Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

Niall watched, studying the Dark King with a distant calm now, feeling no true emotions at all. “What knowledge?”

“The dark fey starve without emotion, darker emotions. It’s what”—Irial took a drag off his cigarette—“sustains us. Food, drink, air. Everything. There’s a great secret, Niall. There’s the thing that the others would use against us if they knew.”

Niall hesitated. Part of him wondered why Irial would take such a risk, why he would reveal his secrets, but another less easily embraced part knew exactly why Irial would do so: he trusted Niall. He looked away, lamenting the fact that Irial’s trust wasn’t misplaced. “So why doesn’t Keenan notice? Or Sorcha? How did I not know?”

“His volatile nature? Her imperviousness to anything she doesn’t like?” Irial tapped his ash onto the ground. “And you…I don’t know. I thought you’d figured it out back then, and when I realized the kingling didn’t know, I hoped that what we—”

“All of your court feeds like this?” Niall stopped him, not wanting to think about his time with Irial, the realization that Niall’s blurry weeks of mad pleasures had nourished Irial—as, no doubt, had the horrific things that followed when Niall ran.

“They do, or they get weak.” The Dark King’s face revealed a raw pain that was almost embarrassing to see, like glimpsing someone’s most private aches. “Guin died…from a mortal bullet. She was shot.”

Irial stared at the crowd. A barefoot girl was dancing on the hood of a parked car. The driver was holding out her shoes and gesturing at the ground. Irial smiled at them before turning back and adding, “You care for Leslie. If you had known she was already mine, you would’ve tried even harder to keep her from me. You’d have fought for her.”

I knew Irial wanted her and—Niall stopped himself, uneasy with the fact that Irial could read what he was feeling, and more important, that Niall could use this knowledge to destroy Irial. If the courts knew that they were so easily read and assessed, it would be hard to convince any of them to tolerate the Dark Court’s continued existence.

“Beira knew all of this,” Niall said.

“We needed her. She needed us. Else I wouldn’t have helped her bind the kingling. She kept things in upheaval when my fey needed it.”

“And Leslie fits in how?”

“I needed a backup plan.” Irial smiled, but this time it was dark and deadly, tinged with more than a little challenge. “I need her.”

“You can’t have her,” Niall started. But Irial gripped his arms: every lovely memory Niall had run from and every whispered horror of the Dark Court came rushing to his mind in a morass—then Niall felt like he was swallowing it, like he’d been drinking that too-sweet, forcibly forgotten wine. “Stop.”

Irial let go of him. “I know Keenan has misled and deceived you. I know he was sending you to our girl, putting her in your path. Gabriel watched you struggle with your response to her…. I will not mislead you, not again. I would welcome you back into my home, where Leslie will be. I would still offer you my throne when you are ready.”

Niall blanched. He’d been willing to endure whatever he’d needed to in exchange for Leslie’s freedom. Kingship? Affection? That was not at all what he’d expected. It’s a ruse, just like always. There was never anything real in what we once were. Niall ignored all of it. “Would you let her go free in exchange for my fealty?”

“No. She stays, but if you want to be with her, you are ever welcome.” Irial stood and bowed from the waist as if Niall were his equal. “I won’t let my court suffer, even for you. You know what my secrets are, what I am, what I offer you still. I can promise you that she will be kept as happy as I can make her. Beyond that…come home with us or not. It is your choice to make. It has always been your choice.”

And Niall stared at him, speechless, unsure of what answer he could offer that made any sense. He’d spent a long time not remembering the bond he’d shared with Irial, not longing for those years, and not admitting any of this each time he’d crossed paths with Irial. He realized now, though, that no matter how carefully he’d guarded his secrets, he’d been transparent to Irial. If the Dark King could read his emotions, could taste them, he’d known of Niall’s weaknesses each time they’d met. I’ve been exposed to him the whole time. Irial didn’t shame him for it. Instead he held out the same acceptance he’d offered centuries ago—and Niall didn’t, couldn’t, reply.

Irial said, “It’s been a long time that you’ve been living for Keenan, paying back some perceived debt. We are what we are, Niall, neither as good or as evil as others paint us. And what we are doesn’t change how truly we feel, only how free we are to follow those feelings.”

Then he slipped away into the crowd, dancing with mortals as he went and looking every bit like he belonged there among them.

CHAPTER 28

It was evening when Leslie woke in her own room, wearing the same clothes she’d worn the night before. She’d slept for more than twelve hours, as if her body were fighting off a flu or hangover. She still didn’t feel right. The skin around her tattoo felt tight, stretched too thin. It didn’t burn, or itch, or anything that would make her suspect infection. If anything, it felt too good, as if extra nerves were throbbing there.

Downstairs she could hear cartoons. Ren laughed. Someone else coughed. Others spoke in low voices and broken sentences she couldn’t quite understand. She started to feel the familiar panic, terror that she was here, that she had no clue which of the others were down there.

Idly she wondered when her father had last been home. She hadn’t seen him. Someone would call if he died. She didn’t worry over him as she had done for so long. I should. Panic started to choke her. Then it just vanished. She knew that she had changed, and that Irial, who’d caused that change, wasn’t human.

Am I?

Whatever Irial had done, whatever Rabbit had done, whatever her friends had hidden from her…She wanted to feel angry. Objectively, she knew she should feel betrayed, feel despair—rage, even. She tried to summon those feelings, but only the shadows of them rose. The emotions weren’t hers for more than a moment before they fled.

Then Ren was calling up the stairs in a strangled voice, “Leslie?”

With a calm that should have been impossible, she rolled out of bed and went to her door. She was unafraid. It was a remembered feeling, one she liked. After turning the locks—which someone had thrown—she walked to the top of the stairs. As she looked down, she saw him, Irial, standing there beside her brother.

“What are you doing here?” she said. Her voice was even, but she shivered. This emotion, excitement, didn’t flee. Unlike the others, this one stayed and grew.

“Seeing you.” He held out a hand. “Assuring that you are well.”