An offense for which I could be executed, abandoned, cast out of Faerie… and rightly so. A feeling that he recognized as guilt twisted inside him. I am High Court. I am Sorcha’s to command. I will not fail my queen ever again, he repeated his daily reminders silently to himself. Aloud, he added, “I am not refusing, but I am your advisor, my Queen, and I do not recommend leaving you alone when you seem…”
“Seem what?”
Devlin’s position was one of obeisance, but he caught and held her gaze with a boldness none other in Faerie would dare. “When you seem to be developing emotions.”
She ignored the reality he’d spoken and said only, “Tell him I wish he would come home. You will stay there… for as long as he needs you.”
“I am yours to command, my Queen.”
“Are you?” Sorcha leaned into the veil of thorns that had grown around her, and just as the jagged edges would pierce her, they vanished. Then, thorns sprouted from the earth at his knees, around her feet. The vines climbed her body, and crept over her arm to her fingers. She raised her hand and pressed it to his cheek, so that the sharp edges pierced them both. “Are you truly mine, Brother?”
“I am.” He did not move away.
“You will see her.” Sorcha’s blood dripped onto his skin, mingling with his own.
His body absorbed the blood she offered. As with the twins who’d created him, Devlin needed the nourishment of blood. Unlike them, he needed the blood of both Order and Discord.
“I will see Bananach,” Devlin admitted, “but she does not command me. Only you. I serve the Unchanging Queen, the High Court, Faerie.”
The vine crawled from her flesh onto his, where the nourishment she’d filled it with was his to take.
“For now.” Sorcha brushed her hand across his cheek. “But nothing lasts forever. Things change. We change.”
Devlin couldn’t speak. This was the closet to open affection his mother-sister had ever shown him. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or alarmed. Reason wasn’t to act thusly, but in some hidden part of his mind, he’d wondered if she felt tempestuous emotions, if she merely hid them away better, if she’d chosen to let logic reign over her.
“Everything changes in time, Brother,” Sorcha whispered. “Go to Seth, and… be wary of War. I would rather you were not injured.”
He opened his mouth to question her, but she turned away, leaving him silent in her gardens.
CHAPTER 3
Ani had gone to the Dark Kings’ home knowing it would be another painful experience—and not the fun kind of pain.
Irial held one of her hands in his. It was a comfort of sorts. “Are you ready?”
“Take it.” Ani extended her other arm toward the former Dark King. She stared at the fleur-de-lis wallpaper, at the flickering candles, at anything other than the faery sitting beside her. “Take all of it if that’s what you need.”
“Not all, Ani.” He squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “If there was another way—”
“You’re my king. I will give whatever you ask of me. Do it.” She watched as he jabbed a thin tube into her skin. Bruises from the last several tubes decorated her skin like love bites.
“Not your king now. Niall’s the Dark King.”
“Whatever.” Ani didn’t resume the argument she’d lost too often: Irial might be king-no-more, but he had her loyalty. Truth be told, he had the loyalty of many of the denizens of the Dark Court. He might not rule them, but he still looked after them. He still handled those matters too disquieting for the new Dark King. Irial cosseted Niall.
Ani, however, wasn’t sheltered. Not anymore. When Irial learned that Ani could—that I need to—feed from both touch and emotion, he’d begun trying to find out how to use that for the Dark Court. According to Irial, as a halfling, she shouldn’t have either appetite. She certainly shouldn’t have both; and she definitely shouldn’t be able to find nourishment from mortals. Irial believed that Ani’s blood might hold the key to strengthening their court, so she’d become the subject of his experimentation.
Which is fine. For my court. For Irial.
“More?” she asked.
“Just a bit.” Irial bit the cork that sealed the next vial and tugged it out. He spoke around the cork held between his teeth and added, “Tilt down.”
She lowered her arm, clenching and unclenching her fist to pump the blood faster. She wasn’t sure if it actually helped the flow of blood, but it did give her the illusion that she was doing something. Bloodletting hadn’t become easier despite the number of times she’d done it.
With her free hand, she took the cork from his mouth. “I have it. Grab the next one.”
As the vial filled, Irial took another empty one from the rack and lifted it to his lips. Once it was uncorked, he switched the empty vial with the now full one. “Take this?”