Irial.” Niall’s tone was testy now. “Why does the library look familiar?”

Irial stepped up to stand a bit closer than his king would allow. Their shoulders were brushing, and Irial whispered, “Because a very long time ago, you were happy in the courtyard of a building very like this one.”

Niall tensed.

Irial continued as if neither of them noticed Niall’s discomfort, “And I was feeling . . . a longing for such moments one day last century when a young architect was staring at his plans. I made a few suggestions to his designs.”

The Dark King moved to the side. “Is that to impress me?”

Irial gave him a wry grin. “Well, as it took more than a hundred years for you to notice, it obviously
didn’t.
”

Niall sighed. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Irial walked over to a bench that faced the library and sat down.

As expected, Niall followed. “
Why
are you looking for me?”

“I went to Faerie . . . to see her.” Irial stretched his legs out and watched a few mortals slide around on wheeled boards. It was a curious hobby, but he found their agility fascinating.

With a nervous bit of hope, Niall joined him on the bench—at as much of a distance as possible, of course. “You went to see Sorcha.”

“I thought she should know that there was a change in the court’s leadership.”

“She
did
know,” Niall snapped. “No one goes there without her consent.”

“The Dark King can,” Irial corrected. “You are not the Dark King.” Niall’s temper flared. “You threw it away.”

“No,” Irial said. “I gave it to the rightful king. Don’t be absurd.”

The emotions coursing through Niall were a delicious treat. Irial had to force his eyes to stay open as the flood of worry, fear, anger, shock, outrage, and a tendril of sorrow washed over him. It was best to not mention that he could read all of this. In theory, only the Dark King could read other regents, but for reasons Irial didn’t care to ponder, he had retained that particular trait. Most of his gifts of kingship had vanished: he was vulnerable to any faery who struck him, and he was once again fatally addictive to mortals. The connection to the whole of the court was severed, and the ability to write orders on Gabriel’s flesh was erased. These and most every other kingly trait were solely Niall’s, but the emotional interpretation was unchanged.

Even as his emotions flickered frantically, Niall spoke very calmly. “If she had wanted to, she could’ve killed you.”

“True.”

Several more moments of delicious emotional flux passed before Niall said, “You can’t tell me you’re going to be my advisor, and then get killed. A good advisor advises. He communicates. He doesn’t do idiotic things that can result in infuriating the High Queen.”

Innocently, Irial asked, “Does he do idiotic things to infuriate the Dark King?”

“You are far more trouble than you’re wor—” Niall’s words halted as he tried to speak that which was neither true
nor
his true opinion. He scowled and said, “Don’t be an ass, Iri.”

“Some things are impossible to order, my king.” Irial grinned. “Would you like me to apologize?”

“No. I’d like you to do what you said you would—advise me. You can’t do that if you piss off Sorcha enough to get killed or imprisoned or—”

“I’m here.” Irial reached out, but didn’t touch Niall. “I went to find out why Bananach visits her. The High Queen and I have had an . . . understanding these past centuries.”

Niall opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Irial continued, “I needed to know that she wouldn’t support her sister in any attempts on your throne. I know chaos is good for the court, but I will not sacrifice you for the court if it is ever in my power. Not again.”

“A king’s duty is to his court,” Niall reminded.

“And that, my lovely
Gancanagh,
is why I am not qualified to be a king,” Irial said gently. “There are two people I would put before the court. It is not a matter of being tired of my court, or throwing it away, or punishing you, or trapping you, or any of those very diabolical things you would like to believe of me. It is, quite simply, the fact that I would damn them all if it meant protecting you or Leslie. The court requires a regent who will put court needs first.”

“And you think I would?” Niall asked.

“I know you would.” Irial smiled to let Niall know that this was a
good
thing, but the taste of Niall’s guilt was still heavy. Neither of them commented on what that meant about Niall’s loyalties—or the choices Irial had made in the past.
Choices that put Niall second to the court.
There was nothing to say that would lessen the ugliness of those choices.

“If you are my advisor, I
will
know where you are. I will
not
need to worry that you are trapped in Faerie or dead by Devlin’s hand because you angered Sorcha,” Niall said, with more of a snarl than Irial expected.

“Yes, my King.” Irial kneeled. “Do I take this to mean that my
understanding
with Sorcha is discontinued as well?”

Niall dragged his hand over his face. “Nothing’s ever simple with you.”

“I can ask her permission to visit her in the future . . . or simply remain here. I’m sure I can find other—”