Darkest Mercy (7 page)

unless you call to me to be here also.”

“I know.” Seth stepped into the mortal world, leaving Faerie, leaving his mortality, and becoming once-more-fey. The return of his altered senses made him pause. He didn’t stumble. Much. He took several breaths and then he started through the graveyard.

Behind him, he heard Devlin’s words: “Try not to die, Brother.”

Seth didn’t look back, didn’t falter. The logic that he possessed in Sorcha’s realm was tempered in the mortal world. Here, he felt the fear that

he could ignore in Faerie; here, he knew that he was running from safety and headed toward danger. He might die. So be it. Fear didn’t outweigh

love. Try not to die.

Seth smiled and said, “That’s the goal, Brother.” And then he went to find Aislinn.

Chapter 8

Aislinn paced in the study. Once, she’d felt uncomfortable in the room, and then it became a place to relax with her king, and now . . . it was hers.

Somehow, Keenan’s absence had made her feel proprietary of a lot of things that were his first. And a lot of people. She had already felt connected to her court, but his choices had made her feel a protectiveness that bordered on maternal.

She looked up as the door to the study opened, and one of the few faeries she now trusted without hesitation stood there. Tavish was an

excellent advisor. Where Quinn was intrusive and bordering on belligerent, Tavish was steady. He’d been the voice helping her see what traits were best employed as queen. He’d reminded her that Summer was both playful and cruel, that her new volatility was a tool to harness, that her maudlin

worries were best surrendered to passions. If she thought on it, his skill in advising her was unsurprising: he had been the guiding force as Keenan

grew into being the Summer King. Along with Niall, he had taught one Summer regent how to rule—and done so when that regent was her age—so

teaching a second Summer regent was well within Tavish’s abilities.

Tavish came into the room and held out a glass of what he habitually claimed was a “healthy vitamin drink” but she was pretty sure was

vegetables and moss or something else equally unpleasant. “Drink.”

She waved the glass away. “I’m good.”

“My Queen?”

“I’m not thir—” The lie she started was unutterable. She sighed and muttered, “Those are disgusting.”

“Keenan always thought so too.” Tavish continued to hold the glass out to her.

“Fine.” She accepted it and took a gulp. After forcing it down, she set the glass on the coffee table. “Some things aren’t meant to be in liquids,

Tavish.”

“Winter isn’t kind to Summer regents. Neither”—he picked the glass up—“is the stress you are trying to hide. Drink it.” She drank the rest of the noxious stuff. “Promise me that if you ever poison me, it will at least taste better than this.”

“I will never poison you, my Queen.” In a move too graceful for even most faeries, Tavish dropped to his knees. He stared up at her as he knelt in front of her, and despite the peculiarity of the setting, Aislinn suddenly felt as formal as if she were on a dais in front of her court.

For a moment, Aislinn simply stared at him. “I wasn’t being literal.”

“You are my queen. I’ve spent nine centuries seeking the mortal who would free this court, who would save my best friend’s son, who would save

the lives of the rest of the girls who were not you. I’d die before I’d allow harm to you.” He bowed his head.

“I didn’t think . . . I know you’re trying to look out for me, Tavish.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “I trust you. You know that, right? I

mean, I’m not great at all this stuff, but you know I trust you, right?”

“I do.” He lifted his gaze. “The words are true all the same.

You are our queen, Aislinn. You’re a good queen, and gods know, that isn’t an easy

thing to be when you are tossed into the fray with no warning—and with the bias you had against faeries.

You’ve done it, though. You put your heart into your court, stood up to Bananach when she first came to you, faced down the Winter and Dark Courts. You’ve weathered the king’s

manipulations and his absence. You are exactly what we need, and I am here to do whatever you need. At times, I’ll argue with you because that’s

how I can help you, but I’d willingly kill or die for you. It would be an honor to do so.”

“Right. The problem there is that I don’t want you to need to kill or die.”

“Nor do I, but we must face the situation,” Tavish said, sounding characteristically imperturbable.

She flopped down on the sofa and patted the cushion. “Sit with me?”

With a small frown, Tavish sat in a chair across from her.

Aislinn grinned at him. “You know, for a Summer faery, you are awfully proper.”

“Indeed,” Tavish said. “Is that on the agenda for our meeting? My propriety? Shall I add ‘frolic more’ to the tasks for my week?”

“No. . . . I met Far Dorcha. I’m sure the guards already told you.” She paused, and Tavish nodded. “Right,” she continued. “I need the girls to stay

in the loft. Whichever fey have . . . defected are on their own. Those who are mine stay here.”

“That is wise.”

Aislinn took a steadying breath. “I need to find out where Keenan is. If he’s not home, I’m going into war without him

. . . which is not ideal.

Someone knows where he is.”

“I do not, my Queen. I give you my word that I will find out, though.” Tavish’s restrained facade slipped, and she saw the faery-cruel expression as

he asked, “Are there limits to the methods?” At that, she faltered. “Don’t ask me to be a monster.” Affectionately, he reached out and squeezed her forearm.

“You are a faery regent, Aislinn, and we are fast approaching war. Monstrosity will be

called for. How far will you go to protect your court?” Aislinn winced—as much because of the truth as because she had to admit it aloud. “As far as I must. The longer I am this ”—she gestured at

herself—“the harder it is to remember how much I loathed what he did to me. He took away my mortality, Tavish. I hated him. I hated all of you. . . .”

“And now?”

“I hate any who threatens my court.” She sighed. It seemed foolish, but her first lesson in being a faery regent had been to trust her instincts. She

hoped that she was not erring as she said, “Speaking of, I don’t like Quinn’s arrogance. He questions me, not to help, but . . . I don’t know his game.

He has one, though.”

“He is not who I would’ve picked to replace my former co-advisor.” Tavish’s expression was unreadable.

Pretending a self-assurance that she rarely felt for more than a heartbeat, Aislinn said, “When Keenan returns, I want to fire Quinn.”

At that, Tavish’s lips quirked in a small smile. “For arrogance?”

“No.” Aislinn pulled her feet up and tucked them under her so that she was sitting cross-legged. “I’d have to cast out everyone if that were the

charge.”

Tavish’s slight smile blossomed. “Present company excluded, I’m sure.”

For a moment, Aislinn peered at him. “I think you just made a joke .”

“I am not as solemn as you’d think, my Queen.” Tavish smoothed a hand over one of his already impeccable sleeves. “I am merely as solemn as I need to be to protect my regent.”

With a comfort she didn’t think she’d ever felt before, she told him, “I don’t think you’re truly solemn, Tavish. If you were, you’d be in a different

court. You belong to Summer. I’m sure of that. I can feel how strongly tied you are to my court, to me. You’re mine, Tavish. I have no doubt with you.”

Her advisor rewarded her with a joyous look, and in the moment, she knew this was the side of him the Summer Girls saw. He was captivating

in that faery way that made her think of the old stories where mortals believed them gods. He had uncharacteristically dark eyes, and his hair was silver—not silvered as mortals’ hair turns with age, but true silver. It was, like Keenan’s copper-colored hair, a metallic hue that made clear that he

was very much not mortal. She’d never seen his hair unbound; it was kept in a braid of sorts that stretched down his back. The braid bared part of a small black sun tattoo on the side of his throat. That tattoo stood out in a mostly undecorated court. Of course, so, too, did his High Court reserve

and his Dark Court eyes. Those eyes were watching her, so she said what she’d wanted to: “I don’t trust Quinn.”

“I spoke against his selection.” Tavish’s gaze was focused on her, but it was—as it had been increasingly in the past few months—an approving

look he gave her. “My king made the choice.”

“Well, your king isn’t here. Until I decide otherwise, watch Quinn. No . . . extreme measures yet, but keep a close eye on him. Who he talks to.

When. Everything.” Aislinn knew worry was in her voice, but unlike with the rest of the court, she didn’t need to hide that from Tavish. With her

advisor, she could be unguarded. It was a welcome honesty. She twisted her hands together. “Both Seth and Keenan could be . . . in who knows

what sort of danger, and neither of them have the sense to tell me where

they are.”

Tavish moved to sit beside her. “They will both return, Aislinn.”

“What if Ba—”

“She would’ve told us had she killed them.” Tavish reached out and smoothed back her hair in an oddly paternal gesture. “Their deaths would be of more use to her if you knew of them. They are alive.

Bananach attacked Dark Court fey. Seth was there, and he left with the High Queen’s

brother.”

Aislinn considered rebuking Tavish for not telling her that news the moment he came into the study, but it was of little use to do so: he would only

remind her that court matters were her first priority. His withholding that information for the few moments they’d discussed Quinn was negligible. It

had to be this way.

Court before everything. Before everyone. Before myself.

“You learned this when?”

“That Seth was safe? Today.” Tavish paused to let her know he was weighing the degree of truth he would offer.

“That there was conflict? Two

days ago.”

Before she could speak, he continued, “You are my queen, and my job is to advise and protect you. If anything could have been served by telling

you sooner, I would’ve done so. I know he was in the conflict with Bananach, and that there were injuries and deaths.”

Aislinn’s heartbeat faltered. “Who?”

“A halfling the Dark Court protected, the Hound-tattooist’s sister, was killed.”

She thought about the girls, their seemingly endless energy, and felt grief wash over her at the thought of either of them being gone. “Was it Ani

or Tish?”

“Tish,” he said.

“Poor Rabbit!” Even as she spoke, Aislinn’s thoughts flew to her own family. If Grams were injured in the impending violence, Aislinn wasn’t sure

how she’d function at all. “Send Grams away. With guards.”

Tavish nodded. “A wise decision.”

“I need to know she’s safe and out of Bananach’s reach.” Aislinn crossed her arms, hugging herself to keep from trembling. “Send her on a

cruise, so she’s moving around. Somewhere as warm as possible.”

Tavish nodded. “There is talk of another death . . . not quite complete. My sources in the Dark Court are not as forthcoming as I’d like, but it is

my understanding that Irial has been injured.”

“Irial?”

Tavish nodded once. “The details beyond that are not available. Yet. It does not bode well. If Irial is . . . gone, Niall will not cope well.”

“I don’t understand.” Aislinn disliked admitting ignorance, but there were times that doing so was essential. Tavish was her advisor, and he’d

lived longer than she could yet fathom. His ability to explain the long histories of the faeries she had only just met was one of his many valuable

skills.

Expression inscrutable, Tavish began, “You know that Niall and Irial have a history?”

He paused, and she nodded.

Tavish continued, “Niall has held on to his anger at Irial’s deceits and betrayals for centuries—and rightly so—

but becoming a regent makes one see the challenges that might motivate choices that

otherwise appear cruel.” Her advisor paused again and gave her a pointed look.

“Some faeries,” he continued, “don’t realize the complexities of ruling as quickly as you have, my Queen.

Niall is stubborn, not nearly as willing to listen to advice as a regent needs to be . . . unless he hears it from Irial. The arrangement they’ve settled on has made the former Dark King the

advisor to the new king; it is unprecedented.” Aislinn was trying to make sense of the nuances Tavish wasn’t explaining. “So Irial advises Niall, and they’re . . .

what?”

“Irial has moved back into his home . . . with the new Dark King,” Tavish said.

“Right,” she drawled. “You live here. So?” Her advisor lowered his gaze. “With all due respect, my Queen, I have no amorous intentions toward you. I am advisor to the Summer Court. I

advised Keenan’s father, Miach; Keenan; and before them, I guarded Miach’s father.”

She smothered a laugh at Tavish’s pursed lips.

“After a millennium of discord, Niall and Irial have found a sort of peace together,” Tavish added.

“And now Irial’s injured. Dying, perhaps.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh.

“Aside from advising Niall, Irial has been tending to some of the less palatable Dark Court businesses as well. Niall, for all of his recent

changes, is not as cruel as the Dark King sometimes must be. Irial has fewer . . . restrictions,” Tavish said in a very quiet voice.

“This just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

“Precisely,” Tavish agreed. “And I have no doubt that Bananach struck Irial for these reasons. She is striking at the courts, looking for weakness,

and whichever court is not strong enough will be destroyed if she has her way.”

“Our court is not strong enough to stand against any of the others.” Aislinn looked up and saw the somber expression on her advisor’s face