Darkest Mercy (3 page)

partially webbed hand was splayed out on the rock, as if to hold herself upright.

She didn’t move any nearer, but her proximity was already enough to unsettle him. The touch of such fey would leave even him weakened. For

many, a salt faery’s embrace was fatal. For regents, it was merely debilitating. Her position had placed him securely between her and the water,

where other equally unpleasant faeries lurked.

“I’m seeking allies,” he told her. “My court, the Summer Court—”

“Why?” Her gaze darted toward the water and then returned to him abruptly. “Land concern is not our concern.”

“War has grown strong, and she—”

“The bestia ?” The salt faery shivered delicately, and the motion sent a glittering shower to the sand and rock around her. “We do not like the

winged one. She is not welcome in our waves.”

“Yes,” Keenan said. “The bestia . . . she’s found her wings again. They are solid now. She flies well and far.” After flicking her salt-crusted hair over her shoulder, she stepped closer to him. “You falter.”

Keenan reminded himself that retreating at this point would be a mistake. Even the water fey chased. And running would put me in the water. He let the sunlight that resided in his skin rise up. He’d rather not strike her, but if she reached out, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to resist.

“You are strong, and”—he gestured to his right, where the waves lapped very near his feet—“your kind are unsettling.”

The faery smiled, revealing sharp teeth. “We mean you no death this moment.”

The fear he felt rolled over him as a wave surged up his legs, drenching him to the thigh. “And the next moment?” Instead of answering, she pointed to the alcove where she’d been waiting. “You will stay here while I tell them—

unless you trust me to take you

under the waves?”

“No.” Keenan went to the fissure and leaned against the rock. His objection wasn’t merely a matter of trust: water folk didn’t think like land

dwellers. She was as likely as not to forget that land dwellers needed air, and he couldn’t convince anyone to ally with his court if he were

unconscious.

“I’ll stay on the shore,” he added.

The salt faery stepped into the water and dissolved. The foam that lingered where she had just stood scattered as the next wave receded. The

transition between solid and fluid was instantaneous and complete. The salt faery was gone.

He climbed higher on the rock. Being within reach of the water seemed unwise, especially while the tide was coming in. As he climbed, he

donned his usual mortal glamour, lightening his copper hair to a mortal hue that was almost common, dulling his eyes to an only slightly inhuman

shade of green, hiding the sunlight that radiated from his skin. The illusory image gave him an oddly comfortable feeling, like slipping into a favorite jacket. The glances of the mortal girls on the beach were a welcome balm on his still injured pride.

In front of him an unnatural wave rose up. Mortals pointed, and Keenan repressed a frown. Coexisting with mortals meant learning what was too

extreme for them to explain away. A single twenty-foot wave in an otherwise tranquil sea was definitely too extreme.

Atop the wave sat a figure. He’d call it a faery, but beyond that he knew no words to fit it. Bits of gray skin and solid black eyes were obvious, but

the faery’s body was cloaked under strands of kelp that were crossed and layered in a great fibrous mass. The mortals didn’t see the faery; of that, Keenan was sure. There are no screams. On either side of the towering wave a kelpie pranced. The horselike beasts slashed the water with their

hooves. At their touch the sea frothed. If he were easily intimidated, their entrance would be impressive, but he’d grown up under the watch of an

overly dramatic mother—one who wielded Winter—and he was the embodiment of Summer. It made him difficult to impress.

He waited while the sea stilled and the kelpies departed.

The center wave delivered the creature to the rock where Keenan sat. In a blink, the

amorphous water fey was a lithe mortal-shaped faery.

Keenan couldn’t say for sure whether it was male or female, only that it made him think of both dancers and warriors. The faery folded its legs and sat beside him.

“We do not speak to your sort. Not out here. Not often. Not as this,” it said. The voice rose and fell as if the sound of the water rolled into the

words. “Why do you ask for speech?”

“War comes. Bananach . . . the bestia. ” Keenan fought an unexpected urge to stroke the creature’s bare leg. It shimmered as the water at the

horizon does when the sun seems to vanish at the end of the day.

The faery turned its head, so Keenan was staring directly into its eyes. The depths of the ocean were in those eyes, the deepest waters where

all was cold and dangerous and still and . . . Not tempting.

He forced his gaze away. “If she wins, your faeries will die too.”

“Mine?”

Keenan folded his hands together to keep from reaching out to the faery. “You are not just another faery. You’re a regent, an alpha, one who

commands.”

“You may call me Innis,” it said, as if that answered the question implicit in his statement. Perhaps, for Innis, it did.

“I will speak for those of the

water.”

Innis’ words seemed to fall onto Keenan’s skin, dripping down his forearm as if they were tangible things. His skin felt parched, too hot, painful

almost.

Heat that strong needs quenching, needs water.

“I knew your parent,” Innis said.

“My . . . parent?” Keenan fisted his hands, hoping that the movement would keep him from touching Innis. “Which?

The last Winter Queen or the

Summer King? Beira or Miach?”

“I do not remember.” Innis shrugged. “Your forms are all alike. It was pleasant.”

Keenan stared out at the rolling waves before him. The shimmering surface was mirrored in the flesh of the faery beside him. It was an odd

similarity. He had sunlight inside him, but he also had traits other than light. Innis was as if water had taken form.

He glanced at the faery, and as he did so realized that Innis now faced him. They’d been side by side at the edge of a rock a moment before.

“You moved . . . or something.” Keenan struggled not to back away from the water faery. “How?”

“You looked at the water. I am the water, so now you look at me.” Innis stared at him as it spoke, and the faery’s proximity made the air taste like

brine. “We do not want to be dead.”

“Right.” Keenan let sunlight fill him, remind him what he was. “We don’t either.”

“The flesh creatures?”

“Yes. Faeries who live on the land.”

“You speak for all of you?” Innis had his hand now. “On the not wanting to be dead?”

“I think so.” Keenan forced the words to his lips. “I am the king of a court. The Summer Court. I want to be allies.” For the span of no more than six waves crashing, Innis was quiet. Then it said, “We have swallowed the sun. It does not shine after a while, and

we left it on the sand then.” Innis sighed. “It faded.”

“My father?” Keenan tried to clarify.

“No. There were other summers.” Innis shrugged again.

“We would not like the winged one here. Your War. It pollutes.”

“So, you would be an ally? You would help stop her?” Keenan prompted.

“I do not think drowning the bestia would be pleasure.” Innis stroked wet fingers over Keenan’s leg. “I believe I would enjoy seeing you drown,

though.”

“Oh.” Keenan felt a decidedly conflicted thrill of pride and surge of terror. I do not want to die. He forced more sunlight into his skin, trying to

chase the clammy dampness away. “If I ever want to drown, I could . . . I would come here. Is that good?” Innis laughed and waves surged over the rock, covering them both, tearing Keenan’s breath away and filling his throat with salty water. He tried

not to panic, but when he attempted to stand, to get his head above the water, hands wrapped around his neck.

Lips pressed to his, and kelp

slipped into his open mouth. His chest ached, and his eyes couldn’t focus.

I could find you pleasurable, flesh creature. Innis’ words were in his mind as surely as its arms were around his neck and its tongue was in his

mouth. I will be your ally. I will take the bestia into our world if she touches the waves. We will fight for you in exchange for an open vow. Yes?

An open vow, he thought. The mutability of such a vow was reason enough to refuse, but the Summer Court needed powerful allies and he’d had

no luck in his other attempts to negotiate with solitary fey.

He nodded.

The water receded then, leaving him sprawled on the rock, choking and gasping.

Innis stood over him. Its body was neither solid nor fluid. It held a form, but the form was as a wave when it was above the ocean: water

temporarily given the illusion of solidity.

Once Keenan spat the water from his throat and mouth and had stopped gasping, he looked up.

Innis leaned closer. “I will watch for the bestia , flesh creature. If the bestia makes you dead before I can truly drown you, I will be angered. Do not

allow that. You will speak my name to the water when you need aid. In return—”

“In return, my word that I will repay what service you offer in equal measure.” Keenan forced himself not to think about the dangers of such a vow.

My court is not strong enough to defeat Bananach. Some dangers are unavoidable.

The water faery nodded. “The terms are binding and accepted. I would have a token of faith to seal the vow.” A wall of water rushed toward them.

“I do not want to drown today,” Keenan said.

“Just a little,” Innis suggested.

For a moment Keenan wondered at the possibility of not-living. It should not appeal to me. He’d stolen scores of girls’ mortality. He’d made

them into faeries while everyone and everything they knew faded away; he’d convinced them to risk everything for him. To be my queen. To free me.

He couldn’t have done anything differently. He’d had to find her, the mortal who would save them all from dying under the freezing anger of his

mother. Now, he had to find a way to strengthen the court without pushing his queen further away, to make allies among faeries who had every

reason to hate him, to find a way to love Donia without being with her, and once again try to do the impossible.

A second wave swept over them, and Innis’ form surrounded him. He knew that he would not choose to die here, but knowing didn’t negate the

pain in his lungs. He didn’t fight the waves. It would be so much easier. As the water filled his lungs, he wondered—

not for the first time or even the

fifty-first time—if they’d all be better off without him.

He kicked toward the surface.

It is a pleasure to drown you, my ally. Innis’ voice filled the water around him. Call and we will come to you.

Chapter 3

Donia exhaled a gust of frigid air as she watched Aislinn approach. The Summer Queen’s guards had stopped at a safe distance, and the

queen herself came forward cautiously. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of a heavy woolen coat, and her almost-black hair was hidden

under her hood.

“Shall we walk?” Donia asked.

Aislinn gestured to a path that led away from the same fountain where they’d once sat and talked. Back then, Aislinn was a mortal hiding her

Sight. Back then, Donia was weaker. Those things had changed in such a short time. What hadn’t changed was that the actions of one faery,

Keenan, both drew them together and kept them at odds.

“I’d hoped he would . . .” Aislinn’s words faded, but she glanced at Donia.

“No. He’s not contacted me. Nor you, I see. If he were gone , you’d feel it, Ash.” Donia kept the sting of envy from her voice with effort. “The rest

of the court’s strength would leave him if he . . . died.”

“But if he were hurt—”

“He’s not,” Donia snapped. “He’d let us know. He’s either sulking or staying where it’s warmer or . . . who can know with him.”

“ You know. If you wanted to find him, I’m sure you could.” Donia chose not to address that particular truth. She did know him, and she’d heard rumors of his activities from those eager to curry her favor.

That did not mean, however, that she’d go chasing after him like a lovesick girl. He’d walked away on his own, and he’d return on his own.

Or not.

For several moments, they said nothing more as they walked. Icicles formed on the trees they passed. The ground whitened with a thin sheen of

frost. It wasn’t anywhere near what the Winter Queen could do, but the earth had been frozen for too long during her predecessor’s reign.

If we are to survive, we need balance.

Summer was to be happy, but neither the Summer King nor the Summer Queen was happy. It weakened their court. Which should not bother

me. It did, though: Donia wanted a true balance. She wanted them to be strong enough to stand against Bananach and her growing cadre of troops.

To stand at my side. She broke the silence: “I will allow spring early this year. My court is strong enough to do otherwise, but I see no need to press yours to submission.”

“My court isn’t what it ought to be,” Aislinn admitted.

“I know.” Donia sighed. A plume of freezing air rolled out from her lips. “I cannot weaken my court overmuch, but I can try for a truer balance.”

The Summer Queen shivered. “And when he returns?”

“That changes nothing, Ash.” Donia kept her face expressionless. “He made his choice.”

“He loves you.”

“Please. Don’t.” Donia turned her back to the faery Keenan had chosen over her.

Even standing on the still snow-covered ground, the Summer Queen had her court’s impulsivity. She persisted,

“He loves you. The only reason

he wants me is because he was cursed. If not for that, he would’ve chosen you. You know that. We all do.” Donia paused, but didn’t turn around.