Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

My phone dings with an incoming email; it’s one of my professors sending me the work I’ve missed. I type a reply and talk at the same time. “Inform him of the incident with Ripthorn. Ask him if he can offer protection to our students.”

“Ask?”

I ignore the flat disapproval in the word. “I’m not sure what Mathers’s official stance is toward the Courts after this summer. I don’t want to give our hand away until I can be sure we’ll receive support.”

“I suppose that’s wise.”

My stomach gurgles again. I press a hand against my abdomen, out of Mother’s sight, and close my eyes. Like somehow that will cancel out my sense of smell. A stupid trick, but from the darkness, I get a faint sense of control. “Has the news of what happened made it back to the sídhe?”

“No whispers have reached me. If you manage it quickly enough there, I doubt it will complicate matters outside campus.”

If I manage it quickly enough. Not when I manage it.

A sharp stab of pain behind my left eye. I press my thumb hard against the upper curve of my eye socket, wishing I could dig my thumb inside to reach the offending nerve.

The low rumble of the troll’s voice from the living room. Smith’s crow of delight at whatever the story was.

I wonder if he’s telling them about his adventures on the farm. They usually end with some plebeian anecdote Smith finds uproariously hilarious. He never seems to realize that everyone else is laughing because he’s a good storyteller, not because his stories make any sense to us. Idiot.

“Roark?”

I open my eyes and am confronted with the disconcerting image of Mother tilting her head to inspect me. “Would you prefer I contact the dean for you? You look peaked.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“That was quite a show of power last night,” she says, completely ignoring my assurance. “You must be exhausted.”

Of course she felt that. She’s the conduit of our Court’s power, and I didn’t exactly hold back with my glamour against that wraith.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Lies, lies, and more lies. At least she can’t push against my fragile mask when there’s this much distance between us. “Shall I call you once I’ve finished speaking with Dean Tanaka?”

“I thought it was getting late there.”

“It is.”

“Send a raven instead. That would suffice. You may want to arrange a meeting with our people. Remind them that retaliation in any form will not be tolerated.”

“As you wish.”

“I refuse to give Oberon’s ilk reason to come after you. I will not lose another son to them.” Her voice dips with ominous warning. “Or anyone else.”

The hunger vanishes, replaced with a heavy nausea that’s grown all too familiar since the summer. The scar running across my left palm aches and I clench the hand to hide that clean, pale line from my sight. “Understood. Mother, may I cut this call short? It’s nearly time for my meeting.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll watch for your raven.”

A quick wave of my hand and the spell cuts short. Nothing but a bowl filled with ordinary water sits on my dresser. She didn’t have to explain what she meant. She continues to hold one impulsive decision over my head, continues to remind me of the only time I’ve challenged her. She’s never forgiven and she’ll never forget.

And no matter the cost, I’ll never regret what I did.

It’s petty, but I fling my glamour toward the scrying bowl, focusing my magick to cut with the same lethal edge her words held. If, not when. The hex collides with its target and the metal of the bowl gives a single tick when it flash-freezes.

Sudden silence from the living room.

A cautious call of “Lyne, you alright in there?”

Smith. Why couldn’t it be anyone else showing concern?

I don’t bother to answer through the door. It’s easier to exit my bedroom and head for the kitchen. Smith’s crew hovers anxiously between armchairs and a disgusting polyester monstrosity of a couch. Pizza boxes lie open on the coffee table. My stomach cramps in longing.