Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

The glamour he wears like armor cracks. His smile’s lopsided, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. He slides a hand through my hair, leaning in after his touch with closed eyes and a faltering sigh. “Will you be all right? I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be fine. Take however long you need.”

“No. I promised I’d help you at the farm,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll be there.”

“You don’t know if that’s true.”

He opens his eyes and scowls at me. “I’ll make it true.”

I shake my head. “If your mother called you back to the sídhe, she won’t let you leave to help me. She’ll make you choose, and we both know you’ll do what’s best for the Court.” Roark’s sense of purpose is something I admire, so I ignore the ache of disappointment his leaving causes and do my best to smile. “I get it, Lyne. It’s your job.”

His eyes narrow and his lips peel back from his teeth as he snarls, “For Herne’s sake, trust me, Finn.”

Stepping out of his reach is like defying the pull of gravity. But I do it. Let my hands fall. We watch each other in that charged silence.

My mouth’s dry, my throat tight. “I do. I do trust you. Just...don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Don’t give me false hope.

Roark understands what it means to carry an unwanted burden, when it’s easier to abandon it or break under it. Allowing myself to rely on him, to share my weaknesses without doubting his intentions, is like reaching out for him when I channel the ley line.

And, as always, he’s already waiting to reach back to me. “I don’t.”

I shudder when he clasps my face in his hands and rests his forehead against mine. “Finn,” he whispers, “I won’t let you down. Wait for me. I’ll be there.”

His kiss is gentle and aches with something too fragile to say. And then there’s nothing but cold and wind and the door closing behind him.

Roark

Mother’s waiting when I arrive at the sídhe. She sweeps a hand toward me and one of her redcaps hurries to collect my bag.

“What happened?” I ask her, peeling my suit jacket off and tossing it to her lackey. “Goodfellow said I was needed immediately.”

“Lugh brought us a present.”

“What was it this time? A deer’s head?”

“Far more useful. A Seelie who was cast away by Titania this morning. The Hunt found him. Lugh thought we could coax him into telling us news of Sláine.”

“You mean Keiran thought he could be useful to us,” I correct. Lugh’s lieutenant of the Wild Hunt and personal bodyguard is the only level head in the group. Thank the Goddess Lugh listens to his advice.

Mother shakes her head and turns left down the hallway leading past our training rooms. The thick carpet running the length of the space muffles the click of her heels. Servants clear a path, bowing as she passes.

“No. Keiran was prepared to behead him and leave him there as a message for other Seelie who wandered too far from their sídhe. It was Lugh who stayed his hand.”

Her news shocks me. My younger brother is impetuous, headstrong, and rarely concerned with matters of the Court. Yet, he halted his revelries to bring us a prisoner who may know how to bring our oldest brother home. Blood will win out, it seems.

“Impressive. Where is the prisoner now?” I ask, trailing after her as we wind our way down narrower and narrower halls. The temperature drops. The walls that are normally decorated with paintings and tapestries become more and more barren, until nothing but roots and moss and dripping water decorate them.

“Chained and awaiting our ministrations.” Her lips purse and she taps her finger against her chin. “The green room, I believe.”

How unfortunate. Perhaps Bridget can bring me a change of clothes. The green room has better equipment, but a higher likelihood of bodily fluids spilt as a result.

“I didn’t interrupt your evening, did I?” she asks.

The question is sweetly innocent and I know without doubt that Goodfellow fed her every tiny detail he could about Smith. So I play along. “Of course not, Mother. I am your humble servant.”

She gives a delicate sniff. “Humble? Really, Roark, there’s no need to overdo it.”

“If you’re eager for news of any nonexistent developments in my relationship with Smith, you could simply ask.”