They stood at an impasse. Keenan clung to his hatred of Irial, but he was relieved that Niall was speaking to him civilly.
Niall walked away, and Keenan followed him farther into the wreckage of the Dark King’s home. The destruction was somewhat expected: he’d known that Niall wasn’t dealing well with his grief. What was unexpected was the sight that greeted him as they entered what appeared to have been a study: in the doorway stood the mortal who had been the source of Niall’s ire at Keenan.
“What is he doing here?” Leslie folded her arms over her chest.
The Dark King turned his back to Keenan. “Les? I thought you were still sleeping.”
The mortal marched across the room with a self-
confidence utterly at odds with the broken spirit he’d last seen in her. She stepped in front of Niall, putting herself between the two faeries, and pointed at Keenan. “Don’t you upset him.”
Keenan held up his hands disarmingly.
“He’s . . .” She glanced over her shoulder at Niall, and her ferocity vanished. “He’s going to be fine. He’s already much clearer today, so you can just walk out of here.”
“Les?”
She looked at the Dark King.
“Did you know?” he asked. “About Iri?”
“That he died?” Leslie took Niall’s arm and led him farther away from Keenan. “You told me, but I knew when I got here.” She shot a glare back at Keenan. “We talked about this. When you woke up, Niall, you were better than before. You weren’t thinking right because of fatigue, but it’s better. You’re better, and I’m going to stay a few days, help you get settled with the . . . things that he handled.”
“He’s not dead,” Niall told her. “He’s still here. Keenan said—”
“Get out,” Leslie snarled at Keenan. She stepped away from the Dark King faster than a mortal should be able to move and advanced on Keenan. “He’s upset, and whatever you did or said made him worse—”
“Irial is inside Niall,” Keenan said.
“Get out!” Leslie grabbed Keenan’s shirt and started to tug him toward the door. “Get out. Stay out. Just leave us alone.”
“Shadow Girl? Leslie, love?” Irial-Niall grabbed her hand and tugged her away from Keenan. The Dark King kept hold of her as he turned her to face him. “The kingling is telling the truth. I couldn’t tell you last night. I wanted to, but there are rules.”
“Iri?” Leslie gaped at the Dark King. “Honestly?”
“I’m here.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve been here since I died. Every moment.”
“Iri . . . oh gods, I thought . . . He . . .” She leaned against him, and whatever she said next was muffled against his chest—or Niall’s chest, in actuality.
“Far Dorcha is still in town because of you,” Keenan announced. The missing detail suddenly became clear. The head of the death-fey had come to Huntsdale because of the peculiarity of Irial’s state of death.
As Irial-Niall turned, he kept one arm around Leslie, and for an odd moment, Keenan wasn’t entirely sure which of them was currently in possession of the Dark King’s body. “Yes.”
Leslie looked at Irial-Niall. “Who?”
“Death,” Keenan answered. He sat down on the edge of a relatively clean table near the unlit fireplace. “I will do whatever Niall needs, but we have to have a plan. Far Dorcha can’t stay in town. Bananach is already trouble enough.”
“Her,” Leslie muttered. “She needs to die an ugly death.”
“My bloodthirsty girl.” Irial smiled at Leslie, and the proud darkness in that smile made quite clear that it was the former Dark King in control.
Leslie scowled. “I’m not bloodthirsty, but . . . seriously, she killed you. She needs to be dead.”
“Except killing her could kill every faery, love,” Irial pointed out. He glanced at Keenan and added in a level voice, “That’s the problem. It’s the only reason our boy hasn’t gone after her. Perhaps you might take it up with your ex-queen’s . . . What is he?”
“Ex-queen?” Leslie’s eyes widened. “Ash isn’t Summer Queen now?”
“She is,” Keenan said. “I’m no longer Summer King, though.”