Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

“What should I tell our subjects on campus?” I press.

Distracted, she waves a hand. “We’ll meet tomorrow to discuss it. I need to contact Dean Tanaka first. I’m sure the Seelie won’t want to risk further sanctions with stubborn posturing. They’re liable to be cooperative with a swift investigation into this attack.”

“We may be blamed for the increased risk to students from other pantheons.”

She purses her lips. Her words are measured, deliberate. “We have several allies who have been concerned that this war will spread beyond our borders. They would be interested to learn what weapons were used against their children tonight. I’m sure some well-placed comments could spur them to action. Their weight would benefit us with the other pantheons.”

“Good. It’s only going to get worse, especially after an attack of this scale.”

“You’re reminding our subjects to be discreet in their dealings with any Seelie?”

I nod. “Of course. No actions are taken on campus without my knowledge.”

“You’re a good ruler, my dear. Always have been. Your loyalty and intelligence are true assets. They’ll serve you well when you take on the mantle.”

Her easy words ring in my ears like funeral knells. The laws governing the Winter Knight’s role remain unchanged. Both Courts function on a balance of magickal power; the rulers and their children stabilize the forces of Summer and Winter. If the princes or princesses are few in number or, worse, weak, the Knight steps in. It’s a dangerous position; whoever wears the mantle directly shares the power of the faerie rulers, easing the trickle-down effect to their heirs. With our Court’s power hanging by the barest thread thanks to Sláine’s defection, the Knight has never been more necessary.

That knowledge doesn’t stop me from stiffening at the mention of the role. Mother’s confidence that I’ll give up my freedom to wear the mantle hasn’t wavered, despite my continual protests. I could argue again, but negotiating with her while I’m this tired is too great to risk. “I thought the situation was improving,” I get out through gritted teeth.

“Lugh’s growing stronger,” she agrees, “so we are managing for now.”

Managing means the strength of magick that should be balanced between three princes is finding new equilibrium between two. It’s a small victory, but doesn’t eliminate the threat of the Knighthood.

Lugh is often beyond our Court’s reach, making it difficult for him to learn how to properly bear the weight of his position, which forces Mother to rely even more heavily on me. No matter my feelings toward my eldest brother, we need him to return. We need him to reset the balance and take on some of the strain so the Winter Knight’s role is no longer necessary.

I try to keep my tone light when I ask, “Has there been any news about the High Prince?”

“No.” The air in the room crackles, it freezes so quickly. Mother sits ramrod-straight in her chair. “And we can’t wait for him any longer. There’s not enough time left. You should familiarize yourself with the Knight’s power before Samhain. Controlling it between then and Yule can be overwhelming—”

“No point rushing into it,” I interrupt. “There’s plenty of time to learn before Samhain.”

“Roark.”

“You said Lugh was improving. Did he visit? You should have let me know. We haven’t seen each other in a while. I would have come home.”

Mother locks gazes with me. Her eyes narrow at my blatant change of subject. “We can’t avoid this forever.”

I force a smile and continue blithely, “I’m assuming Keiran is still at his side. Between that man and the rest of the Wild Hunt, I think Lugh might be the most protected of all of us.”

“Don’t think you’re distracting me—”

“You may want to send him a raven to warn him about this recent attack. I doubt any Seelie would be foolish enough to hunt for him in the Wylds, but we didn’t think they’d come after our students on campus either.”

Mother may not be effusive, but she cares for all of us in her own way. She must be worried about Lugh, because she hesitates and considers my suggestion. It’s the opening I need to make my escape.

I rise, the motion anything but fluid thanks to my exhaustion. The throbbing over my spine has worsened as the skin there attempts to heal. At least I can’t feel the trickle of blood working its way past my belt and running down my leg into my shoe anymore.

“Bridget was preparing me a bath,” I say. “I want to clean these wounds before they finish healing.”

Mother sighs, but won’t risk my health. It’s not a true victory, merely a stay of execution. “How long do you plan to remain in the sídhe?”

“Only the weekend. I need to meet with everyone on Monday to discuss what happened.”

“Very well. Sleep as long as you need. I will reach out to the Pantheons today. We’ll meet tomorrow before you return to decide what you can share.” With a careless flick of the hand, the doors of her chamber open and I’m dismissed.

My chambers are ready when I arrive. Bridget started a fire and scented steam rises from the oversized copper tub. Various herbs float over the surface. I recognize most of them, the result of several centuries’ worth of her medical treatments. They might make the water sting initially, but they’ll ensure the wound is clean and heals faster.

I strip, hating the sensation of dried and drying blood flaking and peeling itself from my skin. As I expected, the herbs are a bit astringent, but it doesn’t take long for the myriad of pains to subside and for my muscles to relax.