Darkest Mercy (29 page)

held up bloodied hands. “I will kill or die for them.”

“And they for you,” Irial said.

“There has been enough killing today.” Far Dorcha’s words drew all of their gazes to him. In the midst of the bruised and wearied faeries, Death

alone seemed untouched. He folded his arms over his chest and looked at them.

“In all of forever, this has not happened. She”—the Dark Man paused and motioned toward the warehouse—“was one of the first of two. Said to

be unkillable without damning us all. There must be balance.” The Dark Man’s gaze flickered to Aislinn. “You have first right.”

Aislinn’s hand tightened on Seth’s. “No.”

“And you?” Far Dorcha’s attention turned to Seth. “Would you fill the vacant role of Discord? By right of your mother’s heritage, you are entitled

to fill this. Your Sight is already in place; you travel between the worlds. You walk in the four courts and as a solitary. Unless you are planning to keep your new role . . .”

Seth glanced at Niall. “I don’t suppose the consequences of not being who I am would be good.” Far Dorcha shrugged, but made no comment.

“I’ll pass.” Seth might not be able to see his own future, but he saw—and suspected that Far Dorcha saw—the increasingly probable futures of

several of the faeries around him. Irial and Niall still had choices to make. Seth was all but certain what those choices were, but the decisions still must be made manifest.

There are always choices.

Far Dorcha continued as if nothing was certain. “Niall?

Your sword ended her.”

“No. I am the Dark King.” Niall stared at Irial as he spoke.

“I didn’t fight for my throne, bleed for the court, only to step away.” Then, with visible

effort, Niall pulled his gaze from Irial and asked Far Dorcha, “The role must be filled, right?” Far Dorcha sighed. “It must, and as much as it pains me to offer it to the one who avoided dying . . . Irial?” The shade of the dead king did not even glance at Death—or at anyone there. As if no one else stood with them, he asked Niall, “Are you sure?

I could stay. . . .”

“Dead?” Niall snorted. “An eternity of you in my head isn’t exactly ideal for either of us.”

At that, Irial glanced at Far Dorcha. “Are there other options?”

“You can remain as you are now, unconnected to the live king; you can resume your possession of him; or you can assume the vacant role.” Far

Dorcha scowled at Irial. “If you are not this, I need to find another to fill it. There will be balance. Discord is—”

“Right.” Irial waved his hand as if brushing words away. “If I am unconnected, will they see me?”

“Not unless I am near or they are dead too,” Far Dorcha said.

“So possession, absence, or War.” Irial turned his back on all of them again. “Niall? I can stay, help mind the court, advise you; being tied to you

means that our dreams are real.”

“I don’t want you to be a shade,” Niall said. “War belongs in the Dark Court, and . . . This is what I want.”

“Not War,” Far Dorcha corrected. “She was Discord—just as her twin is Order. Bananach forgot what she was. The aim of Discord is not solely

one of violence. To do your work, you will be able to walk through the veil to Faerie as well. I will remedy that problem: the veil will be open to you . . .

if you are Discord.”

“Discord.” Irial flashed a wry smile at all of them. “I’m sure I can stir up some discontent.”

The Dark Man snorted, but said nothing.

As they all stood there, Irial grew serious. He reached out with an insubstantial hand that hovered over the Dark King’s forearm. “You can’t trust

me after this. Not the same way you do now.”

“I don’t tr—” The words Niall attempted to say became unpronounceable. “I don’t want you dead, Iri. I can find a new advisor. . . . Tell him yes, so

we can get to work setting things in order.”

“Discord doesn’t generally work at putting things in order.” Irial’s smile returned.

Far Dorcha shook his head. “No one else has ever tricked Death, so I suppose it’s fitting that you fill the unkillable role.”

“I never have been much for rules.” Irial’s insubstantial form became solid as they watched. “You have to admit that it was a good loophole.”

The incredulous look Far Dorcha gave him made quite clear that he wasn’t going to admit anything, but as the Dark Man turned his back to Irial

and Niall, he winked at Seth.

As Seth watched, threads became steady and stretched into the future.

Death was smiling as he walked toward Ankou; Niall’s tension seemed to vanish as Irial murmured something too softly for anyone else to hear.

Then Aislinn leaned her head on Seth’s arm. “Let’s get out of here?”

He had unresolved business with Niall, but given the option of dealing with Niall or being with Aislinn . . . there was no choice. He tightened his

arms around her, but before they took two steps, the Summer Court’s advisor cleared his throat.

“If I could borrow you for a moment, my Queen?” Tavish said as he joined them. “I will handle what’s here, but I need you to make a few

decisions before you depart.”

The Summer Queen looked at Seth. “Give me a sec?” He nodded.

Tavish led Aislinn a few steps away, and Seth was left standing with Niall and Irial.

With a smile, Irial turned to Niall. “Far Dorcha deserves just a little more discord in his life. See you inside?” After a grateful look at Irial’s departing figure, Niall turned to face Seth. They stood in silence for only as long as it took to assure that no one

overheard them.

“I was angry,” Niall said.

Seth folded his arms.

The Dark King rubbed a hand over his face. “If Ash had been killed, you would’ve been unwell too.”

“That’s a reason , not an excuse.” Seth gestured at the burn on the side of his face. “You were going to burn my eye , man. That’s so far from

forgivable.”

“I didn’t.”

“Because Leslie stopped you.” Seth stepped closer. “You considered letting Far Dorcha kill me.”

“I didn’t offer you to him,” Niall said.

“You told me last year that you didn’t want me to see the ugly part of the Dark Court, that you didn’t want the whole bastard thing”—Seth paused,

weighing the words, trying to balance hurt and logic—“to affect me . . . that I wouldn’t see you the same if I did.” The hope in Niall’s expression was at odds with the battered state he was in. “You told me I was wrong.”

“You were right .” Seth stared directly at Niall. “I don’t see you the same way.”

“I’m sorry,” Niall said.

“I’m not an idiot. I knew what you were. Objectively, I got it. If you weren’t capable of horrible choices, you wouldn’t be a faery. If you weren’t

capable of doing those things, you wouldn’t have been able to be the Dark King.”

“You mean horrible like keeping secrets that lead to deaths and violence and chaos?” Niall snorted.

“And caging your friends? And getting unthroned by War because you’re unbalanced and acting like an ass?” Seth clasped the Dark King’s

upper arm. “I don’t see you the same, but I can live with what I do see. You’re my brother .”

Niall pulled Seth in for a brief one-armed hug. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you still have both eyes.” As Seth stepped away, he shook his head. “Next time?

Direct the bastard thing elsewhere.”

“Or what?”

“Seriously?” Seth grinned. “I had a little time to think while I was in my cage . . . . The voice of reason is pretty lacking on this side of the veil, and

unless my mother and the Shadow Court decide to remove the veil, you all might need to have the occasional reminder here.”

“You declaring yourself a king, little brother? Bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” Niall’s tone was more curious than anything.

“I watched you become more balanced when I came to you, and when I decided to do . . . whatever it took to balance you, I felt it. I felt you , Niall.

I hung in the cage where you put me, and I watched Bananach come into your court and take it from you, and I accepted the inevitable.” Seth

understood the rightness of what he’d had to do, but part of him mourned it. “I am Sorcha’s heir. I’m the only faery in the mortal world who can be

your balance. I am the Order to your Darkness.”

“So you’re what? The King of Order?” Niall watched him with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

“No. I’m not king of anything. I suspect I’ll get enough of court structure and pomp in Faerie.” Seth rolled his eyes at the thought of trying to be a

king. “I’m your balance, though.”

Niall smiled.

Seth continued, “It wouldn’t be bad to have the solitary fey know there’s someone they can talk to if any of you all get stupid again. My two

brothers head the Dark Court and the Shadow Court. My mother is High Queen. My”—Seth glanced over to where Aislinn and Tavish talked—“Ash

is the Summer Queen. I can see the future; I can go between the two worlds; and I can reason with the faeries I love, the faeries who are family, and the faeries I call friends.”

The expression on Niall’s face became utterly unreadable.

“You think you could stand up to her? No conflict of interest—”

“You’re sharing your house with Discord ,” Seth reminded him. “And I’ll be damned if I believe he’s not going to play favorites.”

The faery in question walked past Seth. “Well, seer, luckily your future sight wouldn’t encourage you to play favorites, sacrifice people, gamble

with courts. . . .” Irial paused and withdrew a cigarette case and lighter from Niall’s pocket. He extracted a cigarette, glanced at Seth, and drawled,

“Say, like letting me die for your agenda.” Silently, Niall took the cigarette from Irial, lit it, and inhaled.

Seth shrugged. “Who’s to say I didn’t see the end result?

You’re not addictive to mortals. Either of you. You’re back at odds, where you like to

be. Bananach’s dead . . . and Leslie is sitting in your house, where all three of you hope she will eventually stay.”

At their stunned expressions, Seth paused. “Of course, there were other outcomes that were a lot less positive for you, but . . . a lot of things

worked out because of your death.”

“You may do all right at this balancing thing, boy.” Irial shook his head, and then turned his attention to Niall. “Our Shadow Girl waits at the

house.”

“Leslie waits at our home ,” Niall corrected.

And Discord smiled.

Seth smiled too as he watched them walk away. The threads he could see for the two faeries were woven tightly together, and in many of the

possible futures, he saw

Leslie’s not-quite-mortal, not-quite-fey thread wrapped with theirs. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to stay with the Dark Court, but there were more

than a few possible futures for her that brought her into a happy future with the two faeries who loved her and each other.

As he looked at their entangled futures, Seth felt a surge of envy. He wasn’t sure what the future held—if he was about to lose Aislinn, if he had

an eternity of trying to accept her relationship with another faery—but he did know that he’d wasted time with Aislinn because of his fears.

No more.

He walked over to her, and with a comfort he hadn’t felt in months, he took her hand. Sunlight flared from her skin.

She might not be his forever,

but after what had just happened, she was going to be his tonight. Whether he was staying or going, he was going to spend tonight in her arms.

Chapter 40

After washing the signs of the fight away from both of them, the Winter Queen had tenderly lain Keenan in the bed they’d shared. She’d done

everything she could to keep him safe, and it hadn’t worked.

It’s not fair to finally have a chance at forever together and have it taken away. She glanced at his motionless body again. Maybe we were never

meant to have forever. She’d spent more than an hour of pacing anxiously. Now, she was alternating between weeping, stroking his face, and

talking to him.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered tearfully.

Finally, he opened his eyes and stared up at her; by then, she had moved on to stroking his hair and crying. She sat beside him on the edge of

the bed, trying very hard not to bump him or let her cold tears fall on his bare chest and arms.

For a moment, he blinked at her. Then he asked, “Are you dead too?”

“No.” She leaned in as carefully as she could and brushed her lips over his. How do I do this? She sat back and examined his lips for frostbite.

“Don?” Keenan’s face crinkled in a frown. “I don’t understand.”

He’s here. That’s the important part.

“You’re alive.”

“And you are.” Keenan struggled to sit up. He frowned briefly. “I guess giving up my Winter left me weaker than I thought it would. I feel . . .

wrong.”

The sob that Donia intended to hold in escaped.

“Don?” He tried to pull her to him, but she resisted—and he couldn’t move her.

Despite her resolve, frozen tears raced down her cheeks and onto the sheets. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he asked. His voice was almost the same, but it sounded different enough that every word he spoke reminded her of his changed

state.

“Getting hurt. This.” She pointed at him in the bed.

He caught her hand in his. “I’m alive . . . with you . . . in your bed. What do you have to be sorry about?”

“You’re mortal,” she blurted. Graceful, Don. She opened her mouth to try to say more, but he was laughing.

There were a lot of reactions she’d considered while he’d lain unconscious in her bed, but laughter wasn’t one of them. He held her hand and

laughed until she was a bit worried. Then he shook his head. “Well, that’s new.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Don?” Keenan tugged her to him, and she let herself be pulled into his embrace.

Careful; no frost, no ice.

“I’m here with you. I don’t care about anything else.” Keenan stared at her with something like wonder in his very mortal blue eyes. “You’re alive, and I’m here with you.”