Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

It’s Herman who finally offers a hand to help me up and asks, “Ready to talk?”

Surprisingly, I am.

I tell them everything, although I dance around some of the finer details about my relationship with Roark. When I reach the part about him not showing up at the farm to help me with the spell because torturing one of the Seelie mattered more, I stop. There’s no need to reopen the wound. I told them this part already, in this exact spot actually, before Roark arrived and it all went to hell.

“So, that’s what’s going on,” I finish lamely.

Gumba reaches over and pokes my shoulder. I tilt my head toward him and he says seriously, “Sorry, Finny. I know it isn’t easy.” Conciliatory murmurs from the others.

Sharing the weight does make it easier, though. I let them distract me, buoy me along on random conversation, and we begin the trudge back toward the apartments. Sue, Herman, and Gumba get into a heated conversation ahead of me, while Sebastian lingers toward the back, twirling a weed in his hand the way I twirl Roark’s feather in mine.

Once the others are far enough away to not hear our conversation well, he clears his throat. “Finny?”

“Hmm?”

“I know it doesn’t help it hurt any less, but Roark’s probably worse off than you.” He must expect me to react poorly because he holds up a hand. “I’ve never seen him act like that with anyone but you. I think he might have loved you.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “He told me.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

Our footfalls are quiet on the paved sidewalk. I kick at a pebble and watch it hit the back of Gumba’s shoe and bounce off to the side.

Seb nudges me with his shoulder. “You’ll get through this,” he promises.

Surrounded by my friends, I allow myself to hope that’s true.

Roark

I stare blankly at the sheets of data spread over Mother’s desk. Lugh relaxes near the fire, the blue light dancing over his chestnut hair. Mother prepares us all tea. The irony of such domestic bliss doesn’t escape me.

“Without Sláine’s power to bolster our magick, we aren’t strong enough to march into the Summer Court.” I run a hand through my hair, the nightmare of logistics spewing uncontrollably through my thoughts. At least these nightmares don’t involve Smith.

I wince. Goddess damn it, every time I realize I haven’t thought about him for a bit, I reopen the fucking wound.

My brother doesn’t notice my misery. He’s too busy flicking droplets of tea at the fire just to hear them hiss. He truly is the Prince of Chaos. “Our numbers are that low even with the Hunt?”

I run my finger down the column, checking the calculations again. I can’t afford any mistakes. My heart couldn’t stand it. I’ve been bleeding over my last mistake since I returned to the sídhe.

“Even with the Hunt,” I confirm.

Lugh huffs. “Did you count Keiran as two? He fights well enough.”

“He counts as one. If he dies, it’s one casualty.”

Lugh glares at me when I say that. I ignore him. He wants to pick a fight. This is the longest in recent memory that he’s stayed at the sídhe and I can see the strain wearing on him. As a child, he had night terrors about the earth crushing him. He managed to escape life in the sídhe, and returns only when necessary; it seems to have helped him balance the chaos of his own mind. However, our failed rescue means reevaluating our strategies and Lugh needs to be present, no matter how uncomfortable it makes him.

I murmur a thanks to Mother when she sets my tea on the edge of the desk and pretend I don’t notice her staring at my shoulder.

Looking for fresh blood, no doubt. The wound isn’t healing well. Being scalded by the ley line and then draining my glamour fully for the second time in months in my effort to return home hasn’t helped the healing process either. I hate this new weakness. I don’t have time for it. I can’t risk her refusing to let me take up the mantle. So I hide it and make sure she doesn’t know how badly I really feel. At least my brother continues to be oblivious.

“What are the numbers with the Sluagh?” Lugh asks.

My brother and his obsession with the unaligned fae. The outcasts of the Courts may be numerous, but the risks that come from making deals with them is too great.

I wave his suggestion off. “We don’t control them.”

“I’m getting close.”