by Melissa Marr
After a moment, she asked, “Do you even know her name? The faery you will bed?”
He shrugged.
“I hate this world, Niall. Tell me it will get easier. Tell me I’ll get better at being inhuman. Tell me that there are reasons to endure this curse.” Her sorrow manifested in a sprinkle of snow. The curse had changed her, filled her with borrowed ice. Every day until she was freed, the Winter Girl would be in pain.
It made him want to sooth her, kiss her, offer her joy. More than that, though, her curiosity made him excited. Conversations were what he missed most from his years before the Summer Court, and they were treasures he safeguarded when he found them. The Winter Girls—whether Rika or those before or after her—were prone to asking questions, and he liked being the one they sought. He angled for it when they were still mortal.
“Sometimes, it’s better.” Niall took her hand in his, ignoring the ice that was creeping painfully over his skin. “In the end, I believe that love overcomes. I believe in peace. I believe everything will one day be in balance.”
Rika erupted into laughter. Frost coated her lips, and shards of ice clattered as they fell from her eyes. It was not precisely the reaction he’d sought, but she no longer sounded as if she might hurl herself into the sea.
They passed a few moments in companionable silence before the Winter Girl asked, “Do you think she’s here? The queen?”
“Keenan feels pulled here.” Niall shrugged. He no longer let himself hope as he once had. Perhaps the missing Summer Queen was here, but he didn’t know.
“What happens when she’s not?” Rika asked quietly. “How do you stand by and let him steal another girl’s humanity? How do you let him ruin lives? Damn women and girls to either his harem or . . .?”
“To your fate?” Niall finished. He leaned in and brushed a kiss over Rika’s icy temple. “I stand by because I know that sacrificing a few people means that we stand a chance of stopping Beira. Until Keenan’s powers are unbound, he cannot stop the Winter Queen. The world will slowly freeze and die. A few lives are changed--”
“Ruined,” she interjected.
“Challenged,” he said. “But in exchange, they become immortal. They lose humanity, but gain so much. It’s worth it. Your sacrifice is worth the eventual victory for all of humanity and faeries.”
“Spoken like one who did not pay the price,” Rika said.
They were silent.
Niall wasn’t about to admit that he understood her sacrifice all too well. He’d paid a high cost of his own to save mortals. He’d sacrificed his body to the whims of the Dark Court to rescue mortals—only to discover that they were dying already. He’d paid with his flesh, and the memory of it haunted him still.
The knowledge that he’d been betrayed by the only man he’d loved had twisted inside him in ways he didn’t share. Knowing what he’d lost, Niall couldn’t truthfully say that he’d make the sacrifices she had to risk everything to save the court, the king, and the world, but he understood her bitterness and rage all too well.
“I do understand, Rika.” He weighed his words. “I would speak to you of it if you wish. I have bled to near death for misplaced love.”
“I hate him,” she whispered. “And I hate that I will see him over and over.”
He nodded. That, Niall understood, too.
“Beira will be in the city. Keenan.” Niall stared out at the sea. “Winter and Summer will meet, and the city will suffer. We will suffer. This is simply the nature of the curse.”
“What sort of monster creates such a curse?”
Niall offered her a smile. “A faery, Rika.”
She walked away, leaving him to his mood. That was a gift she did not realize she offered: space to be himself, to not be the cheerful Summer Court advisor. Sometimes he wondered if the requirement to speak to the newly-made Winter Girls was Keenan’s way of letting Niall have moments of peace—or if was simply how Keenan coped with his own grief.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was ending the curse that had bound the Summer Court for almost nine full centuries. They were fumbling, never knowing if they had overlooked the one mortal Keenan needed to find. All they had were Keenan’s instincts. He would feel drawn somewhere, and then he’d feel drawn to someone.
And when he was wrong, Rika was the result. Another life destroyed because of the curse. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, the queen would be found, and the freezing years would end. The alternative, eventually, was death for them all.
Irial
Irial had lingered after Thelma had fled. He wasn’t used to having such feelings. The last time he had let anyone into his heart, it ended badly. The Dark King used to think he fell in love easily and often, but a thousand or so years ago, he’d let himself believe that love was a thing that could last for longer than a few decades or centuries. He’d thought about forever—and learned that his court wouldn’t tolerate such weakness.
They’d scarred his beloved inside and out, and there was no way to atone. Irial had not been celibate or anything so very maudlin afterwards, but he’d kept careful watch over his heart. Thelma was the first person in centuries to come close to making him forget caution.
One of his faeries, Jenny Greenteeth, slipped from the waters of the river where she’d accepted his gift of a man to drown. Her algae-covered hips swayed as she ascended the bank to join him. Her skin was deep green, and her hair was a beautiful twist of seaweed.
“Jenny,” he said in a warmer than usual voice.
She was a hag of some repute. Like the rest of her kin, Jenny could slide between the faces of a lovely lass and a wrinkled crone as the mood or need demanded. And Irial was fond of her for her uncommon honesty; when he failed, Jenny was quick to question him. When he succeeded, she was quick to offer him a freshly slaughtered sheep or some other token of her kindness.
“The water folk say a ship is coming.” Jenny motioned east, in the general direction of their long-ago and future home. “Trouble on the mist.”
“And blood?”
Jenny flashed her deep green teeth at him in a look of fear and joy. “Always, m’lord.”
Irial nodded at her wisdom. It wasn’t exactly a “thank you” for the man he’d tossed into her reach, but it was payment in kind. Jenny Greenteeth and her sisters were the measure he used to determine the way and weight of the future. When Jenny saw peril, trouble for him and his court was bound to follow.
The trick Irial had found was to be where trouble wasn’t.
“So, we shall pack our frippery and set out,” he said in a more cheerful voice than he felt.
“We can stay and fight.” Jenny’s hands clenched as if a sword was in reach. “A little slaughter. Feed the fields.”
Irial paused. He wasn’t sure he wanted to fight, but running would mean leaving Thelma before he’d even begun to properly seduce her. That stung.
“The court is already filled from the suffering that Winter causes,” Irial said mildly. “They’re nourished.”
“But are they happy?” Jenny met his gaze with a clear-eyed look that told him more than enough about his court’s mood. Then she added, “Bananach comes ever near.”
“War?”
Jenny punched a passing mortal woman who stumbled and looked around. She quickly blamed a man who was staring at her and slid a delicate knife from her pocket.
The green-toothed faery steered Irial toward the river. “She comes, Irial. She wants violence that she’s not finding on the other side of the veil.”
“Faerie is where she belongs. Not here. And not in our court.” Irial let Jenny lead him into the river.
Jenny sighed, as if the sound pulled the Mississippi into her body. Her hag wrinkles and sags faded away until she was as firm and voluptuous as a maiden ready to be debauched.
“Nourished is not sated, Irial,” she reminded him. “We are the dark, some of our court are like leeches eager to drown ourselves in blood. Until we burst, rec
over, and begin again. Have you forgotten?”
Her hands cupped his face, and he was reminded of algae and sea weed as her skin slid over his.
Jenny pressed her lips to his, drawing strength from him until he shoved her away from him and into the water. She caught herself with her hands on the jagged rocks. They were bloodied as she pushed to her feet.
“If you mean to keep us pleased, my king, you will let us take our pleasure before they chase us to another city,” Jenny advised him. She outlined her lips with her bloodied finger, and pulled a glamour over herself to make the blood look like lip rouge and her tattered dress seem like the finest silk.
Irial matched her guise, appearing like a perfectly pressed mortal man, as he extended a hand to her.
“Take me to your house of sin, sir,” Jenny murmured, no longer seeming fey at all.
“Do you mean to work there?”
“Seduce the mortals? Leave them dying for another kiss from my lips?” Jenny’s voice was raw honey and sex. “Yes, kind sir, I think I shall.”
They walked in companionable spirits as he escorted her to one of the brothels in the city. They paused at the door, and he took her face in his hands in a mimicry of the kiss she had given him.
“Winter is stronger and stronger, my king, and if you do not give them reminders of who we are, rebellion will come. Bring us violence, Irial.” Jenny kissed him, deep and long, and then she said, “We will not serve a weak king.”
He rapped on the door.
When his mortal madam opened the door, he ordered, “Genevieve speaks little English.” He took Jenny’s hand and spun her round. “A virgin. Auction her to the highest bidder.”
Jenny glanced at him with widened, falsely innocent eyes. She’d destroy a man that night, and the mortal man in question would empty his coffers for the poison of her touch.
“I know who I am,” he whispered in her ear. “But I am ever glad for your counsel.”
He patted her derriere and turned away.
If Irial was going to suffer, he would seduce the lovely Miss Thelma Foy.
Irial made his way to his solicitor and check on the arrangements to buy the jeweler who’d made Thelma weep. The girl would have her art in front of people, and she’d no longer need to debase herself to do so. He had no intention of telling her that just yet—perhaps ever—but if he was going to wear her ring, he was going to pay his debt to her.
“I want Onyx Jewelers,” he explained to his solicitor a short while later. They were seated in an office that would not be out of place in London or New York. “The shop, the contents, everything but the staff. Those we will decide on when the new manager arrives.”
“Sir—”
“They have a month to vacate,” Irial pronounced.
“But sir, the shop isn’t for sale. They said--”
“I will buy it.”
“There are other shops. I spoke to them as you requested, but they declined.”
“Mr. Saunders, he will sell, or I will send my people.” Irial let a trickle of terror glide into his voice. He might not summon that as easily as he did lust, but he was the Dark King. He was capable of eliciting every dark urge that mortals hid. “Do you understand me? Do you see the decision he must make? You can impress upon him that the store will be mine. He offended my lady, you see, and a gentleman such as myself cannot let an insult stand unanswered.”
Saunders nodded. “I see, sir.”
“Make sure he does as well,” Irial said as he stood to take his leave. “Pay a fair price, but if he does not sell, there are other avenues I will be forced to explore. It would be best that he come to understand the gravity of this offer.”
Then the Dark King smiled, as friendly as any client, and said, “Good day, Saunders.”
Absently, Irial ran his fingertip over the ring he wore, imagining a future that held promise instead of more challenges to face and indignities to endure.
Tam
Back in the quiet but cramped space she rented in the Quarter, Tam felt as though she’d lost the last moment of good sense she had possessed. She given a gift to a faery. A Dark Court one at that. Faeries were all dangerous, but none so much as the ones that belonged to the court that thrived on violence and lust.
And after a lifetime of watching them, she had a good grasp of which court a faery belong to. This faery moved with such sensuality that he might very well be darkness made flesh—and she’d offered him a gift.
“I’m a fool. That’s what I am,” she said to herself. There was no one else in her rented home. No creatures. No people.
Here, she was more separated from nature than anywhere she’d ever lived. There was nothing natural here—unless she counted the insects or the rodents that scurried outside. The street where she had made her home was the nicest she could afford. Tall iron grates covered the windows of a few adjacent buildings. Her own window had several twists of rusting iron that made the room appear more like a prison cell than a home, but those same bars were the barrier that kept the fey out of the building.
Except the strong ones.
Except faeries like Irial.
Tam wasn’t sure who he was in the faery hierarchy, but he was strong.
He could visit me here.
The thought of Irial in her home did strange things to her pulse. Wise women didn’t allow such thoughts. Tam had normally considered herself wise. That was why she’d moved to New Orleans. She’d considered a smaller city, but the countryside was littered with the fey and small cities had far too much country. What Tam could figure was that the fey were weakened by too much iron—and cities with a lot of steel had plenty of that. The houses they chose were wood, stone, and brick. Things of the natural world seemed to be the right fit for creatures of nature. She couldn’t blame them. Truth be told, she liked the same. In her heart of hearts, Tam would prefer a life in the country, but she couldn’t risk it.
Because I’m afraid I’ll slip up.
That was the thing, the challenge before her. The faeries weren’t any more threat to her than the rest of the people who passed her day in and day out. The problem was that she saw them as they truly were. That alone changed everything. If they were horrid, monstrous in every way, she might be able to trust her willpower and resolve. They weren’t, though.
There was one, a lady that seemed like vines crawled across her body, who looked nearly human. Tam had marveled at her. If not for the way her feet seemed to barely touch the earth and song seemed to rise up through her skin, Tam could almost think she was a human girl.
Almost.
Others were truly monstrous. She’d watched a kelpie slash at a man alongside the river, driving its hooves into the man’s flesh until the dirty water looked like red paint had spilled over it. Blood and body were gone then, taken to the depths of the river by those fey hooves.
Another, a beautiful creature with a voice that sounded like a thousand crows in pain, pretended to be mortal. She let strangers kiss her, touch her, not for a coin but for what men thought to be free. Those same men withered and weakened, as they grew addicted to the touch of a woman they’d never see again. No food, no drink, no touch would satisfy them. They starved on the banks of the river where most humans would assume that they’d fallen prey to opium or drink or some other illness. No one guessed that they were faery-struck.
Only Tam.
In the wrought iron-draped heart of the city, there were fewer fey things, but those who did walk there were deadly in their ways, too. Marvelous, too.
And Tam didn’t want to be like the starving men at the edge of the Mississippi. She was already fairly smitten by the dark faery.
When she stepped outside that next morning, Tam was determined not to think of Irial. He wasn’t truly her guardian angel—or even her guardian devil. He was something far worse. He was the sort of monster that she ought never address, or watch, or offer tokens of affection. She’d made a mistake, but that was that. It was once. She was done with foolishness.
/>
Resolutely, Tam made her way into the area where ships might toss freight trash, hoping for some bits of metal she might turn into jewelry. She could buy metal, but sometimes she got lucky and could repurpose found rubbish into salable art. She was not going to watch invisible men.
“Hello?” a melodic voice said.
She looked up, and every thought, every word she knew fled. There stood the very same guardian monster she was trying to forget. This time, though, Irial wore a glamour to seem like a mortal man.
He stood along an iron fence as if the toxic metal were simple stone, and worse still, he’d put himself squarely in her path. Irial was clad in yet another fine suit and hat as if he were a regular gentleman. Irial had a beautiful carved walking stick that looked older than any she'd seen; the patina made it glimmer like polished stone. As if that weren't enough, he carried himself with a confidence that even the richest of men lacked.
She needed only mortal eyes to see him. In her path. Touching iron.
Tam resisted the urge to draw the sign of the cross. Instead she said, “Sir? Was I in your way, then? I’m sorry. I’ll just—"
“No.”
“No?”
“Don’t leave,” he said, voice offering all the things that she feared. Interest. Kindness. And he looked like a debauched angel as he stared at her.
He met her eyes. He smiled. He stared.
Tam looked away.
He glowed faintly, as if hot coals burned inside him, as if he were a beacon. Maybe without the Sight, he was merely a beautiful man, but to her, his human guise only highlighted the truth: he was something else, something more than human.
"Were you looking for me?" His voice now rang with the sweetness of forbidden fruits, and Tam had to take a steadying moment before glancing at him.
"Why would I be? I don’t believe we’ve met, sir."
“Indeed.” His mouth curved into a smile, and she was reminded that she wasn't clever enough to meddle with a faery. Even if he hadn't glowed like some holy object made flesh, Thelma would know what he was. No human moved the way a fey creature did.