Ink Exchange

He said, "We are not strong enough to fight one court, much less two or three working together. Can any of you truly tell me that the kingling and the new Winter Queen wouldn't work together? Can you tell me that Sorcha wouldn't side with anyone" — he paused and smiled at Bananach—"most anyone who opposed me? War is not the right path."

He didn't add that he had no desire for true war. It would look like weakness, and a weak king wouldn't hold his court very long. If there had been someone who could lead the court without destroying them all in unrestrained excess, Irial would step away, but the head of the Dark Court was chosen from among the solitary faeries for good reason. He enjoyed the pleasure of the shadows, but he understood that shadows needed light. Most of his court had trouble remembering that—or perhaps they never knew it. They certainly wouldn't appreciate hearing it now.

The Dark Court needed the nourishment of the finer emotions: fear, lust, rage, greed, gluttony, and the like. Under the last Winter Queen's cruel regime—before the newly empowered Summer King had come into his strength—the very air had been sustaining. Beira had been a malicious queen, inflicting as much agony on her own faeries as on those who dared to not kneel to her. It had been relaxing, if not always pleasant.

Irial said only, "Smaller conflicts can create the energy we need for sustenance. There are plenty of faeries you can use for nourishment."

In a voice that would disturb the calmest of the winter fey, one of Je

Gabriel growled at her. "We will obey our king."

Bananach snapped her mouth again; she tapped her talon-tipped fingers on the surface of the table. "So the Dark King is unwilling to fight? To allow us to defend ourselves? To strengthen ourselves? Just wait until we get weaker still? There's an … interesting plan."

She's going to be true trouble this time.

Another green-toothed fey added, "If we fight, maybe some of us might fade, but the rest … a war's apt to be good fun, my king."

"No," Irial said, glancing at Chela, Gabriel's sometimes mate. "No war right now. I'll not have any of you fade. That's not an option. I will find a way." He wished he could explain it to them in a way they'd understand. He couldn't.

"Chela, love? Would you?" Irial inclined his head toward a group of faeries who'd been smiling and agreeing with the green-toothed fey. Talk of disobeying him was intolerable, especially when mutiny was simmering in Bananach's eyes again.

Irial lit another cigarette and waited as Chela sauntered across the room. The knotwork hounds on her biceps snapped at each other as they ran around her arm at a blurring pace. A soft hum emanated from her, somewhere between a growl and a contented murmur. As she approached the table, she grabbed a chair from one of the thistle-fey, dumping him to the floor as she lifted it and settled amidst the grumbling faeries.

Several other Hounds dispersed throughout the crowd. Gabriel had spoken, said that they'd support the Dark King: they'd either need to obey Gabriel or kill him. Had he allied with Bananach, a faery war would be unavoidable, but Gabriel had stood with Irial for as long as he'd held leadership of the Hounds.

Irial resumed: "A mortal has chosen my symbol for her tattoo. She'll be bound to me within days. Through her, I will be able to feed on mortals and faeries both; I'll offset your own feeding until we have another option."

They didn't react for a moment. Then they lifted their voices in a beautiful cacophony.

He'd never fu

He exhaled, watching the smoke writhe in the air, missing the dead queen, hating Keenan for defeating her, and wondering what it would take to entice Donia, the new Winter Queen, to become as ruthless as her predecessor. The alliance between Keenan and Donia had swung the balance too far toward a degree of peace that was detrimental to the Dark Court—but war wasn't the answer either. The Dark Court couldn't survive on violence alone, any more than terror or lust would be enough. Everything was about balance, and in a court where the darker emotions were sustenance, attending to that balance was essential.

Another squabble in the middle of the room caught his attention. Gabriel's growl shook the walls as he ground his boot into a Ly Erg's face, leaving the fallen faery bloody enough that there'd be another stain on the floor. Obviously, the Ly Ergs weren't being as cooperative as Gabriel would like. They enjoyed bloodshed too much, clustering to support Bananach every time she stirred mutiny.

With a gleeful grin, Gabriel watched the Ly Erg crawl back to his table. Then Gabriel turned to Irial and bowed low enough that his face touched the floor, presumably to hide his grin as much as to show respect. He told Irial, "Once you collect your mortal, we'll ride with you to help evoke fear and confusion in the mortals. The Hounds support the will of the Dark King. That won't change." Gabriel's gaze didn't drift to Bananach or the glaring faeries who had gone to her side already, but his message was clear enough.

"Indeed." Irial ground out his cigarette and smiled at his most trusted companion. The Hounds had a lovely ability to induce terror in faery and mortal alike.

"We could get a bit of fear out of the disobedient in this lot …" Gabriel murmured, and his Hounds grabbed up some of the faeries who'd smiled in support of the earlier mutinous suggestions. "The Dark Court should show a little respect to our king."

Faeries clambered to their feet and talons and paws, bowing and curtsying. Bananach did not move.

Gabriel caught her gaze and gri

But not tonight—not yet.

"Tonight, we'll feast in our fallen sister's memory." Irial made a beckoning gesture, and several of Gabriel's Hounds brought in a score of terrified faeries they'd rounded up from the other courts. None were from the High Court— which wasn't surprising, as the High Court faeries so rarely left their seclusion—but there were both Winter Court and Summer Court faeries.

Irial folded a trembling Summer Girl into his arms. The vines that clung to her skin wilted under his touch. She was so filled with terror and loathing that he briefly considered sharing her with the others, but he was still selfish enough to want her to himself. Keenan's special girls were always such a nice treat. If Irial was careful, he could draw enough desire and fear out of them to stave off hunger for a couple of days. A few times, he'd been able to leave them so addicted that they returned willingly to his arms for regular visits—and hated him for making them betray their king. It was quite satisfying.

Irial held the girl's gaze as he told his court, "Their regents did this, brought us to this when they killed Beira. Remember that as you offer them your hospitality."