Melissa Marr: Darkest Mercy

“Keenan?”

He looked up.

“No. You can’t. Say no. Please say no,” he pleaded.

“But I’m here. You told me to come to you, and I’m here.” She laughed. “You told me you needed me.”

“Donia, run. Please, run,” he urged. But then he was compelled to ask, “Is this what you freely choose, to risk winter’s chill?”

She stared directly at him. “It’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“You understand that if you are not the one, you’ll carry the Winter Queen’s chill until the next mortal risks this? And you agree to warn her not to trust me?” He paused, hoping she’d say no before it was too late.

She nodded.

“If she refuses me, you will tell the next girl and the next”—he moved closer—“and not until one accepts, will you be free of the cold.”

“I do understand.” She smiled reassuringly, and then she walked over to the hawthorn bush. The leaves brushed against her arms as she bent down and reached under it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She smiled again as her fingers wrapped around the Winter Queen’s staff. It was a plain thing, worn as if countless hands had clenched the wood.

He moved even closer. The rustling of trees grew almost deafening. The brightness from her skin, even her hair, intensified.

She held the Winter Queen’s staff—and the ice did not fill her. Sunlight did.

She breathed his name in a sigh: “Keenan.”

“My queen, my Donia, I wanted it to be you.” His sunlight seemed to fade under her brightness. “It’s you . . . it’s really you. I love you, Don.”

He reached for her, but she stepped away.

Her sunlight grew blinding as she laughed. “But I’ve never loved you, Keenan. How could I? How could anyone ?”

He stumbled after her, but she walked away, leaving him, taking the sunlight with her.

Keenan was still reaching for her when he opened his eyes. The cave where he’d been sleeping was filled with steam. Not frost. Not ice. He let the sunlight inside him flare brighter, trying to chase away the darkness where his fears and hopes played out in twisted dreams.

Not so different from reality.

The faery he’d loved for decades and the queen he’d sought for centuries were both angry with him.

Because I’ve failed them both.

Donia walked aimlessly, taking comfort in the crisp bite in the air. The promise of it made her want to draw it deeply into her lungs. She did, releasing the cold with each breath, letting the lingering breath of winter race free. Equinox was fast approaching. Winter was ending, and letting loose the frost and snow soothed her as few things could of late.

Evan, the rowan-man who headed her guard, fell in step with her. His gray-brown skin and dark green leafy hair made him a shadow in the not-yet-dawning day. “Donia? You left without guards.”

“I needed space.”

“You should’ve woken me at least. There are too many threats. . . .” His words dwindled, and he lifted his bark-clad fingers as if to caress her face. “He is a fool.”

Donia glanced away. “Keenan owes me nothing. What we had—”

“He owes you everything,” Evan corrected. “You stood against the last queen and risked all for him.”

“One’s court must come first.” The Winter Queen lifted her shoulder in a small shrug, but Evan undoubtedly knew that she was walking because she missed Keenan more and more. They didn’t discuss it, and she’d not descended into foolish melancholia. She loved the absent Summer King, but she simply wasn’t the sort of person to fall apart over heartbreak.

Rage, however . . . that is another matter.

She forced away the thought. Her temper was precisely why she couldn’t settle for only half of Keenan’s attention.

Or heart.

Evan motioned to the other guards he’d brought out with him, and they moved farther away, all but three disappearing into the night at his command. The three who remained, white-winged Hawthorn Girls, never wandered far from her side if at all possible. Except for when I leave without telling anyone. Their red eyes glowed like beacons in the poorly lit street, and Donia took a measure of comfort in their presence.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that it’s too dangerous for you to be out alone,” Evan said.

“And I would be a weak queen if I wasn’t able to handle myself for a few moments alone,” Donia reminded her advisor.

“I’ve never found you weak, even when you weren’t a queen.” He shook his head. “Summer Court might not be powerful enough to injure you, but Bananach is growing stronger by the day.”

“I know.” Donia felt a flush of guilt.

Faeries from all of the courts had been slipping away, and Donia knew that they were joining Bananach. Can she form her own court? The mortality of the newer monarchs caused more than a little unease, and War had made sure to nettle to heighten the tension. Likewise, worries over the interrelations between courts caused traditionalists to rally around Bananach. Niall wasn’t openly sympathetic to the Summer Court, but his centuries advising them made his faeries ill at ease. Her whatever-it-was with Keenan had a similar effect on some of her court, and Summer’s attempts at imposing order on their court made faeries who were used to freedom chafe.

Donia wished that a new court was what Bananach sought, but the raven-faery was the embodiment of war and discord. The odds of her settling for a peacefully created court—if such a thing was even possible—weren’t high. Mutiny and murder were far more likely goals for Bananach and her growing number of allies.

War comes.

Once the others were out of sight, Evan announced, “I have word of trouble from the Dark Court.”

“More conflict?” she asked, as Evan led her around a group of junkies on the stoop of an abandoned tenement building. When she’d walked with Keenan over the years, he’d always sent a cloud of warm air to such mortals. Unlike him, she couldn’t offer them any comfort.

Keenan. She felt the fool for being unable to stop thinking about him. Even now . Every other thought still seemed to lead to him, even though he’d been gone for almost six months. With no contact.

She exhaled a small flurry of snow. In almost a century, she’d never gone very long without seeing him, or hearing from him, even if it was nothing more than a letter.

“Bananach attacked the Hounds two days ago,” Evan said, drawing Donia’s attention back to him.

“A direct attack?”

Her guard and advisor shook his head. “Not at first. One of the Dark King’s halflings was caught and killed, and while the Dark King and the rest were mourning, Bananach attacked them with her allies. The Hunt is not reacting well.”

Donia paused mid-step. “Niall has children ? Bananach killed his child ?”

Evan’s lips curved into a small smile. “No. Neither Niall nor the last king has children of his own, but the former Dark King always sheltered his court’s halflings. His fey— Niall’s fey now—are amorous creatures, and the Hounds mate with mortals far more than any other fey. It is an old tradition.” Evan paused and flashed a faux-serious look at her. “I forget how young you are.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you don’t. You’ve known me most of my life. I’m just not ancient like you.”

“True.”