“You almost control the people of the Wylds?” I don’t bother to hide my incredulity. “Since when, brother mine?”
Lugh’s never had much control over his glamour. He tries to hide his angry flush from me now, but isn’t fast enough. “Since almost a year ago,” he says, defiance sharpening his words.
“Impressive. Unfortunate that you haven’t succeeded yet or come home to update us so we can help with the task.”
I don’t mean it cruelly, but that doesn’t matter. My brother puffs, the icy
bite of his magick crawling through the air. “I run the Hunt. If the Sluagh belong to anyone, it’s me, brother mine.” Such animosity in that endearment he flings back at me.
It’s unexpected. I’ve always supported Lugh in my own way. When he chose to abandon us to lead the nightmarish cavalry of the Wild Hunt, I stood beside him and argued his case to Mother. I never once told him that spending time with those barbarians was beneath his birth, like others in the Court did. And I’ve never questioned his goal of brokering an alliance with the Sluagh. Sláine, on the other hand, always has. Their brutal fights are part of the reason they are so rarely in Court at the same time. Lugh’s never before forgotten my trust in him.
My own suffering shortens my temper. “I am not the High Prince,” I snap. “Save your bile for the brother you intend to usurp.”
It’s a low blow. I know that and regret letting it slip out the moment I say it. He stands, teacup falling to the carpet, left arm drawing back as he reaches for his glamour.
“Enough.” Our mother’s voice cracks like a whip and the lights flicker.
I blink ice from my eyelashes. My hand clutches my rapier. Lugh’s frozen, the living shadow creature of the hex he’s cast ready to fly forward toward me. Ah, here’s the family I know and love.
“This is what the Summer Court wants,” she reminds us, pouring herself a cup of tea as if we weren’t just about to rip each other limb from limb. “Have you forgotten the importance of the Triumvirate so easily?”
This time, Lugh and I both flush a dark shade of humiliation. Since Lugh’s birth, the Triumvirate has been used by Mother to remind us of our bond. It’s our gospel. It is preached every time we fight, every time we threaten to never speak to each other again. There is so little holding our Court together now, so little chance that Sláine will come home and restore the balance. If Lugh abandons us, there will be no hope left at all. With only one heir remaining, Mother would refuse to let me take on the Knight’s mantle. She would be forced to hunt down Smith and would kill him. I cannot allow that to come to pass.
Which is why I sheathe my weapon and face my younger brother. “I’m sorry. I was being cruel and petty and you didn’t deserve that. If you are making inroads with the Sluagh, you should be commended.”
He blinks, disarmed by my candor. The writhing thing in Lugh’s hand vanishes as he lowers his arm. “You mean that?”
“I do.”
Mother’s gaze flicks back and forth between us. She remains silent, forcing us to work this out on our own. We should. We’ve been avoiding it for too long already.
I step toward the desk, gesturing for him to join me. “It’s early yet, but if you were to bring the Sluagh and their magick to the Winter Court, things would change. We should discuss that.”
The tentative step he takes toward me is the first victory I’ve had all day. Hours later, Mother sends Lugh to find Keiran so they can discuss their next moves. The room is strangely silent after he leaves.
On the desk before me, new plans and scribbled notes overwhelm my earlier, precise columns of figures. The Sluagh are comprised of two major factions and ruled over by the strongest warrior between them. Their combined numbers are greater than the population of both Courts; if Lugh can win one of them to our side, we would be strong enough to stand against the Summer Court. And the only way to do this is to challenge their current leader and win a place on their throne.
With Keiran and the Hunt at his back, this may be possible. Then it becomes a question of his surviving others’ challenges long enough to lead the Sluagh into battle with us. Only he has had the freedom and time to commit to such a campaign, and he believes he can win the Sluagh over through his exploits as the Horned King. Whether I wish it or not, the numbers say I have to trust his instincts. My younger brother is now an integral part of our plan to ensure the Unseelie Court’s survival. In a matter of hours, he’s gone from a liability to an ally.
“Roark,” my mother asks from her seat near the fire, “what just passed between you and your brother?”
“I’m not sure. A beginning, I suppose.”
“I find your change of heart troubling.”
“Of course you would, Mother.” I smile. It’s a little ragged, tremulous after this many days of misery. A first step, I remind myself. I go to sit beside her.
She doesn’t look at me.
“What’s bothering you?” I ask.
“The imbalance weakens me.” My proud mother, unable to share her shortcomings with me, afraid of tarnishing her image in my eyes, is so ashamed to admit the truth. “The Summer Court played us well, darling. I should have noticed it sooner.”
“Noticed what, Mother?”
“Each fall when they were supposed to restore balance and surrender power to let the world slip into winter and cold, they did. But they kept tiny pieces of it, stealing it over the centuries. They stole power from us, until now what they give us is crumbs compared to the feast we used to enjoy.” She glances at me and it takes a moment to determine what I see in her eyes. Fear. My mother, the Queen of Air and Darkness, is afraid.
“Roark,” she warns, “they mean for this to be our end.”