rest in while you decide what you want.”
The man reached out awkwardly, clearly not yet used to his lack of sight.
Niall took the man’s hand and started to lead him to the Vila. “This is Natanya and—”
“What’s
The belligerence in the man’s voice made both Niall and Gabriel grin. This wasn’t a mortal who would curl into himself and give up. His bravery made him even more worthy of protection.
“Niall.”
“Am I safe from her here, Niall?” The man tilted his head. “They might be pretty, but they’re monstrous. You know that, don’t you?”
“We do,” Niall said.
“Are you all pretty too?” the mortal asked.
It was an obvious curiosity, but it stilled everyone all the same. Natanya stared at Niall; Gabriel shrugged. Niall wasn’t sure what answer was truth.
“The High Court thinks we are monsters.” Niall let his own emotions into the words. “I suspect that if you saw us, you’d think many of us are too. What we aren’t, though, is calmly cruel. What we
The man nodded.
Natanya and Gabriel were both smiling, and there was little doubt in Niall’s mind that his own acceptance of his court was likely to be repeated throughout their number.
“Natanya?” Gabriel motioned toward the mortal. “Look after him for your king and for me.”
“As if he were your own child, Gabriel.” The Vila beamed at Gabriel. The silver chains that held her bone- hewn shoes to her feet clattered as she moved across the room to take the mortal’s hand in hers. She led the man away, and for a moment Gabriel was silent.
He shot an assessing glance at Niall. “Salt in a wound when they learn that you brought one of Sorcha’s discarded mortals here.”
“That is true.”
“There are only two faeries she could strike that would truly weaken your court—or make you look weaker,” Gabriel pointed out. “Those are the logical choices. I’m not going over
“He was already over there. That’s how I know Devlin’s coming here.”
“Huh.” Gabriel snorted. “Didn’t waste any time trying to protect you, did he? Threaten her, seduce her, or both?”
Niall didn’t answer that, but he suspected that Gabriel knew the answer well enough. Irial might not have spoken to the Hound yet, but they’d been a team for as long as Niall had known Irial. Before the day was over, Irial would seek Gabriel out, tell him the things he thought necessary, try again to assure that Niall was safe.
A regent could prevent any of his or her subjects from seeing the gate, and a strong solitary could impose restrictions on weaker fey. A part of Niall thought stealing others’ will was wrong, but he understood now that there were times that choices were a matter of opting for the lesser of several wrongs.
“It is my decree that none of the
The Hounds didn’t offer fealty, so they could go to Faerie. Of course, they wouldn’t do so unless Gabriel directed them. Irial, however, could no longer see the gates or enter Faerie.
CHAPTER 5
“My queen?”
She didn’t turn. Facing him as they lied in their omissions made the whole business even less palatable. “Brother.”
“I have blinded the mortal as you commanded.” His voice was as empty as it often was, but that too was a lie of sorts. Her brother might pretend to be High Court, but she was under no illusion that he was solely her creature. He was
“I have business there that needs tending,” she said.
He’d expected as much, but he’d hoped otherwise. She could see the resignation in the moment in which he frowned. The expression was gone too fast for most anyone to see, of course, but she saw much that no one else would. The pause before replying was infinitesimal, but it was still there.
“Whatever you command,” he said.
She turned. “Indeed?”
Before she could catch his gaze, he dropped to his knees. “Have I failed you?”
Sorcha didn’t speak.
They’d stayed this way for hours before. Devlin had the patience and willpower to kneel for as long as she required it. He didn’t falter, didn’t sleep, didn’t wince. He simply waited. She wondered idly if he could out-wait her.
“Could we spend decades thus, Brother?” she murmured.
He lifted his gaze. “Sister?”
“If I demanded it, how long would you kneel thusly?” She traced up his cheekbones and down the outside of his jaw with her fingertips. “Would you falter from exhaustion first?”
“You are my queen.”
“I am,” she agreed. She cupped his face in her hands and held him still. “That’s not an answer.”
He didn’t even try to resist. “Do you require me to falter or to succeed in waiting as long as you wait?”
She smiled then. “Such a wise answer. You will do whatever I require then? You will strive to not fail me? You will serve me forever?”
“As your servant, your Bloodied Hands, your brother, your advisor, I will do all that you demand.” He bowed his head, and she loosened her grip to allow it. Then he added, “The last of those questions is unanswerable.”
“It is.” She turned her back, but she did not release him. She fashioned a chair of flowering vines and sat down. In her hands, a book appeared. She hadn’t created it. She had no such skill with art. She had, however, willed