Darkest Mercy (Wicked Lovely 5)

Several more Summer Court guards came up on either side of her. Tavish stayed slightly in front of her. As far as Aislinn could see, faeries engaged in fights to the death, and somewhere in that morass of violence Seth was trapped.

“Lead on,” she told Tavish as she directed several more sunbeams at the seditious faeries.

Tavish nodded to one of the guards, and as a group they advanced through the center of the conflict while the rest of her guard engaged the faeries fighting for Bananach. Blades of all sorts flashed in the sunlight that radiated from her skin. If it had been only Summer Court faeries fighting on her side, she could have let the full force of her light shine, but some of the Dark Court faeries were there to oppose Bananach. A solar flare would blind and injure allies too.

A storm wouldn’t favor only her side either.

One at a time, then.

She didn’t know how many faeries stood between her and Seth, or even where to look for him, but he was in there.

As are my faeries and my friends.

Aislinn, Tavish, and the rowan advanced slowly, and as they did, she aimed sunbeams and sent vines tangling the enemies. They weren’t fatal strikes, but killing still made her squeamish. In defense, she could do it. Or if Seth is injured. She blanched as a thistle-fey skewered a vine-wrapped faery, but she continued as she was. Mercy wasn’t the way of the Dark Court fey.

It won’t be mine either if Seth is injured . . . or worse.

Chapter 36

The Winter Court was last to arrive. In front of her, Donia saw Summer Court and Dark Court fey. The crush of

faeries extended from the warehouse to the edge of the street and spilled into the block around them. Various rowan and Summer Girls—Summer Girls?—fought the enemy. Others dragged mortals away from the violence.

“Summer, move!” Donia waited the count of three for the faeries to get to safety before she hissed a breath of ice into the street, chasing the mortals away effectively and quickly. The ice from her lungs wasn’t thick enough to kill the Summer Court faeries who weren’t out of her reach, but it did make a couple of them falter.

“Winter, here.” She let another, much stronger gust of ice coat the ground. She could keep the mortals from crossing the line into the faery war that had erupted.

Beside her several of the most dominant of the Hawthorns and Scrimshaw Sisters and lupine stood awaiting her decisions. She gave her faeries an icy smile. “Winter shows no mercy to Bananach. Push forward into the thick of the fight—but only if doing so does not make the boundary porous. No escapes.”

At her word, all of the faeries beside her except for Cwenhild carried the word to the troops. The Scrimshaw Sister waited. Without any ceremony or drama, Cwenhild had stepped up to fill the role of chief guard and advisor.

Donia looked at her questioningly.

She shrugged and said simply, “I protect my queen.”

“I will fight.”

Cwenhild shrugged again. “So be it.”

Donia hadn’t had the years of fighting experience that the Dark Kings or the Hunt had, but what she did have was power that ached to be released. The sheer number of faeries

fighting in the streets outside the Dark King’s warehouse

made it impossible for her troops to get inside, so Donia stayed with her fey. She felt the pain of loss strike her when her faeries fell, felt the cold satisfaction of their victories, and she shivered at both sensations.

Mine. They are mine to protect.

In the midst of the fight, Ankou and Far Dorcha strode through the bodies; the death-fey were untouched by the violence. No stray arrows or knives’ tips pierced them. Their clothes were torn, and the hem of Ankou’s winding sheet was heavy with blood and dirt and ice. She went about her macabre business, collecting the corpses, removing them from the fight—and for the first time, Donia understood the need for the death-faery’s work. The fallen did not deserve to be left to be trampled; the living didn’t need to see their comrades dead in their path. Ankou did necessary work in the midst of battle.

“My Queen?” Cwenhild prompted.

“None of Bananach’s faeries are to get past you.” Donia looked up, aware that both Far Dorcha and Ankou had stopped mid-step to look at her. The suddenness of their gazes made her falter. Seeing Death gazing back at her so studiously wasn’t encouraging.

My faeries bleed.

“I go with you. I protect my queen first and always,” Cwenhild insisted.

“No.” Donia pulled her gaze away from the two death-fey. “You know how to lead them in battle. That is my order, Cwenhild. They need a general, and I need you to lead them, not guard me.”