Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

And Niall had been disgusted that he’d all but handed mortals over to the Dark Court, and when Irial offered him a trade—“You entertain the court or they can, Gancanagh. Fear and pain is the coin for their ransom. It matters little to me who pays it”—Niall had thought to do the right thing, giving his vow freely in exchange for the release of the addicts. In the end, it hadn’t mattered: the addicts still withered away, pleading for the drug that was in Niall’s skin.

Keenan was speaking again. “What you are has never been used as an asset to our court.” He had a faraway look, both pensive and calculating. “If I’m to keep our court safe, I need to use all our assets.”

Keenan uncorked a bottle that had been sitting on a warming tray, poured the honeyed drink into two glasses, and held one out.

Niall couldn’t respond, couldn’t speak. He just stared at his king.

“Even with Irial swaying her, Leslie will want you, and he still wants you. We can use this to learn the other secrets Irial’s court hides from us.” Keenan offered Niall the glass again. “Come now. He’ll not strike out at you. Mayhap he’ll share the girl, and—”

“You knew. That Leslie was marked by him, that—”

“No. I knew there were mortals being marked and taken in by Dark Court faeries. I hoped we’d have learned more by now, sorting out why or how they were bonding with mortals. Now we just need to reassess. This isn’t over. She wants you. I saw her watching you before this all began. I can’t think Irial’s claiming her will erase that. This could be better than I’d hoped. If she survives, she’ll be in a position to learn much. She’ll tell you. She’ll do what you want just to be near you.” Keenan offered the glass a third time. “Drink with me, Niall. Don’t let this put us asunder.”

Niall took the glass and, watching Keenan as he did it, dropped it on the floor. “I’ve lived for you, Keenan. My life, my every decision for nine gods-damned centuries. How could you violate her like—”

“I’m not the one who violated the girl. It’s not my blood under her skin. Irial—”

“Irial wasn’t the one playing me this time, was he?” Niall bowed his head as rage vied with despair. “How could you use me, Keenan? How could you keep secrets from me? You manipulated me….” He took a step closer to Keenan, approaching his king with anger, with the temptation to raise a hand to the faery he’d sworn to protect, to honor with his last breath. “You still want to use me. You knew, and—”

“I’d heard about their ink exchanges, suspected that Leslie was one of them, but finding out the secrets of the Dark Court is far from easy. She’s just one mortal. I can’t save them all, and if one or two fall so we can keep them all safe…This is no different than it’s ever been.” Keenan didn’t back up, didn’t summon guards to his side. “We can use this to have what we both want.”

“You encouraged my interest in Leslie, set me up to disobey Aislinn, my queen, your queen.”

“I did.”

As Niall stood there, trembling in his anger, all of Keenan’s statements of late came crashing in on him; the truth of what Niall hadn’t seen, by trust or foolishness, was heart crushing. “And you don’t feel any remorse, do you? What she’s suffering—”

“Irial is a threat to our court.” Keenan shrugged. “The Dark Court is too awful to be allowed to thrive. You know as well as I what they’ve done. You bear the scars. I won’t have him strong enough to threaten our court, especially our queen. He needs to be kept in check.”

“So why not tell me?” Niall watched his king, hoping for some answer that would ease the weight that threatened to break Niall’s spirit as surely as the Dark Court once had.

But Keenan didn’t offer such an answer. Instead he said, “And have you do what? Tell the girl? I saw you swaying to her as it was. Mine was a better plan. I needed you to have a focus, and she’s as good a focus as any.”

Niall heard the logic in the words, had heard his king speak thusly over the centuries when he seduced the mortals who were now Summer Girls. It didn’t change anything: Niall’s loyalty and partnership were rewarded by disregard and cavalier dismissal.

“I can’t accept…won’t accept this,” Niall said. “I’m done.”

“What do you mean?”

So Niall said the words that would undo his oath: “My fealty to the Summer Court is rescinded. You are my king no more.” It was a simple thing to end what should matter so much. A few words, and he was alone in the world again.

“Niall, think about it. This isn’t worth leaving.” Keenan sounded nothing like the faery Niall had thought him to be. “What was I to do?”

“Not this.” He stepped around Keenan. “I’d rather be solitary, courtless, without a home or king…than be used.”

He didn’t slam the door, didn’t rage, didn’t weep. He simply left.

Several hours later, Niall was still walking through the streets of Huntsdale. There was some sort of event, leaving the streets full and noisy, matching the din inside him. I’m not any better than Irial. I’d have made her addicted like the junkies she fears. And his king had known that, used that. I failed her.

It wasn’t often that he lamented being the one who followed and never led, but as he walked through the dirty mortal streets, he wondered if he’d made the right choice so long ago when Irial’d offered to make Niall his successor. At least then I’d have more choices.

Niall waded through the mostly mortal crowd. The fey who mingled with them hurriedly stepped out of his path. As the crowd moved, Niall saw him: Irial lounged against a storefront.

“I heard you were out and about,” the Dark King said, “but I was beginning to think my fey were wrong.”

“I want to talk to you,” Niall began.

“I’ll always welcome you, Gancanagh. That hasn’t changed.” Irial gestured to the tiny park across the street. “Walk with me.”