Darkest Mercy (Wicked Lovely 5)

“I would’ve given up the faery I love, devoted eternity to you, to them”—Keenan glanced to her left, where Tavish now stood, and then looked back at her—“but I need the love and passion you do not offer me. So do you. The lack of passion, of love, of happiness weakened my . . . your court. The court is now stronger than it’s been during my life.”

“But . . .” Aislinn tried to stand, but found her legs still too weakened to support her. Tears slid down her cheek, and she saw rainbows arc across the sky, matching the trail of her tears. “If you could walk away . . . I don’t understand. Why couldn’t I? This is what you always were.”

Keenan pleaded for understanding with his expression. “I was born of two courts, Aislinn. There was a choice for me. One I couldn’t make before, but now the Summer Court is in capable hands.”

“And you are what?” She tugged on his hand, trying to pull him to his feet, but he shook his head.

“Dismiss me,” he requested. “As the only Summer Court regent, give me your first command.”

Tears clouded her vision, and rainbows flared all over the sky. “Keenan . . . you are ever welcome in my court should you need solace or a home. You remain a friend of my court . . . under our protection should you need it.” Then, in a shaky voice, she added, “You are dismissed.”

He stood and silently left the park. As he passed, the rowan knelt. The Summer Girls curtsied as one; their vines became like solid ink on their skin as they stood, no longer depending on their king-no-more. The curse that had bound them to him was ended.

They’re free.

Chapter 28

After Evan’s death, Donia felt numb. Evan had watched over her since she’d first become fey. He had been her guard and her friend for decades. To some, that was but a blink. For him, it was a moment. To Donia, it was the whole of her second life. There was rage, grief, heartbreak, but she kept those emotions submerged in the weight of the snow and ice inside of her. I cannot wail, not yet.

The Hound Chela had deposited Donia and Evan’s body at the Winter Queen’s home, and then elicited promises that Donia would not cross the line of guards and Hounds stationed outside—not that they alone would be enough to stop Bananach.

Which leaves the king-in-mourning, the fey-only-a-year queen, the Summer King, or me.

Donia thought of Beira, the late Winter Queen, with an unexpected pang. Beira was diabolical in many ways, but she was strong enough, cruel enough, and skilled enough to fight Bananach. And dead. Donia sighed. Beira’s death had saved lives—including mine—but it had eliminated the most powerful of the regents on this side of the veil.

A veil that is now closed.

With a solemnity that she used to hide the sorrow inside of her, Donia stared at the earth; then, with a breath, she lifted all of the snow from the tree beside her favorite spot in the winter garden. The Scrimshaw Sisters, Hawthorn people, lupine, and myriad other of the Winter Court faeries clustered in the garden. Several of the guards carried Evan to the spot she’d cleared.

Silently, they arranged his empty shell on the wet soil.

When they were done, Donia pulled the remaining moisture from the soil on which he rested, and Evan’s body sank into the earth. Tears slipped down her cheeks as the ground accepted him, and as she wept, snow fell from the sky. “Good-bye, my friend.”

She bowed her head, and her faeries began to depart. They were mostly all gone from her presence when three of the Hawthorn stopped. One of them asked, “Would you prefer solitude or companionship for your mourning?”

“Solitude.” She lifted her gaze to them. “Unless business requires it . . .”

With soft brushes of their hands over her arms and shoulders, they left her alone in the winter garden where her friend, guard, and advisor was now buried. As soon as they were gone, she parted her lips for the shriek of hurt and rage that she’d held inside. The sky tore open, and a winter storm whipped around her. The wind lashed her cheeks; the ice hammered her upturned face; and the snow wrapped her in its much-needed embrace.

The Winter Queen knelt on the again-frozen earth and wished there were more she could do to avenge the death of the faery who had protected her in her years as Winter Girl, who had helped her adjust to being Winter Queen.

I want her death. She paused. This is what Niall feels. What Gabriel feels.

There was no doubt in Donia’s mind that the actions Bananach had taken were planned: she wanted their pain and rage.

Why?

Donia forced her emotions back under the calming press of the snow she carried inside her and walked into her home. She was a faery in mourning, but she was also a queen in conflict. She wouldn’t allow her emotions to keep her from being a good queen. Evan might not be there advising her, but he had counseled her often enough that she knew what he would tell her: understand Bananach’s motivations, study the patterns.

Inside her house, Donia sat before the vast stone fireplace in one of the lesser-used rooms and started writing down what she knew. The activity had the added benefit of distracting her.

She was shifting through Evan’s piles of letters and papers, hoping for more information to add to her puzzling-out of Bananach’s behavior when one of her fey came into the room.

“Donia? My Queen?”

She looked up at Cwenhild, the Scrimshaw Sister who waited in the doorway. “News?”

“A guest.” Cwenhild frowned. “He waits to see you.”