Stopping Time and Old Habits (Wicked Lovely 2.50)

“Within the year.”

Irial shook his head. “That is impossible.”

“Two years.”

“No more than three years,” Irial offered. “You have eternity to rule them; three years is but a blink.”

For a moment, Niall considered forcing the matter, but if it had taken him centuries to change, it was far from unreasonable for Irial to ask for a few years. Niall nodded. “Done.”

“May I rise now?” Irial asked.

“Actually, no. You can stay like that. In fact, maybe you should always stay like that when you bring me news.” Niall dropped the barrier and told his court, “I am a member of this court, not merely your king.”

They paused, a calm rippling over the melee for a moment.

One faery asked, “So we can hit you?”

“You can try,” Niall challenged, and then he launched himself into the fracas. He was a part of them, rejoicing in the violence that fed them, standing alongside them as he hadn’t done since he’d walked away so many centuries ago. He felt their excitement at his inclusion in their fight, and he smiled.

This, at least, I understand.

Chapter 10

Irial felt unconscionably proud of his king as Niall waded into the fight that was now more than a conflict between Devlin and the Ly Ergs. The fight had evolved into the sort of raucous brawl that erupted often in the Dark Court. It was a way to let off steam and a way to create nourishment for one another. What would look like senseless violence to outsiders was, in actuality, a way of caring for one another. They created fear and anger in one another, and in doing so, they created that which they fed on. It wasn’t Irial’s preferred sustenance, but he could see the beauty of it.

Especially when Niall fights.

Niall had always fought with the sort of unrestrained passion that awed Irial. The Dark King was in the thick of the fight, swinging at Hounds and Ly Ergs and Vilas.

Glass shattered over Irial and rained down on him. With it came the remains of a bottle of merlot. The dark wine dripped on Irial, but he stayed exactly where his king had told him to stay: kneeling in the midst of the chaos of a beautiful, bloody battle.

The fight now included a full three score of faeries. More than a few faeries took advantage of the melee to pelt things at him or at the walls and ceiling. Debris rained on him. At least three blows struck him. He didn’t ignore them, but fighting while remaining kneeling was a new challenge.

Finally Niall came over and grabbed him by the upper arm. “Get up.”

Silently, Irial obeyed. He could barely restrain the joy he felt, but, overjoyed or not, he had obeyed—and that was the point. He brushed bits of glass from his arms and shook splinters of wood from his hair.

“Stay next to me or next to Gabe,” Niall demanded as he swung at an exuberant thistle-fey. “Clear?”

“Yes.” Irial grabbed a length of what appeared to be a chair and sent it like a spear toward Devlin.

The High Court assassin knocked it from the air with a nod. He wasn’t injured in any visible way, but he was blood-covered and smiling. Devlin might choose to ignore the fact that he was brother to both Order and Chaos, but here in the midst of the Dark Court’s violence, it was abundantly clear that he was not truly a creature of the High Cour

t.

Another faery went sailing through the air, knocking into Devlin as if a running leap would make a difference. It didn’t. The High Court’s Bloodied Hands swatted the faery from the air and moved on to the next opponent.

“They lack structure,” a Hound grumbled as she stomped on a fallen Vila’s hand. “No plan in the attack.”

“Was there supposed to be a plan?” Irial asked.

The Hound looked past him to Niall, who nodded. Then she answered, “No. Gabe thought a bit of sport would be good for everyone. The king agreed.” She lowered her voice a touch and added, “He fights well enough that I’d follow him.”

“He is remarkable.” Irial glanced at Niall. The Dark King was enjoying himself as the fight began to evolve into a contest of sorts. In one corner, Devlin stood atop a pile of tables and wood; in another, Gabriel stood with his back to the wall; and beside Irial, Niall stood on a small raised platform. All around the room the Dark Court faeries scrabbled toward one of the strongest fighters. Without speaking, the brawl began to resemble nothing so much as a bloodier version of King of the Hill. Everybody wanted to topple one of the best fighters, if even for a moment, and all of them were having fun.

Devlin had more than held his own against the Dark Court’s fighter, reminding them that he was not to be ignored. All of the faeries in the room had more nourishment than could’ve been hoped for as a result of the flare of violence and blood sport.

And Niall made his point.