Radiant Shadows (Wicked Lovely 4)

With the taste of my blood.

CHAPTER 8

Devlin stood shivering in the alley outside the Crow’s Nest. Much like his mother-sisters, he required blood, and none but his mother-sisters’ blood had ever been truly sustaining.

Until now.

With one taste, he knew: Ani’s blood was different. She was different.

He’d bled every species of fey there was; he’d bled mortals and halflings. Eternity had given him more than enough time to do so. He hated his need for blood, but he was made, not birthed, and that was the cost. His life wasn’t natural, and being made of the twins had brought an unpleasant side effect: without absorbing blood, he would weaken. He took what he could in the violence that was his role in Faerie; it wasn’t truly sustaining. Only the combination of the blood of both Order and Discord kept him strong—and getting their blood always had costs and complications.

As if bleeding Ani wouldn’t present complications? How did one start that conversation? Hello, I almost murdered you once, but I noticed that your blood—just a bit here or there— would be really useful. Devlin shook his head. The shock of the cold rain that had begun while he was in the club helped him feel more alert, but his thoughts still felt muddled.

He tried to focus on the logical details: perhaps sparing Ani was going to change his life in positive ways—instead of the disastrous way he’d expected should his treachery be exposed to the High Queen. Until tonight, he’d thought Ani’s was a brief mortal life. Considering the time difference between the mortal and faery worlds, such a

span was easy enough to hide. As a mortal, Ani—the living proof of Devlin’s disobedience to his queen—would exist for only a blink: Sorcha would not know he’d failed her.

Now, however, Devlin knew that the girl he’d not-killed was only barely mortal and becoming less so by the moment. He could taste it in the single droplet of blood she’d shed. Ani was something new, something unlike any other faery he’d met in all of eternity. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or alarmed. He couldn’t hide her from Sorcha forever, but he could be sustained by whatever irregularity her blood held.

Is she my salvation or damnation?

Seth suddenly stood across from him. Seth wasn’t calm as he was within Faerie. Instead he looked ready to lash out at Devlin. “Do you have any idea who that girl was?”

I have all sorts of ideas.

Devlin didn’t raise his voice or his hand—although the temptation was very much there. All he said was, “It is not your concern.”

“It is, actually. Ani belongs to the Dark Court.” Seth stepped closer and lowered his voice. “If Niall or Irial saw you with her, they would have questions about our queen’s intentions and—”

“I know.” Devlin’s voice revealed his ire then. “Your tone is unappreciated nonetheless.”

Seth stopped and took a deep breath.

“Sorry. It’s been a long night.” He wiped the raindrops from his face and smiled wryly. “Actually, it’s been a long year. The guy from earlier is doing okay, I think.”

Devlin nodded. He had no care over the injured mortal’s state. He hadn’t stabbed the mortal, hadn’t done anything untoward. It mattered to Seth though. He was too recently mortal to understand that the deaths of mortals at Bananach’s hands were merely a fact of being. Over the centuries to come—if Seth lived—he would grow used to it. War brought death and pain. It was who she was.

For several moments, the only sounds were the strains of music from inside the club and the conversations of mortals outside the building. The rain seemed to be making the edges of the world out of focus.

With practiced attention, Devlin forced himself to focus enough to visually examine Seth. “You are unharmed?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Seth rolled his shoulders.

“Our queen asks after you,” Devlin said. It wasn’t the message Sorcha had explicitly conveyed, but Devlin felt too tired to try to rephrase the truth as he probably should. “She… worries.”

Seth’s expression turned to blatant affection. “Will you tell her I’m fine? I miss her, but I’m fine. Things here are weird. Keenan’s”—Seth lowered his voice—“missing.”

“His court?” Devlin blinked as another peculiar wave of exhaustion washed over him, as if he’d been doing something strenuous. He stepped backward, bracing himself with a wider stance so as not to sway but not yet leaning on the wall.

“The Summer Court isn’t just his, but it’s… not doing as well as it should.” Seth scowled. The calm he had within Faerie was absent out here. In the mortal world, Seth was not High Court.

Is that what happens to me? Devlin forced himself not to ponder personal things, forced his attention to political matters. “Are they weakened? The Summer Court?”

“Some, but…” Seth’s words faded as he looked away. “The court’s health is about the health of the regent, you know?”

“And neither the Summer King nor the Summer Queen is happy.” Devlin gave in and leaned against the brick wall. Just for a moment. He ignored the curious feeling and asked, “And Winter?”

“It’s that time of year soon, so Don’s doing alright, I guess. Angry. Worried about Keenan, and pretending she’s not hurting. I saw her and—”