Darkest Mercy (Wicked Lovely 5)

“The message, Quinn, is that his queen—your queen—has summoned him.” She smiled, not kindly but with a cruelty that she’d had to learn when Keenan left her to rule the Summer Court on her own. With a deceptively soft voice, she asked, “Is there a reason you want to know what I say to another faery? A reason you question your queen?”

Quinn lowered his gaze to the muddy floor. “I hadn’t intended to insult you.”

For a breath, she considered pointing out that she noticed that he had avoided the question she’d asked. Misdirection, omission, and opinion were the faery standbys to work around the “no lying” limitation. Quinn, and a number of other faeries, seemed to think that her relatively recent mortality and her age made her easier to mislead. And sometimes it has meant that. Not always, though. She kept her own expression as mask-bland as his.

“Fetch Tavish. Find some answers on where in the hell Seth and Keenan are. I’m tired of excuses . . . and I want instruction on how to enter Faerie,” she said.

Then, before her mask of confidence slipped, she turned away.

Chapter 5

“My staying here in Faerie is not an option,” Seth repeated to his queen. “You know that as well as I do.”

Sorcha turned her back to him, as if the movement would hide the silver tears that trailed down her cheeks, and walked away.

“Mother.” He followed her into the garden that had replaced the wall of his room as she had approached it. “You needed me, and I came.”

She nodded, but didn’t face him. Tiny insects that were neither dragonflies nor butterflies darted toward her, fluttered briefly, and zipped away. The metallic glint of their wings made the air around her appear to glitter.

“I’m not going to respond well to being caged. You knew that when you chose to be my mother.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned toward him.

“I can’t see you, and their world is . . . treacherous.” She pursed her lips in a pout that made her seem childlike.

“If I were the sort to abandon those I love, I wouldn’t have come home to you,” Seth pointed out. For all of her centuries of living, parenthood was new to Sorcha. Emotion was unfamiliar to her. There was bound to be a bit of adjustment.

Her adjustment just about ended the world. He put his arm around her and led her to a stone bench. If she were angry . . . The thought of a furious almost-omnipotent queen made his skin grow cold. Devlin had done the right thing in closing the gate to the mortal world, trapping Sorcha here in Faerie.

Sorcha clutched his arm so tightly that he had to hide a wince of pain. “What if she kills you?”

“I don’t think Bananach will.” Seth pulled her to him, and she let her head rest on his shoulder.

“I can’t go after her.” Sorcha, the very embodiment of reason, sounded petulant. “I tried the gate.”

“I’m sure you did.” He bit back a smile, but she still lifted her head and looked at him.

“You sound amused, Seth.”

“You’ve been all-powerful since you first existed, and now there are restrictions . . . and emotions . . . and”—he squeezed her briefly—“you wanted to change, but it’s not as easy as you expected.”

“True . . . but . . .” She frowned. “How is that humorous?”

He kissed her cheek. “Your worry and your desire to be near those you love are very human. For someone who isn’t my birth mother, you have traits I share. I return to the mortal world to be with those I love.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder again. “I would rather you stay here in Faerie, where I can keep you safe.”

“But you understand why I’m not going to?” he prompted.

For several moments, she didn’t answer. She stayed next to him, and together they were silent. Then she straightened and turned to face him. “I don’t like it.”

“But you understand?” He took both of her hands in his so that she couldn’t walk away. “Mother?”

She sighed. “If you get killed, I will be vexed.”

“And if I kill your sister?”

“I would be pleased.” Sorcha’s voice became softer.

“Was that your plan when you made me a faery?”