Melissa Marr - Fragile Eternity

Seth turned to see Niall stand and reach down to the faery. “Are we done?”

“Mmmm. Paused. Not done. Never done until you’re dead.” She took his hand and, with the liquid grace that characterized so many faeries, she came to her feet. Her eyes were unfocused as she gingerly touched her cheek. “That was good, my King.”

The Dark King nodded. He didn’t take his gaze away from her.

“I’ll come for you tonight,” she whispered in what was either a threat or a proposition.

Then she turned her head in a series of short jerky moves, locating each of the six red-palmed faeries unerringly. They moved in unison toward her. Without another word exchanged, the group left as suddenly as they’d arrived.

Niall glanced at Seth. “I’ll be right back.”

He left as well, and Seth sat there, stunned by the random violence and unsure what to think of it.

Seth realized that another person had seen the fight: a faery, invisible to Un-Sighted mortal eyes, stared at him from across the room. Coarse white hair was bound back into a tiny knot at the crown of his head. His features were sharp, angular in ways that made him seem carved. It was a different sort of sculpture than what Seth created, but in the instant, Seth’s hands itched for a block of dark stone to try to sculpt an opposite piece. The pale faery stood staring, and for a moment, Seth wondered if he was alive. He was so inflexible that the illusion of being carved was complete.

Once Niall returned a few minutes later, he was not so blood-covered. His glamour hid the state of his clothes and the cuts on his skin, so the only mortal in the room who saw that anything had changed was Seth.

When Niall sat down at the table again, Seth said, “Do you know him?”

Niall followed Seth’s gaze to the side of the room where the statuelike faery still stood. “Unfortunately.” Niall removed a cigarette case from a pocket and slid one out. “Devlin is Sorcha’s ‘peacekeeper,’ or her thug, depending on who’s doing the defining.”

The faery Devlin smiled placidly at them.

“And I’m not in the mood to deal with him,” Niall added, without taking his attention from Devlin. “Very few faeries are strong enough to test me these days. She is. Unfortunately, he is too.”

Unsure how the day had gone so suddenly tense, Seth shot another glance at Devlin, who was approaching their table.

He stopped, still invisible, and said to Niall, “Trouble comes, my friend. Sorcha is not the only target.”

“Is she ever?” Niall flicked open his lighter.

Without being invited, Devlin pulled a chair out and joined them. “Sorcha was once fond of you. That should matter, even to you. What she needs is—”

“I don’t want to know, Dev. You see what I am now….”

“In control of your own path.”

Niall laughed. “No. Not that. Never that.”

Seth wasn’t sure what the right move was, but when he started to stand, Niall gripped his forearm. “Stay.”

Devlin watched, seemingly impassive. “He’s yours?”

“He’s my friend,” Niall corrected.

“He sees me. He saw her. ” Devlin’s tone wasn’t accusing, but it was alarming nonetheless. “Mortals aren’t to See.”

“He does. If you try to take him”—Niall bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl—“any kindness I once felt for your queen or friendship for you will not stop my anger.” Then he glanced at Seth. “Go nowhere with him. Ever.”

Seth raised one brow in silent question.

Devlin stood. “If Sorcha had meant for me to take the mortal, he’d be gone. She hasn’t ordered his collection. I am here now warning you of trouble in your court.”

“And reporting back on it.”

“Of course.” Devlin gave Niall a look that was beyond disdainful. “I report everything to my queen. I serve the High Court in all things. Be alert to my sisters’ words.”

Then he stood and left.

Niall ground out his first cigarette, which he hadn’t smoked, and pulled out another.

“Want to explain any of that?” Seth gestured around the room.

“Not really.” Niall lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He held the cigarette in front of him with a bemused look on his face. “And really, I’m not sure I can explain it all.”

“Are you in danger?”

Niall exhaled and grinned. “One can hope.”

“Am I?”

“Not from Devlin. He’d have tried to take you if he was sent here to do so.” Niall glanced at the doorway through which the High Court faery had left. “Devlin comes here on High Court business because Sorcha does not often walk among mortals.”

“And the faery who attacked you?”

Niall shrugged. “It’s one of her hobbies. She enjoys violence, discord, pain. Keeping her in check is one of the many challenges Irial left me. He helps, but…I have trouble trusting him.”

Seth didn’t know what to say to that. They sat in awkward silence for several cigarettes.

The waitress stopped to clean the tables nearest them—again. She stared at Niall with blatant interest. Most faeries and mortals did. Niall was a Gancanagh, seductive and addictive. Until he’d become Dark King, his affection was also fatal to his partners.

“Who was she? The faer—” Seth broke the word off as the waitress came to their table with a clean ashtray. He told her, “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“I don’t mind stopping, Seth.” She spared him a scowl before turning her attention to the Dark King. “Niall…Is there anything you need?”

“No.” Niall stroked the girl’s bare arm. “You’re always good to us. Isn’t she, Seth?”

After the waitress walked away, sighing and darting a glance back at Niall, Seth rolled his eyes and muttered, “We ought to pass those charms of yours out to everyone here.”

A grin replaced the gloomy expression on Niall’s face. “Spoilsport.”

“Enjoy it. Enjoy the attention, but reserve your affection for faeries,” Seth cautioned.

“I know that. I just need”—the Dark King winced as if the thought hurt him—“I just need you to keep reminding me. I don’t ever want to be what Keenan is, what Irial was.”

“Which is?” Seth asked.

“A selfish bastard.”

“You’re a faery king, man. I don’t know how much choice you have. And with what just happened with the raven-faery—”

“Don’t. I would spare you and myself from your knowing the unpleasant things in my life if you’ll let me.”

Seth held up a hand in a halting gesture. “Your call. I’m not judging you either way.”

“That makes one of us then,” Niall murmured. After a still moment, he straightened his shoulders, rolling them like he was testing for motility. “I suppose the true dilemma is where to direct my bastardness.”

“Or you know, try harder on the resisting-it thing.”

“Sure.” Niall’s expression was bland as he added, “That’s exactly what the Dark King is to do: resist temptation.”

Aislinn was feeding the birds when Keenan came in slamming doors and scowling. One of the cockatiels clung to the back of her shirt and poked its beak through her hair to watch the Summer King. The birds were a source of comfort for Keenan. Sometimes, in his melancholy or irritable moods, sitting and watching them was one of the only surefire ways to adjust his temper. The birds seemed to know how valuable they were and acted accordingly. Today, however, he didn’t pause among them.

“Aislinn,” he said by way of greeting before he walked past her and to his study.

She waited. The cockatiel took flight. None of the other birds came toward her. Instead, they all seemed to be watching her expectantly. The cockatiels’ crests were raised. The other birds merely stared at her—or in the direction Keenan had gone. A few squawked or chirped.