Sorcha listened to the truths the Hall shared with her: she alone heard the whispered words that shivered through the room. The High Queen knew that the Ly Ergs weren’t acting on direct order. “She did not specifically instruct them to come to Faerie.”

Her words drew all gazes to her.

The floor rippled slightly as the stone opened and enfolded the Ly Erg into the firmament of the hall. The soil under her feet grew damp, and she felt the silvery veins in her skin extend and burrow like roots into the hall, taking nourishment from the necessary sacrifice to Truth—and magic.

Blood had always fed magic. She was the heart of that magic. Like her siblings, she needed the nourishment of blood and sacrifice. She, however, took no pleasure in it; it was mere practicality to accept it. A weak queen couldn’t keep Faerie—or the magic that fed all faeries in the mortal world—alive.

“Your brother’s death is an unfortunate consequence of treading in Faerie without consent. You did not come to me upon entering Faerie. Instead you attacked members of my court. You bled one of my mortals.” Sorcha looked out at the assembled members of her court, who watched her with the same unwavering faith they always had. They liked the stability and safety she gave them. “Over there, other courts also have rights and power. In Faerie, I am absolute. Life, death—these and all things are at my will alone.”

Her fey waited, silent witnesses to the inevitable restoration of order. They understood the practicality of her choices. They didn’t flinch as she let her attention slide over them.

“These three intruders struck one of my mortals in my lands. Such a thing is not acceptable.” Sorcha caught and held Devlin’s gaze as he looked up at her. “One may live to explain their transgression to the new Dark King.”

“As my Queen wills, so be it,” he said in a steady, clear voice that was in extreme contrast to the gleam in his eyes.

The court attendees lowered their gazes so the sentence could be carried out. Understanding did not mean relishing the bloodletting. High Court faeries weren’t crass.

Most of them at least.

With a slow, steady hand, Devlin dragged a blade across another Ly Erg’s throat. Here in the Hall, touching the soil and stone, Sorcha knew Truth: the blade wasn’t as sharp as it should be and her brother took pleasure at the finality of these deaths. Most important, she knew that he cherished the fact that his action gave her the nourishment that she needed for the High Court to thrive, that this was another secret they shared.

“For our court and at our queen’s will and word, your lives are ended,” Devlin said as he lowered the Ly Erg to the gaping hole that opened in the stone.

He repeated the action, sacrificing the third faery.

Then he held out his bloodied hand to her. “My Queen?”

With her feet in the soil, she knew that for an instant he wanted her to rebuke him for enjoying the Ly Ergs’ deaths. He dared her to chastise him as he stood with spilled blood on his hand. He hoped for it.

The court lifted their gazes to the dais.

Sorcha smiled reassuringly at Devlin and then out at them. “Brother.”

The silvered threads in her skin thrummed with energy as they retracted into her skin again. She took his hand and stepped to the already immaculate floor where the remaining Ly Erg stood and looked longingly at the blood on her hand.

“Neither your king nor Bananach can grant consent in Faerie. Follow the rules.” She kissed his forehead. “This time you are granted mercy in exchange for carrying word to your king.”

She turned to her brother and nodded. Without another word, he led her through her faeries, away from the Hall and into the still of her garden. That, too, was routine. They did as order required, and then she retreated to nature’s quiet while he retreated to the mortal plane.

This time, however, Devlin would seek out the errant mortal. This Seth Morgan was an aberration. If his actions had drawn Bananach’s attention, he required further study.

Chapter 5

When Seth came out of the stacks that afternoon, Quinn was waiting. The guard’s expression was falsely friendly.

“I don’t need an escort,” Seth muttered as he passed the guard and went to check out his newest folklore books.

His objection didn’t matter.

Once Seth shoved the books into his satchel, Quinn motioned toward the exit. “If you’re ready?”

Seth would rather walk alone, but he had no chance of convincing the guard to disobey orders. The world was dangerous to a fragile mortal. Aislinn insisted the guards look after him at all times. He got it, but it took increasing effort to bite back vitriolic replies and resist escape attempts.Which is stupid.

He walked silently past Quinn and kept silent as they made their way to the Crow’s Nest, where he found Niall waiting at the street-side door. The Dark King leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot in time to whatever music they had playing inside. Unlike Keenan and Aislinn, Niall had no guards accompanying him or lurking nearby. It was just him—and he was a very welcome sight.

Quinn spared Niall a look of contempt. “He’s not of our court anymore.”

Niall stood silent as Quinn scowled at him. He’d changed since he’d become the Dark King; the obvious difference was that he was letting his previously close-shorn hair grow. That wasn’t the real difference though—when Niall had been with Keenan’s court, he moved with a sense of caution, as if being alert to potential threats was essential. It hadn’t mattered where they were; even in the safety of the loft, Niall was vigilant. Now, he held himself with an easy comfort. His casual nonchalance said that nothing and no one could harm him—which was true to a large degree. The heads of the courts were vulnerable to only the other reigning monarchs or a few exceptionally influential solitary faeries. Niall, like Aislinn, was nearly impervious to fatal harm now.