Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

Dad taps my arm. “You good, Phineas?”

I nod and force a smile, hating how it pulls at my cheeks. “Yeah, Dad. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Roark

The poor bastard on the rack has screamed so much that the crack of the flail against his raw back only draws a wheeze this time.

Mother makes a face. “A little higher this time, Grimwort.”

The redcap nods and aims toward the unbroken flesh. I cover my tea with my hand, protecting it from the drops of pale violet blood spattering near us.

“Now,” my mother murmurs as she moves back into her prisoner’s line of sight, “are you willing to tell me what you know about my son?”

I roll my eyes when he starts shaking. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity and clearly this one doesn’t understand that concept. After an hour of my attention, Mother came down and got involved. We’ve teased out most of the story.

His rank was stripped when it was learned he was dealing moonweed from Queen Titania’s personal garden for enough cash to cover a quick succubus fix. He is familiar with the dealings and backdoor pacts of the Seelie Court, although he hasn’t spoken much about Sláine. Something about my brother’s situation terrifies him enough he’s willing to suffer to keep his mouth shut.

Even now, he doesn’t tell us what we want. Instead, he pleads, “Please, Your Majesty, I don’t know.”

“Tell me how Sláine fares in your mistress’s Court.”

He stammers some weak excuse, one that sends the temperature in the room plummeting with the queen’s bad humor. I take another sip. They always have the best Darjeeling here in the sídhe.

It takes a moment to register that my phone is ringing. Mother gives me a look of long-suffering as I hurry from the room, mouthing silent apologies on my way. I close the door behind me, confused to see an unknown number. “Who is this?”

“Roark?”

The dusty, shriveled excuse I have for a heart spasms at the sound of Smith’s voice. “Smith? Why are you calling me?” I step out of the way of a hob carrying fresh towels and move toward a small alcove for some privacy. “What do you want?”

A muffled scream pierces the halls. Mother must have found a new method to push our guest with.

“You’re still planning on coming back, right?”

I dig in my pocket and check my watch. It’s Saturday outside the sídhe. Shit. This interrogation is taking longer than I expected. But I still have time. He doesn’t leave for Mathers until Monday; I can make it to him before he leaves.

I grimace when the scream changes pitch, crossing into that high keening that means someone’s at the end of his rope. On the other end, Smith falls silent, too. We both remember when he made that noise. And I will ice the world over before I hear Smith sound like that again.

“Guess your mother’s hard at work. Are you helping, or sitting back and watching still?”

I suck in a breath, shocked by the unexpected display of bitterness.

“I... It’s not... I didn’t know you were...”

Smith swears and the weight of my past negligence crushes me. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He clears his throat. “Lyne, how much longer do you think you’ll be there?”

Focus, Roark. “I’m not sure. Things here are...delicate.”

“Well, things here are complicated. Do you think you can meet me soon? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important—”

Squelching from the hallway. I pop my head around the edge of the alcove and wave at the redcap. “Here,” I call.

From the phone, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes. Hold on—”

“Your Highness,” the redcap says, “Her Majesty is waiting for you. The prisoner has news about your brother.”

“Smith, I need to go.”