Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

What little desire I had left to eat vanishes. Alcohol is the better choice. “How fortunate. We may as well start now, so we can be finished before dessert. Should I eat this course slower so you have time to go change into the proper mourning garments?”

Mother’s sharp inhalation echoes around the room, but I take only detached notice of her pain. I’m too focused on drowning my own sorrow with wine and wishing it were something stronger.

We continue to eat and drink in silence. Family meals have always been like this. Worse, if my brothers are home. None of us can seem to sit together for more than a few minutes before testing each other’s armor so we can land the swiftest injury. A family’s love always cuts the deepest. Our bonds are nothing like those in the stories I overhear Smith sharing when he returns home from the holidays.

Listening through the door of my room while he and the satyr talk, there’s always a strange jealousy when he shares what his mother’s cooked, or what chores he helped his father with. There’s much affection and appreciation in his voice when he speaks of them. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a few pathetic fantasies of what it would be like to go home with him for a break, to introduce myself to them, to be welcomed into their perfect little family.

I’m nearly done with the second bottle of wine, mulling over how contradictory Smith and I are. There’s no common ground between us, not really, so I never should have fallen for him as I have. And, oh, how I have. Tumbled from that precipice with a smile on my face for the ground rushing up to meet me. Ice and fire, darkness and light, drawn and tied to him like a shadow to its caster.

As if she knows the direction my traitorous mind has turned yet again, my mother points at me with her knife. “Since we’ve already given up on civility, there is one more issue we need to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“The human has been found out.”

I’m dumbfounded. I barely manage to maintain my glamour, and my voice wavers a bit when I ask, “Found out? What is there to learn? That he’s an idiot with spells?”

“Goodfellow brought rumors from the Summer Court. They know he protected our people at the ball.”

I don’t dare to meet her gaze while my brain rapidly reviews the careful lies I’ve told her already. “Of course they know he used his power as a shield. They were the ones attacking us.”

“Our fair cousins are curious about this newfound control.”

The glass in my hand frosts over. I turn it this way and that, pretending to admire the pattern of hoarfrost, while I frantically think up an excuse. “Attempted, more like. He’s still hopeless. Powerful, but lacking control. He’d be as likely to burn down the sídhe as defend it.”

“They say he protected you.” The dancing lilt of her voice doesn’t ease the punch of her words.

More glamour to muffle the rapid beat of my heart and the faint click of the glass’s stem flexing in my hand. Keep Smith safe. “There’s nothing there, Mother.”

“Are you so sure, my son?”

She never calls me that. This is not a battle I’m prepared for. Not when my mind’s a web tangled around memories of Smith’s kisses and smiles and jagged reminders of how I’m not allowed to keep them. Mother’s lashing out in an effort to redirect her own pain, and I’m too tired to play her whipping boy.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” I announce, setting down my glass and wiping my lips with a napkin. “My spell holds.”

It’s a bold statement to make to her, a reminder of a fight our relationship still hasn’t recovered from. A thin layer of clear ice curls over the edges of her plate.

Her eyes narrow at my warning and her smile is razor-sharp. “Then perhaps it’s best that I step in. I wouldn’t want our rivals to steal him away.”

A crack as the flash-frozen wine in my glass splits its delicate shell.

“That may be inadvisable, as he’s come to me for help in learning to control his powers,” I state blandly as I can manage. How much can I give away? “I doubt he’s at risk while he’s in such close proximity to me. Surely we should wait a little longer before deciding his fate.”

“Sláine’s defection has nearly destroyed the balance of our Court.” Her words are blunt, hard, and cold. “The human is our greatest threat. Should the Seelie claim him, we would not survive.”

“The Seelie have shown no interest in him yet.” I lean forward across the table. “If we try to kidnap him again, they will know he’s a linchpin and will make an all-out assault to claim him. Leave him alone, Mother. The war is inevitable. Don’t drag him into it now.”

“Then give me a reason not to.”

I think I unde

rstand the difference between Smith and me and why our lives seem so entwined. He wins by fighting on, driven by selflessness and the struggle to master his magick. I’ll win by surrendering, taken over by the Knighthood and lost to everything but the power of the Winter Court. This goes beyond us. Balance. The payment of life for life.

“You need assurance that our Court will be safe? Fine. On Samhain, I’ll take on the mantle.”

I’m not sure how long we watch each other. Her glamour presses against mine, inspecting me for any crack, any weakness that would allow her to see my true face. I’ve woven it too tightly.

“Mother,” I murmur, “you know why I do this. Leave him in peace and you’ll have your Knight.”