Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

Several score of her own court followed the accused into the room. Hira and Nienke, handmaids and comfort to her these past few centuries, came to sit on the stair at her feet. They were clad in simple gray shifts that matched her only slightly more ornate garb, and like her, they were barefoot.

She motioned to Devlin.

He turned so he was angled, not putting his back to her but facing the Ly Ergs and the court attendees. Standing thusly, he could see everyone.

“Does your king know you are here?” he asked the Ly Ergs.

Only one replied: “No.”

“Does Bananach?”

One of the four, not the same Ly Erg, grinned. “Lady War knows we act to bring about her wishes.”

Sorcha pursed her lips. Bananach was careful—not acting to overtly sanction an attack on Faerie ground, but undoubtedly encouraging it.

Devlin looked to Sorcha.

She gave a curt nod, and he slit the Ly Erg’s throat. The movement was steady, but quick enough that it was silent.

The other three Ly Ergs watched the blood seep into the rock. The Hall absorbed it, drinking in the memory of the dead faery. The Ly Ergs had to be physically restrained from touching the blood. It was their sustenance, their temptation, their reason for almost every action they undertook.

Scuffling ensued as the Ly Ergs tried to reach the spilled blood—which both displeased and pleased Devlin. He smiled, scowled, and bared his teeth. It was a brief series of expressions that the court would not see. They knew not to look to Devlin’s face when he was questioning uninvited guests.

Sorcha listened to the truths the Hall shared with her: she alone heard the whispered words that shivered through the room. The High Queen knew that the Ly Ergs weren’t acting on direct order. “She did not specifically instruct them to come to Faerie.”

Her words drew all gazes to her.

The floor rippled slightly as the stone opened and enfolded the Ly Erg into the firmament of the hall. The soil under her feet grew damp, and she felt the silvery veins in her skin extend and burrow like roots into the hall, taking nourishment from the necessary sacrifice to Truth—and magic.

Blood had always fed magic. She was the heart of that magic. Like her siblings, she needed the nourishment of blood and sacrifice. She, however, took no pleasure in it; it was mere practicality to accept it. A weak queen couldn’t keep Faerie—or the magic that fed all faeries in the mortal world—alive.

“Your brother’s death is an unfortunate consequence of treading in Faerie without consent. You did not come to me upon entering Faerie. Instead you attacked members of my court. You bled one of my mortals.” Sorcha looked out at the assembled members of her court, who watched her with the same unwavering faith they always had. They liked the stability and safety she gave them. “Over there, other courts also have rights and power. In Faerie, I am absolute. Life, death—these and all things are at my will alone.”

Her fey waited, silent witnesses to the inevitable restoration of order. They understood the practicality of her choices. They didn’t flinch as she let her attention slide over them.

“These three intruders struck one of my mortals in my lands. Such a thing is not acceptable.” Sorcha caught and held Devlin’s gaze as he looked up at her. “One may live to explain their transgression to the new Dark King.”

“As my Queen wills, so be it,” he said in a steady, clear voice that was in extreme contrast to the gleam in his eyes.

The court attendees lowered their gazes so the sentence could be carried out. Understanding did not mean relishing the bloodletting. High Court faeries weren’t crass.

Most of them at least.

With a slow, steady hand, Devlin dragged a blade across another Ly Erg’s throat. Here in the Hall, touching the soil and stone, Sorcha knew Truth: the blade wasn’t as sharp as it should be and her brother took pleasure at the finality of these deaths. Most important, she knew that he cherished the fact that his action gave her the nourishment that she needed for the High Court to thrive, that this was another secret they shared.

“For our court and at our queen’s will and word, your lives are ended,” Devlin said as he lowered the Ly Erg to the gaping hole that opened in the stone.

He repeated the action, sacrificing the third faery.

Then he held out his bloodied hand to her. “My Queen?”

With her feet in the soil, she knew that for an instant he wanted her to rebuke him for enjoying the Ly Ergs’ deaths. He dared her to chastise him as he stood with spilled blood on his hand. He hoped for it.

The court lifted their gazes to the dais.

Sorcha smiled reassuringly at Devlin and then out at them. “Brother.”

The silvered threads in her skin thrummed with energy as they retracted into her skin again. She took his hand and stepped to the already immaculate floor where the remaining Ly Erg stood and looked longingly at the blood on her hand.