As Sorcha moved past, Bananach snapped her jaw like the animal she was—brutish and crude.

“I’ve no use for your games, Bananach.” The air in the garden was refreshing as Sorcha drew long breaths, letting her sister think she still needed space from her, feigning the discomfort she’d always had when War was in her presence. For the first time, the discordant ripples weren’t touching Sorcha. She still knew they were present, but she was inured to it.

Because I chose Seth to be my son.The touch of his mortality made her something new, not in balance with Bananach now.After all these centuries, I have changed.

The raven-faery wasn’t pleased. She gripped Sorcha’s arm. “Do you truly think I have no other pawns in play?”

“I am sure your machinations are vast.” Sorcha brushed her hands over a cluster of jasmine blossoms and leaned closer to inspect the leaves on a small hawthorn bush. “When you aren’t lost in bloodlust, you are formidable.”

Bananach cocked her head and made a small satisfied sound before saying, “I can be stalled, but Reason always slips, and I wait. And when you stumble, when the regents over there are not wise, I will have my blood.”

“Maybe.”

Bananach let out an ugly caw. “Always. In the end, I always get my blood. One day it will be yours I wear like rouge.”

Sorcha snapped a branch from a shrub, offering Bananach false proof that she’d become so unsettled that her temper slipped out. “Even in your deepest fits of madness, you won’t forget that we are bound. You don’t know what my death would mean for you any more than I do.”

“It will mean that I am free of your wearisome logic.” Bananach’s wings fluttered in an erratic beat.

“If you thought it so simple, I’d have been dead long ago.” Sorcha squeezed the branch under her hand until it cut into her palm. Then she dropped the splintered wood and held up her hand. “Your blood and mine have been the same since we have first existed. Unchanging. If we are the same and you kill me, will you die too?”

Bananach glared at her. She snapped her beak. “Perhaps I should find out,” she hissed, but she didn’t advance. She stood watching.

The garden was silent. No more words were spoken for several moments.

“War is patient, sister mine. You hide here with your dusty tomes and empty art. The Unchanging Queen. Tedious. Predictable. I will move the pawns…and you will make small choices that do nothing to stop the inevitable.” Bananach’s drums of war rose to a deafening volume that echoed through the whole of Faerie and into the mortal world. “They watch each other with mistrust. The fighting comes soon. Ifeel it. I’ll wait…and you will be as helpless as you always are when I am out there stirring trouble.”

“You’ll not have war this time,” Sorcha told her. It wasn’t a truth but an opinion.

“Why? Will you come after me, sister? Will you bring Faerie into the mortal world to hunt me?” Bananach crooned. Ravens that did not belong in Sorcha’s garden flocked down around Bananach; vermin crawled from the earth like a writhing gray carpet; and Bananach stood with her wings outstretched. War was coming unless something significant changed.

Sorcha remained silent.

“Come after me. Bring chaos to their world,” Bananach taunted. “Come protect your pet.”

“You will not touch him.” Sorcha stepped closer to her sister. “Summer and Darkness will strike you. I might not be able to stand against you, but I will send every faery I have to strike you. Come against him, and I will see you dead.”

“And if killing me means your death?” Bananach tilted her head curiously.

“So be it.” Sorcha kissed War on the forehead. “You’ve lost this battle, sister mine. There will be no war.”

Bananach paused. She stared into the distance, but didn’t share her visions of destruction. She smiled in horrific glee. “No, I’ve not lost yet.”

Then she strode away through the garden with her entourage, and in her wake were charred footsteps and bleeding flowers.

EPILOGUE

Seth walked into Niall’s home. Niall hadn’t ever wanted him to be there, but that was before.When I was mortal. Things had changed.

No one stopped Seth. He was a declared Friend of the Dark Court, welcome among them, protected by their last breaths if necessary.

“Brother,” Niall said as Seth approached the dais.

The throngs of Dark Court faeries watched openly. Seth saw threads of Ly Ergs and glaistigs woven together. Then the picture blurred.Bananach. My aunt. Seth couldn’t see her threads, but he felt her somewhere in the world.

“I need your help.” Seth didn’t bow, but he lowered his gaze respectfully. He was a faery now, and chosen brother or not, Niall was still king.

“Say the word. If it’s not against the good of my court”—Niall sat straighter in his throne—“I’ll always help you.”

Seth looked up and caught Niall’s gaze. “I’m the High Queen’s own. For eternity, I’ll spend a part of my life with her in Faerie. I’m the Summer Queen’s beloved. But it isyour help I need now. Sorcha’s made me faery and given me gifts. I would do what’s best for her now.”

“Supporting the High Court’s need for order isnot what’s best for the Dark Court,” Ani said from somewhere to his left. The half-Hound, half-mortal girl had dreams of chaos that her king and court restricted.

“Neither’s protecting the Summer Court’s pet,” grumbled one of the thistle-fey.

Protectively, Chela moved closer to Seth.

During the long pause, Seth stared only at Niall—whose threads were so myriad that that they might as well be invisible. The Dark King waited, hopeful in a way that he didn’t even realize. If Seth couldn’t see so truly, he’d believe that Niall’s raising his hand was a casual gesture. It wasn’t. It was both fearful and excited. “Tell me what you want.”