Devlin ignored the intimation that Irial knew about Ani. He accepted the glass and took a seat on the chair to Irial’s right. “Perhaps, but that’s not appropriate for those of my court.”
“And which court would that be, Devlin?” Irial never missed a chance to ask that particular question. Like the Dark Kings and Dark Queens before him, Irial saw things that Devlin would rather keep locked away.
“I belong to Sorcha’s court,” he said.
“Why? You aren’t like them. We both know that. If—”
“Stop.” Devlin drank, keeping his expression bland as he watched Irial. “I have no interest in what you think you know.”
“Aaah. You certainly are cruel enough to be High Court.” Irial looked briefly wounded, but the momentary sadness faded under the faery’s habitual wicked expression.
Devlin thought—not for the first time—how much different life would’ve been if he’d claimed the Dark Court when it was first created. Irial, like all the Dark Kings before him, was temptation personified. He had no need to repress his baser urges; he had no need to hide anything.
Unlike me.
Irial lifted his glass, peering into the amber liquid as if he’d see some truth waiting there. “You were at the Crow’s Nest.”
“I was sent to ensure that Seth is safe.”
“I see.” Irial took a drink and let the silence stretch out. “You could speak to my king if you have doubts of the boy’s safety. Shall I see if he’s in?”
Devlin weighed his words. It wasn’t as if he’d never conducted business without his queen’s consent; eternity was a long time not to chafe against the bounds of being ruled. He’d only acted without orders when it was for his court or queen’s best interests—or when there were no consequences to measure.
Except for Ani.
Devlin set his glass aside. “I’m not here about Seth, but I expect that you already know that.”
“Indeed.”
Devlin hated the necessity of speaking about it, of admitting to anyone that it mattered to him that Ani was vulnerable, but pride wasn’t a luxury he could have just then. “Ani is in danger, and I would like to keep her safe.”
The laughter that rolled out of Irial then held every dark thing that had once thrived in Faerie. “I doubt that safe is what Ani seeks.”
Devlin ignored that truth and added, “Ani is of interest to my sister. I would like to take her away from Huntsdale, but I suspect if I did so without informing her court, we’d be pursued.”
The guise of debauched layabout vanished. Irial’s smile was akin to an animal’s bared teeth. “Do you think I’ve hidden her only to have you take her to Faerie?”
“She is not being retrieved for Faerie. It would be best not to take her there…. Because of my involvement in Ani’s life, Sorcha does not See her.” Devlin said the words quietly.
Irial was silent.
“Now that Ani has come to your court, she is unsafe. Bananach has taken an interest in her too,” Devlin added.
“And why does the High Queen’s Bloody Hands involve himself in the safety of a Hound?” Irial swirled his drink. “It’s a conundrum. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Does it really matter?” Devlin asked.
“Perhaps. I suspect it matters to Bananach—and to Sorcha. It would matter to me if those I trusted were keeping such secrets. Do you suggest that it wouldn’t matter to them? To your queen especially?”
Irial wasn’t saying anything that Devlin didn’t already know. All faeries knew the importance of fealty. Once sworn to a king or queen, obedience was to be absolute. Devlin was acting in direct opposition to his queen’s orders—not only had he let Ani live, but he was working now to keep her alive instead of protecting Seth. Few faeries were likely to think that he would disobey his queen—except, of course, his queen herself.
Hasn’t she always known the day would come?
Time passed without words or sounds. It was akin to being in the High Court, silence and contemplation.
Finally, Irial said, “If Ani goes with you by choice, I will dissuade Gabriel and Niall from pursuing you. If she refuses, we will protect her here. It’s her choice though. Your vow on it.”
Devlin stood. “You have my vow that the choice is hers.”