Faery Tales & Nightmares (17 page)

As he touched her, she closed her eyes, and he tried not to notice that the vines that were on her skin wilted as he slid his hand down her bare arm. She was a part of the Summer Court; he was not. Like everyone else outside of the Summer Court, his touch was not nourishing for her now.

“Niall?”

He traced the wilting vines that trailed across her bare stomach. “You know you can walk away from here.”

“I’m here by choice,” she repeated softly. “I want to be here.”

Her emotions were as clear in her voice as they were in the air around him. Her fear of rejection tangled with need. Even though he was bruised and bloodied, even though he was offering her nothing, she wanted him—and was terrified that he would send her away. He drank down both her terror and her lust as he pulled her onto his lap.

And in doing so, all of her hesitation vanished. She drew his lips to hers and wrapped her legs around him.
This
was the Siobhan he’d taken into his arms so often over the past century. She didn’t apologize as she shredded what remained of his bloodied shirt or when she caused him pain by being too impatient with his bruised body.

Unlike every other relationship he’d known, Siobhan was uncomplicated. She didn’t think about the future; she didn’t ask about the past.
Or cause me to think of those things
. She was here, in this moment, in this place. She was a Summer Girl, demanding the pleasure that she considered her right. She took what she needed, and she shared herself because she wanted to do so. She was who she was, and she didn’t try to hide that truth.

And in this, Niall admitted to himself, perhaps the Summer Court and the Dark Court were not so far apart.

CHAPTER 8

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY, FAR EARLIER THAN
the court would gather, Irial was waiting in the alley outside the warehouse Niall had been favoring of late. Much like the changes Niall had made in what used to be Irial’s home, this change was both comforting and disconcerting. The court owned plenty of clubs, both mortal and faery focused, but for reasons Niall didn’t specify, he’d chosen to have meetings here in a vast warehouse. They’d hired mortals to refit it, removing the excessive steel so that it was bearable and adding wood and stone fixtures. The presence of steel weakened the faeries, but it also meant that only the strongest among them could act out. That, Irial had to admit, was clever. His own solution when he’d ascended the throne had been bloodier, but Niall was a different sort of ruler.

Irial had waited there since the sun rose, but it was not until afternoon that he saw the faery he’d been expecting.

“Irial.” Devlin moved with the same ease that shadows did, but rather than take advantage of that, he tried to announce his presence when he arrived—unless he was sent to assassinate someone Sorcha had declared troubling.

“I have made you welcome among us for centuries, but I understand that Her Unchanging Difficultness has sent you to make trouble,” Irial murmured.

“My queen is wise in all things.” Devlin stiffened. “She seeks to keep order, not promote conflict.”

“By striking those in my—
the
Dark Court?” Irial grinned. “The High Court is a twisted place.”

“You are no longer king. Nothing should prevent me from striking you.” Devlin’s voice had no inflection. In most cases, evoking obvious emotion in Sorcha’s brother was a challenge.

“If necessary, I would offer myself up for you to take your pound of flesh.” Irial gestured to the street. “We can deal with this out here before or after you say what you will to my king.”

The expression on Devlin’s face seemed to grow even more unreadable, and his already hidden emotions became absent enough that he was as a vacant body. “Regrettably, I think I will decline that offer.”

The sound of Hounds approaching didn’t evoke so much as a flicker from Devlin. Their steeds’ engines growled and snarled; the exhalations—which mortals would see as vehicle exhaust—were tinted the same green as their eyes. While the Hunt did not ride in pursuit of anyone, they made their entrance with the same ferocity as they’d pursue an enemy with. Gabriel’s steed was, uncharacteristically, a massive motorcycle with dual exhaust and a growl loud enough that the street shuddered. Gabriel himself snarled as fiercely as the steed, the act of which made his words almost unintelligible. “Irial… What. Are. You. Doing.”

Irial widened his eyes in faux innocence. “Greeting a guest to the Dark Court. We were both in the street, and—” Irial’s words were lost under another growl.

Utterly implacable as always, Devlin merely looked at the assembled Hunt as if they were nothing more than a group of mortal schoolchildren. “On behalf of the Queen of Faerie, I seek audience with the Dark King.”

“Irial?” Gabriel said in a slightly clearer voice. “Go inside. Now.”

Something in him rankled at being ordered so, but Gabriel had always been prone to treating Irial as an equal instead of as a king.
And now I am not a king
. Irial shrugged, glanced at Devlin, and said, “My offer stands.”

The resounding snarls that greeted his words brought a look of true amusement—and matching burst of emotion—to Devlin. “I believe there is some opposition to your suggestion.”

Gabriel extended his left arm; on it, the Dark King’s commands spiraled out and made quite clear that Irial was to be kept safe. “Inside.”

Devlin smiled broadly now. He glanced from the ink on Gabriel’s arm to Irial’s face. “Your king seems to disapprove of your propensity for protecting him.”

At that, Irial shook his head. “Understand this: if you so much as lift a hand to my king, I will bring such destruction into Faerie as would make War in all her fury seem like an infant in a snit. There are more than a few who owe me debts I will not hesitate to call due.” Irial lowered his voice, not to hide his words from those standing near him, but in hopes of keeping it from any hidden watchers. “I’ve spoken to those who carry word of the High Queen’s orders. Whether it is now or for the rest of eternity, any who strike at him will answer to me.”

“You unman him with such a threat,” Devlin remarked.

“No,” Irial corrected. “I
protect
him. It is no different from what you would do for your queen.”

Devlin paused a heartbeat too long before murmuring, “Perhaps.”

“Inside on your own, or they’ll move you.” Gabriel clamped a hand on Irial’s shoulder. “I will not disobey my king—nor will you.”

Several of the Hounds shifted restlessly. They would obey their Gabriel, but after centuries of protecting Irial, they were uneasy at the idea of manhandling him.

“Your words are noted and will be relayed to my queen.” Devlin bowed his head, either to hide his expression or out of respect. Irial wasn’t sure which.

Niall was fuming when Irial entered the building. A barricade of solid shadow snapped into place around the two of them, sealing out everyone but them. “What were you thinking? Did you ignore
everything
I said yesterday?”

“No.” Irial was unabashed. He put his hand against the shadow-formed wall. “You are able to do things that I struggled with as easily as if you’d been king for several years.”

“At least one of us is adjusting well.”

At that, Irial paused. “What do you mean?”

“Instead of hiding the fact that you were informed that Devlin was to strike you or Gabriel, you should have told me,” Niall said as calmly as he could. “You offered me the court, your fealty, your advice, yet you hide things that,
as your king
, I should be told.”

For a moment, Irial stood in silence. “If Gabriel were to be injured, the Hounds could replace him, and we cannot be certain that another Hound would support you as Gabriel will.”

“I know.”

“So of the two, I am more expendable.” Irial shrugged.

“You are not expendable…. And I couldn’t speak it if it were untrue”—Niall held up his hand before Irial could interrupt—“neither could you, so we both believe we speak truths. You told me of this visit, advised me how to proceed, and then undermined me. You should have told me what you learned.”

“I’m not very good at serving.”

Niall put one hand on Irial’s shoulder and pushed him to his knees. “I noticed.”

The truth was that even as he was apologizing, Irial was not subservient. Kings weren’t meant to become subjects, and after centuries of being a king, Irial wasn’t likely to change overnight.
Or at all
. The consequence of that truth, however, was that the one faery in the Dark Court best able to advise Niall was also the one least suited to being anyone’s subject.

“We need a solution or you need to go,” Niall started.

Irial lifted his gaze. “You would exile me?”

“If you work against me, yes, I will.” Niall frowned. “Tell me what you know. Maybe we need to do so every day. A meeting … or a memo … or I don’t know.”

Irial started to rise to his feet.

“No,” Niall whispered. “You will kneel until I say otherwise.”

A slow smile came over Irial’s face. “As you will.”

“I’m not joking, Irial. Either I’m your king or you are gone. If I am to rule this court, I need you”—Niall paused to let the weight of that sentence settle on both of them—“more than I think I’ve needed anyone since you failed me so many centuries ago. So tell me right now, do you want the court back, do you want to leave, or do you intend to be my advisor in truth?”

“I want to keep you
and
the court safe.” Irial looked only at Niall despite the growing number of faeries outside the shadowed barrier. “That means I cannot be their king.”

“Then stop trying to make all of the decisions.” Niall ignored the fighting outside the wall as well. A fair number of Ly Ergs stood in front of Devlin, who was steadily throwing them across the room as if they were weightless. “You learned that the High Queen wanted a strike that would be a noticeable display of her assassin’s strength.”

“Yes.”

“Gabe has arranged that—up to allowing you to act the fool,” Niall said.

Irial startled. “I see.”

“I sent Gabe to find out which of your spies you’d visited.” Niall let his pleasure in the situation be obvious in his voice. “I manipulated you, Irial.”

Irial turned away to watch another faery go sailing by the barrier. “May I rise?”

“No.” Niall hid a grin. “You will give me your vow.” “On what?”

“I will have your vow that you will tell me when there are threats that you consider protecting me from, threats to me or to the court or to you that you consider withholding, and you will tell me what they are as soon as you are reasonably able to do so.” Niall had weighed the words in his mind as he’d sat stewing over Irial’s deceit. “You will vow to trust me with ruling this court or you will become solitary, exiled from the court, and from my presence until I decide otherwise.”

The flash of fear that Irial felt almost made Niall waver. Instead, he continued, “You will spend as much time as I require in my presence, teaching me the secrets that you are even now thinking I can’t handle yet.”

“There are centuries of secrets,” Irial hedged.

“Either you kneel there and give me your vow to all that I just said”—Niall reached out, gripped the underside of Irial’s jaw in his hand, and forced his once-friend, once-more, once-enemy to look at him—“or you may stand and walk out the door.”

“If I tell you everything, neither of us will sleep or do anything else for months.”

Niall squeezed Irial’s throat, not hard enough to bruise—
much
—and asked, “If I directed you to tell me what you hide, would you be able to give me a full answer?”

“In time? Yes. Today? No. Centuries, Niall, I’ve been dealing in secrets for centuries.” Irial stayed motionless in Niall’s grasp. “I told you about my understanding with Sorcha. I had Gabe bring you one of—”

“Yes,” Niall interrupted, squeezing harder now. “Did they spy for you?”

“Only on you.”

With a snarl, Niall shoved him away. “You vow or go.”

Even as he struggled to remain kneeling, Irial didn’t hesitate in his words. “My vow … and full truth within the decade.”

“Within the year.”

Irial shook his head. “That is impossible.”

“Two years.”

“No more than three years,” Irial offered. “You have eternity to rule them, three years is but a blink.”