Darkest Mercy (20 page)

She paused and looked up at him. “Not really helping, Keenan.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked again.

Aislinn straightened and faced him. “I do.”

“Do you want to be near me?” He didn’t approach her.

Unlike his aggressiveness since he’d returned—and when she’d first met him—he was

almost reserved now.

Still, she had to pause for several breaths before she could answer: “I do.”

“Why?”

“You’re my king. Something inside of me insists that I reach out. I can’t even stay mad at you when I know I should be.” She wiped the soil from

her hands onto her jeans and paced farther away. “Never mind. . . . I want to know what you learned while you were out. Now is not the time for this .”

“Actually, it is.” Keenan watched her with an intensity that made her want to run. “The time for waiting has ended.”

“You can’t mean . . .” She shook her head. “You just got back.”

Keenan stayed out of her reach as he spoke. “Will you let yourself love me, Aislinn?”

“You’re my king, but . . . I love Seth.”

“I need to belong to one person, who belongs only to me. I have done as I must for centuries, but there is a part of me that is not as fickle as

Summer can be,” Keenan said. “I need all or nothing.

Either we are truly together, or we are truly apart.” She shook her head. “You’re really asking me to choose now ?”

“I am.” He reached out, but didn’t touch her. His hand was in the air next to her face, but he didn’t close the distance.

“I need you to decide. Now.

The court needs to be as strong as possible.”

“Whatever you learned . . . Talk to me,” she pleaded.

“Maybe there’s another way, maybe . . .”

“Aislinn,” he said evenly. “I need you to decide. Do we go away together or do I go alone?”

She felt warm tears trickle down her cheeks. “Yesterday, you told me I had a week. You told me yesterday .”

“Would your answer change if we waited?” Aislinn hated the understanding in his voice as much as she had hated it when Seth offered it to her. They were both wonderful, both good, both

people any girl would be lucky to know—but she only loved one of them. If she could save her court and keep Seth in her life, that’s what she would do. If Keenan wasn’t near her, she wouldn’t feel the pull to be with him. She hadn’t felt it— much —these past six months, not like she had when

Seth was away.

“Would you want it to change?” she asked.

“I want to be loved; I want to be consumed by it.” Keenan traced her jaw with the barest touch of his fingertips. “I’ve loved Donia for decades, but

I’ve lived for my court for centuries. I need more than an ‘I think’ this time, Aislinn. Do you want me enough to be mine? Do you care enough to try to

love me? Do we become truly together for our court?

Claim me as your king, or set me free to try to be with the faery I love.”

“I do want you,” Aislinn admitted. “Not just because of the court. You’re my friend and . . . I do care for you. I can’t imagine never seeing you

again.”

The Summer King stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Can you offer me your fidelity? Your heart and your body and your companionship for

eternity? Do you want my fidelity? Either love me or kiss me good-bye, my Summer Queen.”

She felt tears slip down her cheeks. He’d looked for her for almost a millennium, but she couldn’t give him what he needed. She’d returned

strength to their court, but the love she felt for the Summer Court wasn’t the sort of love he wanted from her. She leaned into his caress. “Why do I

think that what happens next is going to be . . .”

“To be?” he prompted softly.

“Something I’m not ready for,” she finished.

Her earlier fears of ruling the court without him crashed around her. He’d been their king for centuries, and she had only been fey for a bit more

than a year. How do we rule from separate areas? Split the court? Can we even do that? She bit her lip.

“How is this going to strengthen the court? I’m not sure—”

“Ash,” he interrupted. Without looking away from her face, he reached out with his other hand and entwined her fingers with his. “Tell me you’re

truly mine, or tell me good-bye.”

“You’re really leaving for good if I say no?” Mutely, he nodded.

“I can’t be only yours. You’ll always—” The rest of her words were swallowed as the Summer King leaned forward and sealed his lips to hers. Sunlight filled her mouth. It covered her

skin and trickled over her like a million tiny hands. Her eyes were open. The blinding brightness of the Summer King as he pressed against her was

too beautiful to look away from.

He pulled away briefly, and she realized that they weren’t touching the ground anymore. The air burned, crackling with heat lightning.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am.” She hadn’t asked to be fey, hadn’t wanted the future she had, but she cherished it now. She was happy

—to be a faery, to be the

Summer Queen—but she wasn’t Keenan’s

beloved. “We would be making a mistake. I am never going to be that faery for you . . . or you for me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me too.”

And then he kissed her again.

The sunlight pulsing into her body made it impossible to keep her eyes open any longer. She felt like an eternity of languid bliss were seeping

into her every pore, and as on the night that Keenan had healed her, she felt too consumed by it to object. His arms were the only things that kept

her from tumbling to the ground, which was now far below them.

Aislinn wasn’t sure how long they hovered above the park kissing. She only knew that her king was kissing her good-bye.

Finally, Keenan pulled away. “Think of the soil, Ash.”

“The soil?” she echoed.

“The earth. Think of sunlight falling—” They plummeted, and Keenan said, “ Gently. Falling gently, Ash.” She nodded, and they slowed. “I’m doing this.”

“You are,” he confirmed. “Sunlight isn’t bound to the earth.

Neither is the Summer Queen.”

Her feet touched the soil, and Keenan released her. She would’ve fallen to her knees, but he steadied her.

Carefully, he helped her sit on the

ground.

As her hand touched the soil, vines shot out and wove together into an elaborate flowering throne. It lifted her from the ground, and she looked

toward him. “Keenan?”

He backed away from her. “It’ll be okay, Ash. Tavish will tell you what you need to know. You can do this.

Remember that.”

She blinked and looked past him to the park. The trees were a riot of blossoms. The hedges had grown as tall as trees, creating a formidable

barrier. It was not yet full spring, but the area outside of the Summer Court’s park was in bloom. All through the park, her faeries now stood waiting.

She felt connected to each one of them more intensely than ever before.

Except Keenan.

Her gaze went to him. Her Summer King was . . . not Summer. She held out a hand to him. “Keenan?” He took her hand and knelt. The sunlight that usually pulsed back when they touched, that had all but drowned her in pleasure barely a moment

ago, was absent.

He lifted his head to look up at her. “I would hope to be welcome in your court, but this is not where I belong now.” Aislinn was speechless. The faery who had remade her, who had been the other half of the embodiment of summer, was no longer sunlit. In their good-bye kiss, he had somehow given her the sunlight that had been his own.

I am the only Summer regent.

“I would’ve given up the faery I love, devoted eternity to you, to them”—Keenan glanced to her left, where Tavish now stood, and then looked

back at her—“but I need the love and passion you do not offer me. So do you. The lack of passion, of love, of happiness weakened my . . . your

court. The court is now stronger than it’s been during my life.”

“But . . .” Aislinn tried to stand, but found her legs still too weakened to support her. Tears slid down her cheek, and she saw rainbows arc

across the sky, matching the trail of her tears. “If you could walk away . . . I don’t understand. Why couldn’t I? This is what you always were.”

Keenan pleaded for understanding with his expression. “I was born of two courts, Aislinn. There was a choice for me. One I couldn’t make

before, but now the Summer Court is in capable hands.”

“And you are what?” She tugged on his hand, trying to pull him to his feet, but he shook his head.

“Dismiss me,” he requested. “As the only Summer Court regent, give me your first command.”

Tears clouded her vision, and rainbows flared all over the sky. “Keenan . . . you are ever welcome in my court should you need solace or a

home. You remain a friend of my court . . . under our protection should you need it.” Then, in a shaky voice, she added, “You are dismissed.”

He stood and silently left the park. As he passed, the rowan knelt. The Summer Girls curtsied as one; their vines became like solid ink on their

skin as they stood, no longer depending on their king-no-more. The curse that had bound them to him was ended.

They’re free.

Chapter 28

After Evan’s death, Donia felt numb. Evan had watched over her since she’d first become fey. He had been her guard and her friend for

decades. To some, that was but a blink. For him, it was a moment. To Donia, it was the whole of her second life.

There was rage, grief, heartbreak,

but she kept those emotions submerged in the weight of the snow and ice inside of her. I cannot wail, not yet.

The Hound Chela had deposited Donia and Evan’s body at the Winter Queen’s home, and then elicited promises that Donia would not cross

the line of guards and Hounds stationed outside—not that they alone would be enough to stop Bananach.

Which leaves the king-in-mourning, the fey-only-a-year queen, the Summer King, or me.

Donia thought of Beira, the late Winter Queen, with an unexpected pang. Beira was diabolical in many ways, but she was strong enough, cruel

enough, and skilled enough to fight Bananach. And dead.

Donia sighed. Beira’s death had saved lives— including mine —but it had eliminated the

most powerful of the regents on this side of the veil.

A veil that is now closed.

With a solemnity that she used to hide the sorrow inside of her, Donia stared at the earth; then, with a breath, she lifted all of the snow from the

tree beside her favorite spot in the winter garden. The Scrimshaw Sisters, Hawthorn people, lupine, and myriad other of the Winter Court faeries

clustered in the garden. Several of the guards carried Evan to the spot she’d cleared.

Silently, they arranged his empty shell on the wet soil.

When they were done, Donia pulled the remaining moisture from the soil on which he rested, and Evan’s body sank into the earth. Tears slipped down her cheeks as the ground accepted him, and as she wept, snow fell from the sky. “Good-bye, my friend.” She bowed her head, and her faeries began to depart.

They were mostly all gone from her presence when three of the Hawthorn stopped. One

of them asked, “Would you prefer solitude or companionship for your mourning?”

“Solitude.” She lifted her gaze to them. “Unless business requires it . . .”

With soft brushes of their hands over her arms and shoulders, they left her alone in the winter garden where her friend, guard, and advisor was

now buried. As soon as they were gone, she parted her lips for the shriek of hurt and rage that she’d held inside.

The sky tore open, and a winter

storm whipped around her. The wind lashed her cheeks; the ice hammered her upturned face; and the snow wrapped her in its much-needed

embrace.

The Winter Queen knelt on the again-frozen earth and wished there were more she could do to avenge the death of the faery who had protected

her in her years as Winter Girl, who had helped her adjust to being Winter Queen.

I want her death. She paused. This is what Niall feels.

What Gabriel feels.

There was no doubt in Donia’s mind that the actions Bananach had taken were planned: she wanted their pain and rage.

Why?

Donia forced her emotions back under the calming press of the snow she carried inside her and walked into her home. She was a faery in

mourning, but she was also a queen in conflict. She wouldn’t allow her emotions to keep her from being a good queen. Evan might not be there

advising her, but he had counseled her often enough that she knew what he would tell her: understand Bananach’s motivations, study the patterns.

Inside her house, Donia sat before the vast stone fireplace in one of the lesser-used rooms and started writing down what she knew. The activity

had the added benefit of distracting her.

She was shifting through Evan’s piles of letters and papers, hoping for more information to add to her puzzling-out of Bananach’s behavior when one of her fey came into the room.

“Donia? My Queen?”

She looked up at Cwenhild, the Scrimshaw Sister who waited in the doorway. “News?”

“A guest.” Cwenhild frowned. “He waits to see you.” Donia motioned for her to continue. “Who?”

“He . . . the faery . . . the . . .” The Scrimshaw Sister shook her head. “I’m sorry, my Queen. He’s in the garden. I can bring . . . him if you . . . I

didn’t think.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I find peace in my garden. That has not changed.”

Cwenhild nodded, and Donia went to her garden. Once there, she understood Cwenhild’s inability to answer her question. The faery who waited

for her could no longer be named by the title they had always known him by. Keenan sat in the center of her garden, peacefully waiting on her

favorite bench—and his sunlight was gone.

The snow in her garden didn’t burn away as it fell near him. Instead, it collected on his no-longer-sunlit skin. The copper of his hair was