A chiming noise began to echo through Faerie.
Rae slipped into Ani’s body, so the breath they shed was hers as well.
“With the breath”—Rae and Ani took the blade—“of mortal and faery…”
“We close the veils between the worlds,” they all said.
“Closing this veil is as all veils,” Devlin whispered into the air. “So mote it be.”
For a moment, the world was still. Behind them, more faeries had gathered. The cries and murmurings swirled together in an emotional cocktail of fear and hope and wonder. He could feel them, not all of them, but those faeries that were meant to be a part of his court, the new court.
This is right. He felt a calm that he’d never known before. The world was in order. He had found the place he belonged.
He turned to Ani and saw a look of fury on her face. “Ani?”
She was looking past him though—at the faery who now held a knife to his throat.
Ani had raised her own blade in reply.
“What have you done?” Sorcha asked from behind him.
Ani snarled, “You do not threaten my king.”
The wolves around her growled in agreement, as did Barry.
“Your what?” Sorcha asked.
Devlin turned to face the High Queen. Her knife pressed against his throat as he moved, leaving a trailing cut there.
“Our king.” Rae moved so she stood to his right. Her hand, though not solid, appeared to rest on Devlin’s forearm.
“The King of Shadows.” His gaze was only on Sorcha, but Devlin spoke loudly enough that the assembled faeries could all hear. “The king to balance the High Queen in Faerie. Faerie was never meant to be ruled by only one court. Our faeries were not meant to have only one choice.”
“You cannot.” Sorcha stared at him. She lowered her knife. “Brother… Devlin…”
Seth came behind her and put a supporting arm around her. He did not speak, but the expression on his face was not one of surprise. He’d known what was coming long before Devlin had.
“I am neither son nor brother to you, Sorcha. I am that which stands as your opposite within Faerie. I am that which balances your court.” Devlin spoke softly, wishing he could say the words to his queen-no-more in private, but she had removed that option by appearing here with her knife to his throat. He clung to the hope that she would see the rightness of his actions. “Bananach cannot come here. She cannot touch you, your son, or the faeries of your court or mine.”
Sorcha stared at him. Her expression shifted to a familiar one of objective observation as she felt the change within Faerie, as she became more herself again. Devlin hoped that she understood: what he did, he did to balance her; what he did, he did to keep his sisters from killing each other; what he did was the right answer for all of them.
This was the inevitable next step for them all. Every emotion he’d repressed for all of the long millennia behind him felt like it was rising up inside of him. His would be a court of passions, of emotions, of the very things that he’d fought to hide.
As such, he didn’t hide his relief or his sorrow as he told the faeries, “To prevent Bananach from coming here, our worlds are divided. None among you can cross the veil to the mortal world without the aid of both the Shadow Court and the High Court.”
Sorcha’s spine was stiff; the emotional instability she’d been falling prey to of late was no longer present in her visage or her posture. She nodded at him, and then turned away.
“Those of you who belong not to me, who would choose the… Shadow Court, know that I understand your actions. They are—as this was—inevitable,” she told them.
Then with a regal air that had been missing since the day Seth had left Sorcha to return to the mortal world, the High Queen turned her gaze to her son. “My advisor and heir, my son, your prince, will be liaison to the Shadow Court.”
With not another word, Sorcha left, attendants and many faeries in tow.
But not all.
In front of Devlin, Ani, and Rae were faeries, several score, who looked to them expectantly.
This is ours. Our world.