Darkest Mercy

Chapter 24

Donia stepped into the street outside the Summer regents’ building and paused. I can do this. I can lead my court, and I can be an ally to Keenan’s court. The alternatives all seemed to lead to violence. We can work together. The world they knew was unstable, but they were not their predecessors. Going into the Summer Court and not reacting with anger proved that. That doesn’t mean I will stay there a moment longer than I must. Standing in the home he shared with Aislinn and trying not to think about them together was more than she was ready to handle. She didn’t wait for guards to arrive, but Sasha had already appeared and now loped alongside Donia. Most of the time, the wolf didn’t follow anyone’s whim but his own, and if he thought she should be accompanied, she would be.

As Donia walked, she thought about the past, the moments she and Keenan were at odds, and the times they were close. He’d never wanted to hurt her, had never wanted to hurt any of the girls who’d tried to love him. Instead, he’d assigned guards, and of course, given Sasha to the first Winter Girl. Once, a long time ago, Donia had thought the unnaturally large wolf was a part of the Summer Court. He’d been there when she lifted the Winter Queen’s staff, had helped her when she stumbled that first day.

“Even now, I want to protect him,” she told Sasha. “It’s never going to change, is it? I wish I could stop loving him, but . . . you should’ve seen him. He hates Irial—for good reason—and has had conflict with Niall, but if I asked him to go to the Dark Court, he would. He’s good, even if he’s not good for me.”

The wolf paused and stared at her. He didn’t, of course, answer, but she was certain that he understood her. Sasha wasn’t an ordinary wolf. Wolves don’t live for centuries. What he was, she didn’t know. Keenan hadn’t known either: a “creature of Faerie” was all he’d said.

Sasha nudged her with his massive head, and Donia resumed walking.

She trailed a thin line of frost in her wake. It wasn’t enough to destroy all of the new buds that were starting to force themselves through the earth, but she wasn’t trying to destroy them. A flux between seasons was natural and right. It wasn’t yet time for true spring. Soon. This year, when spring came, she thought she might retreat to the far north. If I survive the coming fight.

After walking several blocks, Donia realized she was being watched. On the roofs nearby, crows lined up. One after the next, they came.

“You could go,” she told Sasha. “Run.”

The wolf glared at her and then continued to pad silently at her side.

The crows did nothing, but more and more of them swooped in and settled on every visible ledge. Mortals started pointing at the birds. Just what we need. Bananach was flaunting the rules. She was stronger than she’d ever been in Donia’s life, and in her strength, she was brazen.

With a rush of wings, the embodiment of discord and violence dropped to the ground in the middle of the street. Cars honked, and drivers yelled. Bananach didn’t deign to look at them. Her attention was fixed on Donia.

Her feathered wings were fully visible—even to mortals, whose hurled insults made clear that they thought she was “some freak.” She was smiling, a terrible expression of contentment that unnerved Donia. The raven-faery had her hair bound into a long braid that she’d looped up on the back of her head. Some of her black feathers jutted out at odd angles.

“Snow! How lovely to see you,” Bananach called out as if she were speaking to a friend she’d encountered by accident.

“I can’t say the same.” Donia rested a hand on Sasha’s back, as much to steady herself as for the comfort of touching the wolf.

Bananach narrowed her eyes. “Well, that’s not very sociable.”

A car careened to the side, darting into oncoming traffic to avoid hitting the raven-faery. She glared at the mortal driver, and then smiled as a bevy of crows dived down from the awning of a nearby building and effectively blinded him with their number. The car slammed into another—parked—car, and alarms sounded.

“I’ve come to discuss the future.” Bananach swiveled her head back to stare at Donia. “You want a future, don’t you, Snow?”

“I do, and I have a future.” Donia felt the approach of her guards. The tendrils that tied her to her court tightened inside of her. They were here, and she was alternately relieved and terrified. Bananach was behaving so far outside the normal faery-mortal interactions that Donia didn’t know what to expect of her.

“I need you to declare war,” Bananach urged. “Pick a court. We will decimate them.”

“No.”

“Do not test me.” Bananach shook her head. “I’ve no time for this. Not now. Tell me: do we strike the Dark? Eliminate the Sunlight? Both?”

Donia shook her head. “I have no quarrel with them. I’ve made peace with Summer.”

The caw that came from the raven-faery’s mouth was a hideous sound, more so as it echoed through the street from scores of crows’ beaks. “No. You will not ruin my plans. You are strong, and you can bring me the war I seek.” Bananach nodded. “Then, the Darkness. We can start with that.”

“No. Winter stands as ally to the Dark Court. I’ve made that clear to the king’s Gabriel and, previously, to the present and former kings.” Donia let her ice extend into a long sword. She’d not spent nearly enough years training to fight, but she wasn’t going to stand idly by while Bananach killed her. “We shall have peace between the courts.”

“Do you know what would enrage the Summer King? I know,” Bananach singsonged.

Winter Court faeries—invisible to mortal eyes—came up behind their queen.

Scrimshaw Sisters drifted to stand on either side of Donia, and the lupine prowled the street. As minutes passed, the traffic decreased. Mortals mightn’t see the fey other than Bananach, but they felt the tension in the air. They detoured away from the street, away from War and her violence, farther from the spot where destruction gathered like the storm clouds in the sky.

“I will allow your court the choice to be with me or under my foot.” Bananach tilted her head and stared at Donia. “What will you choose for your faeries? Shall I kill them, or will they serve me? Give them into my keeping, and I will spare you.”

“They are mine.” Donia exhaled the words with a scream of wind. “My court will not serve you.”

The crows all took to the air as one, and as they did so, Evan stepped in front of Donia.

“So be it,” Bananach said.

Donia couldn’t properly defeat War, but she could slow her. Donia did what she’d not thought she could do when she’d first faced the raven-faery: she stood against her with every intention of fighting. She exhaled all of winter that she could summon in that instant; ice covered the street, clung to the cars and storefronts. It was the perfect environment for her fey, but War hadn’t ever waited quietly when the climate was cruel: Bananach merely smiled.

Donia began, “Ev—”

“Go.” Evan didn’t glance her way. As he advanced on Bananach, the sky turned black with the crush of crows descending.

And, in the midst of the feathered darkness, an unknown faery arrived and stood staring at them with cavernous eyes. Her body was partially wrapped in a torn gray winding sheet that trailed behind her like the train of a gown. Vivid spots of red stood out on the cloth, like scarlet poppies in a field of ashes.

The faery made no gesture toward them, no act of aggression, so the Winter Queen forced her attention to stay focused on the more obvious problems rather than the potential ones. Mortals were under attack; her faeries were in danger; and she herself was far from safe.

“Tend the mortals,” Donia called to her fey, but before her guards could do so, the remaining mortals began to shift anxiously and leave on their own.

Fear comes tearing toward us.

Donia looked up as the Hunt arrived. They were invisible to mortal eyes, but the presence of the Hunt unsettled even the most obtuse mortals. Gabriel’s steed was in the center of what, to their limited sight, appeared to be a sudden storm.

None of steeds were in car form. Instead, they looked like a deadly menagerie: an oversized lion snarled next to a lizardlike beast; something that resembled a dragon paced next to a chimera; and scattered among them all were skeletal horses and emaciated red dogs. Atop the steeds were battle-ready Hounds.

“If we might offer aid to Winter?” Gabriel growled. His steed was a giant black horse with a reptilian head. It opened its maw in a snarl that revealed pit-viper fangs.

“Your aid is quite welcome,” Donia told the Hound.

Bananach raised an arm, so that she was pointing at the sky. As she lowered her arm, faeries who allied with War swarmed from the alleys and side streets.

Cath Paluc stepped forward into the fracas. The great feline faery tore through the Hounds and their steeds. The Winter Guard and the Hunt fought together against Bananach’s faeries as one force, and Donia was grateful for the sudden allies.

What she wasn’t grateful for was the appearance of Far Dorcha. At the edge of the fight, he waited on a macabre throne of his own making; the seat of his throne looked like nothing more than the spine and rib cage of some creature she couldn’t identify. Far Dorcha himself sat within the splayed-open ribs as if he’d been swallowed by some great skeletal beast.

The faery in her winding-cloth dress walked toward him, and for a moment Death smiled at her. The fleeting expression was the first proof of any emotion that Donia had seen. In a blink it was over, and he raised his gaze to stare at Donia. He nodded, and then looked over his shoulder to the unfamiliar faery, who now stood with her hand on the edge of his bone-wrought throne. Then, together, Death and his companion watched her faeries fall.

The Winter Queen turned her back to them and pushed farther into the fighting, bloodying her ice-made sword because it was either that or be bloodied.

Senseless death.

War was not to fight in this way. She was to incite discord, but she was not to simply attack regents or their faeries.

“I come to you not in full numbers, but in warning.” Bananach’s tone was conversational, despite the growing chaos in the street. “If you do not give me my declaration of war, you will die, Snow.”

“You cannot simply go around killing our kind. There was no declaration of war, nor will there be.” Donia said the words as much as a question to Bananach as a statement of Donia’s hopes.

Bananach’s faeries continued to flood the street, and the Hounds and Winter Guard continued to engage them in battle. Unlike the scuffle at Donia’s garden, this was a fight with intent to kill. My faeries. Donia raised her sword as a faery launched himself at her. While she was defending herself, Bananach strode through the fight toward her.

Despite the nature of the faery who approached, Evan and several others of her guard stayed in front of Donia. As she watched, the raven-faery lifted a hand, and Donia saw the inevitable about to happen. The movement was too fast for Evan to react.

“One by one”—Bananach sliced her hand across Evan’s throat, dragging her talon-tipped fingers over his neck—“they will fall.”

Despite the distance between them, Donia heard the words as clearly as if they were face-to-face. They weren’t. They were far enough apart that Donia couldn’t reach Evan before he dropped to the ground. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he had been taken from her. There was no pause: he was simply made dead.

And Donia felt it. He was hers, and as his queen, she felt their connection vanish as his life was extinguished.

The desire to gather the slain rowan to her vied with barely bound rage. Rage won. She knocked several faeries aside as she pursued Bananach, but before she could reach the murderous faery, Donia was caught around the waist and dragged onto a steed.

She shoved her elbow backward to no avail. “Let me go!”

“No,” the Hound holding her said. “The Gabriel pursues her. If anyone can catch her, it’s him.”

Donia glanced at Gabriel’s mate, Chela. “You have no right—”

“Gabriel ordered you kept safe,” Chela snarled back. “He rules the Hunt.”

Beyond them, Far Dorcha stood and held out a hand to the shade of Evan. Other shades walked with Donia’s fallen guardsman. Their forms were almost as visible as when they were still alive. Far Dorcha looked past the dead to lock gazes with Donia.

“We could go with Gabriel,” Donia suggested to Chela.

“I’d like to, but no. He’s bright enough not to give me many orders, but when he does, I am still bound to obey. In battle, he is my Gabriel first, my lover second.” Chela scowled a little. “If it weren’t mutiny, I’d follow, but as his second, I stay here and mind our pack.”

The faery who had stood with Far Dorcha now strode through the combined Winter Court and Dark Court forces that fought Bananach’s faeries. Far Dorcha did not follow her, but he watched her with a studious gaze. She stopped at Evan’s bleeding body.

Chela’s arm tightened around Donia’s waist, forcing the Winter Queen to stay on the steed.

“You must not let her touch you,” Chela implored in a low voice. “Death-fey are not to be trifled with, Winter Queen.” The Hound raised her voice: “Ankou.”

Ankou glanced at Chela, but her attention quickly shifted to the fallen rowan. “I will take this.”

“No.” Donia exhaled a plume of frost with the words. She could not reach the faery to strike her, but she wasn’t limited to what she could reach. The wintery air she exhaled encased Evan in a thick, icy shell.

Ankou frowned. “He is dead.”

“And?” Donia tensed.

The faery shrugged. “What is dead in battle is mine to take. The body will be trampled here. The fallen dead are mine.”

“No,” Donia corrected. “He is still mine.”

“The rest?”

“Please, do not challenge her,” Chela urged Donia. “There are fights you cannot win. Do not make this one of them.”

“You are not welcome in Huntsdale. I know what you both”—Donia lifted her gaze to Far Dorcha—“are, but I will not allow you to take him. You do not need to. I will give him burial.”

Ankou frowned. Her paper-thin skin seemed likely to tear at the slightest wrong movement. “I collect the battle-slain. It is why I come here. More will fall. He”—she gestured behind her—“will take the other part when they are not-living.”

At Ankou’s vague hand wave toward him, Far Dorcha crossed the street. “Sister, she wants to keep this one.”

“And she will treasure the body?” Ankou asked.

“Yes. I do treasure him.” Donia’s voice wavered, but she did not hide her grief, not here, not from Death.

Ankou nodded and stepped past the Dark Man as a cart rolled up. To any watching mortal, it would appear to be a white paneled van. Ankou opened the back doors and began filling it with the bodies of the fallen.

Far Dorcha turned his back on the corpse collector’s work. Around him, the shades of the dead waited—including Evan.

Her slain friend looked up at Donia. He touched two fingers to his lips and then lowered them as if directing a kiss toward her.

“He does not regret his choice,” Far Dorcha said softly. “He would rather you do not either.”

Donia watched her friend, guard, and advisor stride away and vanish. Once Evan was gone from her sight, she angled her body toward Far Dorcha and said, “She killed him for no reason.”

Behind Donia, Chela tensed, but the Hound remained silent this time.

“She cannot keep killing our own,” Donia announced.

“While I am here in your village, she can be ended more easily.” Far Dorcha looked only at Donia. “If Disorder ends, one will need to take her place. She . . . cannot be negated.”

“What does . . .” Donia started, but her words dried up as the Dark Man sauntered away.

He did not pause beside Ankou or at the throne—which vanished after he passed it.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Chela muttered.

Silently, the Winter Queen shook her head. Killing Bananach was necessary, but there were consequences she didn’t understand. The alternative, however, seemed to be that the raven-faery would kill them all.