Melissa Marr - Darkest Mercy

“Even if she doesn’t, she needs to be stopped.” Tavish kept pace with her despite the increasing speed at which she traveled.

Aislinn’s self-control was not as thorough as she would have liked: snow melted in floods in her wake; trees burst into bloom; and rivers of mud rolled into the street.

Finally, as they were almost at the warehouse, she asked, “Advice?”

He gestured for her to pause for a moment. As the Summer Guard raced up behind them, he said only, “Trust your instincts. If we can’t stop her, we’ll be looking at our deaths anyhow.”

In front of them, Aislinn saw Dark Court fey fighting Dark Court fey, and she wasn’t sure which was the side her court fought with and which was the side they fought against. “How do I know who to fight?”

Tavish lifted his sword. “If they swing at you, defend yourself.”

“Right.” She shoved sunlight like a blade into the chest of a faery running at them. “Did we have a plan? You’re the one with experience at this.”

“The plan? Thin Bananach’s numbers, hope we can nullify or kill her, not die, and rescue Seth.” Tavish swept a Ly Erg’s legs out from under him, and then sliced open the faery’s throat.

The sight of it gave her pause. “Is he . . .”

“Dead? Yes.” Tavish no longer looked like the diplomatic advisor she’d known. Every semblance of civility was gone as he neatly cut down another faery without hesitation. “They knew the risk when they stood with Bananach. As do our faeries when they fight against her. . . .”

At that reminder— my faeries or the madwoman’s faeries —the twinge of horror Aislinn felt was replaced by resolve. I am the Summer Queen. These are my faeries. She saw Keenan, cornered by three Ly Ergs—and holding his own. My faeries and my friends.

With a concentrated look, she sent a sunbeam sizzling at the chest of one of the Ly Ergs. The faery fell, and Keenan flashed her a grin before resuming his fight with the other two. As Aislinn started to strike another of the faeries Keenan fought, four former Dark Court faeries charged her and Tavish.

Several more Summer Court guards came up on either side of her. Tavish stayed slightly in front of her. As far as Aislinn could see, faeries engaged in fights to the death, and somewhere in that morass of violence Seth was trapped.

“Lead on,” she told Tavish as she directed several more sunbeams at the seditious faeries.

Tavish nodded to one of the guards, and as a group they advanced through the center of the conflict while the rest of her guard engaged the faeries fighting for Bananach. Blades of all sorts flashed in the sunlight that radiated from her skin. If it had been only Summer Court faeries fighting on her side, she could have let the full force of her light shine, but some of the Dark Court faeries were there to oppose Bananach. A solar flare would blind and injure allies too.

A storm wouldn’t favor only her side either.

One at a time, then.

She didn’t know how many faeries stood between her and Seth, or even where to look for him, but he was in there.

As are my faeries and my friends.

Aislinn, Tavish, and the rowan advanced slowly, and as they did, she aimed sunbeams and sent vines tangling the enemies. They weren’t fatal strikes, but killing still made her squeamish. In defense, she could do it. Or if Seth is injured. She blanched as a thistle-fey skewered a vine-wrapped faery, but she continued as she was. Mercy wasn’t the way of the Dark Court fey.

It won’t be mine either if Seth is injured . . . or worse.

The Winter Court was last to arrive. In front of her, Donia saw Summer Court and Dark Court fey. The crush of faeries extended from the warehouse to the edge of the street and spilled into the block around them. Various rowan and Summer Girls— Summer Girls? —fought the enemy. Others dragged mortals away from the violence.

“Summer, move !” Donia waited the count of three for the faeries to get to safety before she hissed a breath of ice into the street, chasing the mortals away effectively and quickly. The ice from her lungs wasn’t thick enough to kill the Summer Court faeries who weren’t out of her reach, but it did make a couple of them falter.

“Winter, here .” She let another, much stronger gust of ice coat the ground. She could keep the mortals from crossing the line into the faery war that had erupted.

Beside her several of the most dominant of the Hawthorns and Scrimshaw Sisters and lupine stood awaiting her decisions. She gave her faeries an icy smile. “Winter shows no mercy to Bananach. Push forward into the thick of the fight—but only if doing so does not make the boundary porous. No escapes.”

At her word, all of the faeries beside her except for Cwenhild carried the word to the troops. The Scrimshaw Sister waited. Without any ceremony or drama, Cwenhild had stepped up to fill the role of chief guard and advisor.

Donia looked at her questioningly.

She shrugged and said simply, “I protect my queen.”

“I will fight.”

Cwenhild shrugged again. “So be it.”

Donia hadn’t had the years of fighting experience that the Dark Kings or the Hunt had, but what she did have was power that ached to be released. The sheer number of faeries fighting in the streets outside the Dark King’s warehouse made it impossible for her troops to get inside, so Donia stayed with her fey. She felt the pain of loss strike her when her faeries fell, felt the cold satisfaction of their victories, and she shivered at both sensations.

Mine. They are mine to protect.

In the midst of the fight, Ankou and Far Dorcha strode through the bodies; the death-fey were untouched by the violence. No stray arrows or knives’ tips pierced them. Their clothes were torn, and the hem of Ankou’s winding sheet was heavy with blood and dirt and ice. She went about her macabre business, collecting the corpses, removing them from the fight—and for the first time, Donia understood the need for the death-faery’s work. The fallen did not deserve to be left to be trampled; the living didn’t need to see their comrades dead in their path. Ankou did necessary work in the midst of battle.

“My Queen?” Cwenhild prompted.

“None of Bananach’s faeries are to get past you.” Donia looked up, aware that both Far Dorcha and Ankou had stopped mid-step to look at her. The suddenness of their gazes made her falter. Seeing Death gazing back at her so studiously wasn’t encouraging.

My faeries bleed.

“I go with you. I protect my queen first and always,” Cwenhild insisted.

“No.” Donia pulled her gaze away from the two death-fey. “You know how to lead them in battle. That is my order, Cwenhild. They need a general, and I need you to lead them, not guard me.”

“I disagree,” Cwenhild said, “but I will do as you order.”

As Donia pushed through the fight, she saw Keenan near the door of the warehouse. He hadn’t yet reached Bananach, but he was obviously trying. Frost and frozen flecks of blood clung to his skin like a dusting of silver and crimson glitter.

“What are you doing?” she muttered. Keenan wasn’t a king anymore; he couldn’t stand against Bananach if she was a regent in truth. Only regents or equally powerful faeries could kill regents, and Keenan had surrendered most of his power.

The Winter Queen had swords of ice in both hands, and when that wasn’t enough of an offensive, she exhaled and encased faeries in sheets of ice. While she had been queen less than two years, she’d wielded Winter as the Winter Girl for almost a century.