Faery Tales & Nightmares

but such regrets were followed by memories of half-mortal Dark Court offspring who were as easily contained as feral beasts. Beautiful chaotic things, children. He’d loved several of them as if they were his own.

“Irial.” Niall’s tone was testy now. “Why does the library look familiar?”

Irial stepped up to stand a bit closer than his king would find comfortable. “Because a very long time ago, you were happy in the courtyard of a building very like this one.”

Niall tensed.

Irial continued as if neither of them noticed Niall’s discomfort. “And I was feeling … a longing for such moments one day last century when a young architect was staring at his plans. I made a few suggestions to his designs.”

The Dark King moved to the side. “Is that to impress me?”

Irial gave him a wry grin. “Well, as it took over a hundred years for you to notice, it obviously didn’t.”

Niall sighed. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Irial walked over to a bench that faced the library and sat down.

As expected, Niall followed. “Why are you looking for me?”

“I went to Faerie … to see her.” Irial stretched his legs out and watched a few mortals slide around on wheeled boards. It was a curious hobby, but he found their agility fascinating.

With a nervous bit of hope, Niall joined him on the bench—at as much of a distance as possible, of course. “You went to see Sorcha.”

“I thought she should know that there was a change in the court’s leadership.”

“She did know,” Niall snapped. “No one goes there without her consent.”

“The Dark King can,” Irial corrected.

“You are not the Dark King.” Niall’s temper flared. “You threw it away.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Irial said. “I gave it to the rightful king.”

The emotions coursing through Niall were a delicious treat. Irial had to force his eyes to stay open as the flood of worry, fear, anger, shock, outrage, and a tendril of sorrow washed over him. It was best to not mention that he could read all of this. In theory, only the Dark King could read other regents, but for reasons Irial didn’t care to ponder, he had retained that particular trait. Most of his gifts of kingship had vanished: he was vulnerable to any faery who struck him, and he was once again fatally addictive to mortals. The connection to the whole of the court was severed, and the ability to write orders on Gabriel’s flesh was erased. These and most every other kingly trait were solely Niall’s, but the emotional interpretation was unchanged.

Even as his emotions flickered frantically, Niall spoke very calmly. “If she had wanted to, she could’ve killed you.”

“True.”

Several more moments of delicious emotional flux passed before Niall said, “You can’t tell me you’re going to be my advisor, and then get killed. A good advisor advises. He communicates. He doesn’t do idiotic things that can result in infuriating the High Queen.”

Innocently, Irial asked, “Does he do idiotic things to infuriate the Dark King?”

“You are far more trouble than you’re wor—” Niall’s words halted as he tried to speak that which was neither true nor his true opinion. He scowled and said, “Don’t be an ass, Iri.”

“Some things are impossible to order, my king.” Irial grinned. “Would you like me to apologize?”

“No. I’d like you to do what you said you would—advise me. You can’t do that if you piss off Sorcha enough to get killed or imprisoned or—”

“I’m here.” Irial reached out, but didn’t touch Niall. “I went to find out why Bananach visits her. The High Queen and I have had an … understanding these past centuries.”

Niall opened his mouth, but no words came out. Irial continued, “I needed to know that she wouldn’t support her sister in any attempts on your throne. I know chaos is good for the court, but I will not sacrifice you for the court if it is ever in my power. Not again.”

“A king’s duty is to his court,” Niall reminded him.

“And that, Gancanagh, is why I am not qualified to be a king,” Irial said gently. “It is not a matter of being tired of my court, or throwing it away, or punishing you, or trapping you, or any of those very diabolical things you would like to believe of me. The court requires a regent who will put its needs first.”

“And you think I would?” Niall asked.

“I know you would.” Irial smiled to let Niall know that this was a good thing, but the taste of Niall’s guilt was still heavy. Neither of them commented on what that meant about Niall’s loyalties—or the choices Irial had made in the past. Choices that put Niall second to the court. There was nothing to say that would lessen the ugliness of those choices.

“If you are my advisor, I will know where you are. I will not need to worry that you are trapped in Faerie or dead by Devlin’s hand because you angered Sorcha,” Niall said with more of a snarl than Irial expected.

“Yes, my King.” Irial knelt. “Do I take this to mean that my understanding with Sorcha is discontinued as well?”

Niall dragged his hand over his face. “Nothing’s ever simple with you.”

“I can ask her permission to visit her in the future … or simply remain here. I’m sure I can find other—”

“Until such time as I say otherwise, you will not enter Faerie,” Niall interrupted. “What else did you learn?”

Irial remained kneeling, but he lifted his gaze. “Devlin will visit.”

“For what purpose?” Niall made an impatient gesture. “And get up. You’re far too amused by this posture, and it’s not the least bit about re—” The words froze again.

Irial laughed, but he stood. “It is a little about showing respect, my king.”

“Irial,” Niall started.

“Devlin often seeks respite in the mortal world that he cannot find in Faerie. I have long offered him the court’s hospitality; however”—Irial stared at his king then—“Sorcha knows of his visits. I am anxious over this first visit with there being a new king. Sorcha would not be remiss in making a statement. As your advisor, I’m strongly suggesting you keep the Hounds in-house. You should also have Bananach’s staunchest supporters in your presence. Devlin tends to get bloody in his visits, and this could be a particularly … energetic visit. We can make use of that to rid ourselves of the disloyal. It serves several purposes—for us and for Sorcha.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“About this? Nothing.” Irial shook his head. “I will stand at your side, as will Gabriel, and we will make quite clear that the Dark Court is not weak.”

“We are weakened. If we weren’t, you wouldn’t have done the ink exchanges.”

Irial stared at Niall. “The violence Devlin will bring will nourish them. It is part of why I make him welcome. This time, it will nourish your court, and therefore you.”

“I require more than violence.”

“Call some of the Summer Girls, summon the Vilas, a Hound”—Irial paused as he weighed the words —“anyone you desire is yours. Human or faery or halfling. Gabriel’s daughter is strong enough to relax with you.”

“No.”

Irial repressed a sigh. “You weren’t celibate in the Summer Court.”

“I’m not ready to—”

“Leslie is gone, Niall.” Irial crouched down and looked at his king. “She left. She needs a life in the mortal world, for now at least. You, my Gancanagh, require the pleasures you’re denying. If I thought you’d forgive me, I’d arrange them delivered to you as they once were. You weren’t so reticent then or when you were in the Summer Court. You are the king of the Dark Court. They are all yours to command.”

“Now that I’m their king, they might not feel free to say no.” The fear in Niall’s expression was only a tiny portion of the overwhelming fear Irial could taste. Niall lowered his voice. “I don’t want them to feel trapped.”