by Melissa Marr
“The terms remain.” Irial held Keenan’s gaze.
Keenan scowled. “Fine. Your secret is safe.”
“And?”
“You’re a fucking—”
“And?” Irial repeated.
“And one day, when he is vulnerable, I’ll let him fall.” Keenan practically spat the words. It wasn’t strictly necessary to hear them, but Irial drank in the rage that rolled off the other king.
Centuries ago Sorcha, the High Queen, had used her far-seeing and told Irial that a time would come when Niall loved again. A mortal, even. She swore it would deliver Niall back to the Darkness—and that promise meant Niall would find peace someday.
But, first, he had to survive yet another attack.
Irial waited until Keenan was gone, the click of the door closing telling Irial that he was alone with his first love, the one he’d betrayed and broken. Niall would never know how often Irial had come to what would otherwise be his deathbed. That term was Keenan’s one condition: he’d sworn he’d let Niall die before he’d allow Irial to “gloat” over saving him.
So, Irial had only these precious stolen moments when the Winter Court wounded Niall. It was a hateful thing. The only way to touch Niall was when he was dying, and the only way to save him was to touch him when Irial and Keenan—who had proposed this hellish plan—knew that Niall would choose death before agreeing to allow Irial any such liberty.
And often Irial waited in whichever town Winter and Summer gathered.
For this.
For the thing he feared Niall would refuse if he knew.
For the thing he hoped Niall would accept one day.
One moment.
“My very own Sleeping Beauty.” Irial leaned down and pressed his lips to Niall’s, sending shadows along his very breath, healing him as sunlight couldn’t.
Because as much as Niall thought he was a part of the Summer Court, he had long ago been declared heir to the Dark. Unless Irial rescinded that, Niall would always remain tied to him.
And Irial, for all of his many flaws, did not love in half-measures. He kissed the sleeping faery, sending health into his body.
Niall’s hand lifted, grasping Irial’s bare shoulder and holding him.
But as soon as Irial felt Niall start to return the kiss, he fled. Irial might not be willing to sacrifice Niall’s life as Keenan was, but he wasn’t going to let Niall realize who saved him.
Not now.
Not ever.
Because the secret, for him, was that it wasn’t truly about the delicious treat of Keenan’s guilt and rage. Irial had agreed to Keenan’s demand of secrecy to protect Niall. If he knew that he was beholden to Irial, it would gnaw at him, and he’d refuse future aid.
And then, the Summer King would let Niall die.
Being the Dark King meant carrying secrets, making bargains, and on one horrible day, creating a curse that centuries later was the reason Thelma was in peril.
As Irial left Niall’s room, Keenan looked up. No one else was in the main room. No witnesses to their middle-of-the-night deceit.
And then, Irial was once again in the streets of New Orleans, wishing he’d paused before leaving his house. The brief touch of Niall’s hand on Irial’s bare flesh was too much to face. Memories swarmed, and Irial’s usual solution when he was agitated seemed wrong.
Instead, he returned home and slid into Thelma’s bed. She woke long enough to smile as he pulled her into his embrace, but by the time Irial’s tears fell, she was asleep.
“I’ll do better,” he promised her. He was lousy at love, but he could protect her, give her happiness and peace as he’d failed to do with Niall. “I’ll take you where you’re safe.”
That was the answer: Sorcha.
Irial held Thelma tighter, and eventually fell asleep with the seed of a plan in his mind and a lightened weight on his heart. He would hide Thelma where the Summer King would never find her, and he could keep her safe.
Visit her.
Love her.
Save her from the very curse he’d once created.
Tam
Irial held her tightly, and as much as she thought that he was remarkable, and that this moment in a grand house with a faery king she’d had relations with several times was remarkable, Tam needed a minute to think clearly. She unwrapped his arm from around her and slipped out of bed.
Her dress was nowhere to be found. A quick glance around the room revealed a new dress, elegant enough to put the finest ladies to shame. Deep blue silk with black lace. It likely cost more than she’d earn in a year, but it was either this dress or wrap herself in Irial’s silk bed linens.
Tam pulled on her undergarments. Then she gathered the luxurious dress in her arms and opened the door to an adjoining room. His room from the look of it. There was a heavy masculine feel. Carved wood, brocade divan, black marble wash basin. A woman—a faery—waited there, half-asleep in a chair. She wasn’t one Tam had ever seen; feathers in lieu of hair tumbled down her back and she had raven-eyes.
“Your lordship?” the faery asked, rubbing her face.
“No,” Tam whispered. “He’s still sleeping.”
The woman smiled, secretive and wicked. “Well, he was out late, and then returned to a lovely lady waiting in his bed.”
Tam couldn’t protest the implications, nor did she feel like she should. Irial had made love to her, and she felt no shame in it. “Could you help me get fastened?”
“Of course, m’lady.”
The faery watched her pull the dress on and smiled. Then, the beautiful but unnerving faery tilted her head, seeming more avian than anything. “His lordship is likely to take the dress away rather than fasten it, isn’t he?”
Tam blushed. “I wouldn’t be objecting.”
“Nor should you. Irial’s the finest lover any mortal could wish to have.” The faery’s pride was an almost palpable thing.
“What do I call you?” Tam asked awkwardly.
“I’ve worn many names, but for you, Bananach will do,” she said, sounding more regal than even Irial. If not for knowing that there was no Dark Queen, Tam might worry that she’d met Irial’s bride.
“You’re beautiful,” Tam said.
Bananach laughed, her voice sounding like a raven’s cry. “As are you, mortal.”
“Thelma or Tam.”
“You would give me your name to use?”
At that, Tam tensed. “I am in Irial’s house and you are in his room. Are you not someone he trusts?”
Bananach brushed her feather-hair back. “The king trusts no one, Thelma. This is the Dark Court, not the land of mortal fairy tales.”
“Fair,” Thelma said, noticing that whatever role this faery had, she was obviously allied with the Dark Court. Even outside Irial’s house, Tam would notice that truth. Bananach was a study in shadows, raven-eyes and dark feathers instead of hair. Even her hands were tipped with what looked like a raven’s talons.
The raven-feathered head of her true image vied with her glamour of sleek black hair, but Tam saw both, superimposed together.
“You study me.” Bananach stepped behind Tam and started to fasten the long line of buttons that stretched from Tam’s low back to neck.
“You are interested in something from me,” Tam said.
“Warning you.” Bananach’s voice was whisper-soft as if she was sharing secrets. “I’ll bet his stamina was remarkable even after seeing Keenan last night. Rage does fuel the king.”
“Keenan?” Tam looked back over her shoulder, hoping she’d misheard but knowing now what Bananach was trying to say.
“He’s the Summer King. Keenan is.” The faery smiled, but it looked ominous now. “He came here last night.”
“To the house?”
“Indeed, he did. He only arrived in this city yesterday, and here he was.” Bananach made a soft growling noise, clarifying her feelings on the newly-arrived king.
“And spoke to your king?” Tam prompted, turning her face away to hi
de the fears that were blossoming in her heart.
“They left together in the dark. Secrets, mortal. This is the way of the Dark Court. Midnight whispers, dark alley deals, curses and promises. It’s all part of being the king.” Bananach finished the last button on the back of Tam’s dress, leaned close so her voice was barely a whisper in Tam’s ear. “If I knew what you know, I’d run.”
Tam’s panic blossomed. Of course, she was wrong to trust a faery. A man. Why would he risk it all for her? She was a jeweler without a career, a woman with ideals of freedom, an innocent who didn’t need to be seduced because she offered herself up. That, at least, she didn’t regret.
Maybe she should. Her mother warned her that a child would come one day, that her arrogance will be her downfall. At least that wasn’t a thing she had to worry over. Surely, a faery and a human couldn’t create a babe together? And it was one night. Several occasions, but one night.
And it would have to be the last.
If the first night she was there, Irial left to meet the faery who was after her, how could she trust him? She had done as so many other women had done: trusted a pretty face and a honeyed lie.
“Was the Summer King here several days ago?” Tam asked, wondering if she’d already encountered him.
The feather-haired faery shook her head. “No, m’lady, that was Niall. He’s the advisor to the Summer King.” She traced her face with one finger, sliding it from the side of her eye to her mouth. “Has a large scar just here.”
Tam thought about seeing Niall, how frightened she was, how she ran to Irial. Had that been a mistake? Had she run into the devil’s arms? Ensnared herself?
“Niall was the one visited?” Tam had to be sure.
“When you were with his lordship the first night.” Bananach nodded. “They have a history, you know, so his majesty made a show of kissing you. Spark a bit of rage and jealousy, don’t you know? It’s like adding a bit of spice when you cook.”
Tam shrugged. Although she knew some people looked askance at men loving men, Tam thought that was as foolish as those that thought woman ought not be educated or that race meant a thing when it came to intellect. Irial’s skin was darker than hers, but that made him no more or less than her. Alexandre Dumas was a Black man, and his work was wondrous. Maybe it was that she had the Sight, so she’d witnessed a great many things that most folk didn’t—or maybe it was that she was a woman in search of equality. Or maybe it was living in a city where the Black citizens had uncommon rights for this nation.
Bananach watched her, as if expecting a reaction that didn’t come.
“So, he has feelings for Niall, and then that faery went away a few days ago and the other one, Keenan, came.” Tam half-asked, half-stated. “Do I understand?”
“Yes, miss. Then the king left with the other king.” Bananach opened the windows to a balcony that overlooked the city. This, too, was a sort of privilege that Tam hadn’t had for herself.
It must be nice to be a king.
Somehow, though, she didn’t think she wanted to be a queen. Not the Summer Queen, and not Irial’s either. Tam wanted the freedom to create art, and though she had tender feelings for Irial, he was what he was.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Bananach motioned to the city. “You could run. They are all abed, and you have time to try to flee.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?” Tam asked.
“We don’t lie,” Bananach said, snapping her teeth like she’d bitten the word. “What matter why I spill their secrets? My word, Thelma, I’ve told you naught but true words.”
“Do you know who I am?” Tam asked, wondering if that was the reason the faery was helping her. “Are you loyal to someone else?”
“I’m loyal to myself.” She held out a purse of money toward Tam. “I answer to no man.”
“Including Irial.”
Bananach smiled. “I am within his court, but I do not answer to him.”
Briefly, Tam weighed the things the faery had revealed. Perhaps she saw Tam as a threat, an interloper who ought not be in the king’s bed. Perhaps she had sights on the consort of the court—or thought the faery called Niall should be Irial’s consort. No matter her reasons, faeries do not lie. The faery with whom Tam had been naked for several days had left the bed to speak with the faery who pursued her.
She needed to run.
“Let me help you escape,” the faery offered.
Tam nodded.
“You need to leave now, or you stand no chance,” Bananach said.
By the time Tam was on the street, she had to wonder what she’d do. The money would buy passage, but to where? Could she live as a shut-in? Enter a cloistered convent? Make a false vow? Or should she try to hide?
She was about to flag a hansom cab, but before she could do so, a growler pulled to a stop. The four-wheeled carriage offered more privacy, and Tam glanced back at the house where Bananach nodded her head once.
“I’m to take you to the dock or wherever else in the city you’re wanting,” the rumpled man said. “Been paid already, miss.”
Bananach had been true to her word.
The driver was a human, so Tam accepted a hand into the carriage and leaned back so she was mostly obscured from view. If the Summer King was in the street, he would not glimpse her.
And when Irial woke, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to find her either. She hated leaving her jewelry tools and books behind, but she’d hate being trapped in a loveless marriage to a faery king even more.
“The docks,” she ordered, voice barely quivering.
Freedom was worth any cost. Of that, she was certain.
When Tam reached the docks, she saw the faeries gathered there. A trio of enormous shaggy black goats chased several faeries into the water. Astride the goats were three wrinkled faery women. Though they were withered, looking like the mere husks of women, they had the sort of muscles that spoke of ferocity. They cackled as they herded faeries into the water as if it was a game.
Watching the hags was a faery woman that defied the human limits of beauty. Her lips were red as fresh blood, and with the Sight, Tam saw that the lipstick she wore might very well be blood. Eyes of fathomless black turned to watch Tam approach, and Tam noticed that the sharp edges of her cheeks and jaw glinted like they were dusted in freshly fallen snow. If winter took the shape of an evil empress, this was what she’d look like.
“That’s her, the woman the Dark King was waltzing with,” Rika, the faery woman Tam had met while she was with Irial, said.
Only Rika and the embodiment of winter were visible to mortal eyes, so Tam made sure to only look at them.
“I assume you know what I am if you were with Irial?”
“Faery.” Tam nodded at Rika and then at the Winter Queen. “Ma’am. You’re both faeries.”
“And here I am with the Dark King’s mortal. How quaint.” The woman gestured at a pair of chairs carved of ice that had appeared at the dock. “I am Beira. Queen of Winter. We will speak.”
As soon as Tam touched one of the chairs, she realized that not one mortal could see them now. A thin icy wall rose from the ground into the air, and Tam was effectively trapped inside an icy box with the Winter Queen and Rika, who didn’t look quite as cold as Tam felt, but still looked ill at ease.
“Why is the Dark King wooing you?” Beira asked, tapping her chin with one finger. “Does he know something about you?”
One of the hags tossed a faery at the ice wall behind her and Tam flinched.
“You’re Sighted.” Beira’s laughter sounded like a blizzard, and the air inside the icy room grew colder still. She leaned forward. “But they all think you’re the missing Summer Queen.”
“The what . . . your majesty?” Tam widened her eyes to feign innocence. “I see creatures no one else does, and the other one . . . Irial . . . noticed.”
“And?”
Tam thought about the women she knew, cunning ones who traded on wares she hadn’t
so far in her life. Trying to sound like them, she added, “I made a choice. He’s wealthy. Handsome. Unlike a lot of men, it’s no hardship to offer him my body.”
The Winter Queen studied her, as if she’d find truth written on Tam’s face.
A lifetime of hiding her Sight from the fey had taught Tam not to flinch. She stared at Beira calmly, forcing herself to breathe through the fear. The stories of what happened to Sighted mortals had led to hours of practicing calm breathing and measured movements; Tam was good at feigning innocence.
“I would have stayed with him,” Tam added, deciding that there was more to gain in truth than secrecy now. “One of your kind, a faery called Bananach, told me that he’d met with another faery king. She implied that I was in peril and helped me flee.”
The Winter Queen paused, and it was as if the world itself had decided to hold its breath. “Bananach?”
“She had raven feathers—”
“Yes, that’s her.” Beira frowned. The Winter Queen stared through the icy cage. “Bananach loosed you in hopes that my son would see you, that he and Irial would fight, that I would be drawn into a quarrel.”
“I just want to leave here,” Tam admitted. “I never wanted to get caught in this conflict between your courts.”
“No fly ever does,” Beira murmured. “If I kill you and you are her, the curse could have consequences for me. Either way, Irial will be irate if Rika is correct and he has affections toward you.”
“He says he does,” Tam admitted.
“We cannot lie, mortal.” Beira stared into the distance, obviously thinking over options. “Irial is quite absurd when he has feelings.”
The tone in her voice was one that was fit for discussion of the vilest of things, and the tightened lips and narrowed eyes were no better.
Beira sighed, draping Tam in snow, before adding, “But if my son sees you, you’ll still have to play out his little theatre—refuse him, accept him. Either way, Irial will lose you.” She met Tam’s eyes finally. “You vex me, mortal.”