Once the others were out of sight, Evan announced, “I have word of trouble from the Dark Court.”
“More conflict?” she asked, as Evan led her around a group of junkies on the stoop of an abandoned tenement building. When she’d walked with Keenan over the years, he’d always sent a cloud of warm air to such mortals. Unlike him, she couldn’t offer them any comfort.
Keenan. She felt the fool for being unable to stop thinking about him. Even now. Every other thought still seemed to lead to him, even though he’d been gone for almost six months. With no contact.
She exhaled a small flurry of snow. In almost a century, she’d never gone very long without seeing him, or hearing from him, even if it was nothing more than a letter.
“Bananach attacked the Hounds two days ago,” Evan said, drawing Donia’s attention back to him.
“A direct attack?”
Her guard and advisor shook his head. “Not at first. One of the Dark King’s halflings was caught and killed, and while the Dark King and the rest were mourning, Bananach attacked them with her allies. The Hunt is not reacting well.”
Donia paused mid-step. “Niall has children? Bananach killed his child?”
Evan’s lips curved into a small smile. “No. Neither Niall nor the last king has children of his own, but the former Dark Kin
g always sheltered his court’s halflings. His fey—Niall’s fey now—are amorous creatures, and the Hounds mate with mortals far more than any other fey. It is an old tradition.” Evan paused and flashed a faux-serious look at her. “I forget how young you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you don’t. You’ve known me most of my life. I’m just not ancient like you.”
“True.”
She waited, knowing he wasn’t done. His patterns were a familiar rhythm by now.
“The Dark has a regard for family that is unlike the other courts.” With a slight rustling of leaves he moved closer. “If Bananach is killing those dear to Irial . . . the court will be unstable. Death of our kind is never easy, and the Hounds, in particular, will not deal with pointless murder. If it were in battle, they would accept it more easily. This was before the battle.”
“Murder? Why would she kill a halfling?” Donia let frost trail in her wake, giving in to the growing pressure inside. It was not yet spring, so she could justify freezing the burgeoning blossoms.
Evan’s red eyes darkened until they barely glowed, like the last flare of coals in an ashy fire. He was watchful as they moved, not looking at her but at the streets and shadowed alleys they passed. “To upset Irial? To provoke the Hunt? Her machinations aren’t always clear.”
“The halfling—”
“A girl. More mortal than fey.” He led Donia down another street, motioning for her to step around several more sleeping vagrants.
She stopped at the mouth of the alley. Five of Niall’s thistle-clad fey had captured a Ly Erg.
When Donia stepped into their field of vision, one of the thistle-fey slit the Ly Erg’s throat. The other four faeries turned to face her.
She formed a knife of her ice.
One of the thistle-fey grinned. “Not your business.”
“Does your king know—”
“Not your business either,” the same faery said.
Donia stared at the corpse on the ground. The red-palmed Ly Erg was one of those who often lingered in the company of War. They were all members of the Dark Court, but the Ly Ergs gravitated to whoever offered access to the most fresh blood.
Why are they killing their own? Or is this a result of factions in the Dark Court?
The murderous faeries turned their backs to leave.
“Stop.” She froze the metal fence they were about to scale. “You will take the shell.”
One of the thistle-covered faeries looked over his shoulder at her. The faery flashed teeth. “Not your business,” he repeated again.
The Winter Queen advanced on him, icy blade held out to the side. It was a sad truth that the fey, especially those of the Dark Court, responded best to aggression. She raised the blade and pressed it against the dominant faery’s throat. “I may not be your regent, but I am a regent. Do you question me?”