Darkest Mercy. Melissa Marr

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      At that, she faltered. “Don’t ask me to be a monster.”

      Affectionately, he reached out and squeezed her forearm. “You are a faery regent, Aislinn, and we are fast approaching war. Monstrosity will be called for. How far will you go to protect your court?”

      Aislinn winced—as much because of the truth as because she had to admit it aloud. “As far as I must. The longer I am this”—she gestured at herself—“the harder it is to remember how much I loathed what he did to me. He took away my mortality, Tavish. I hated him. I hated all of you. . . .”

      “And now?”

      “I hate any who threatens my court.” She sighed. It seemed foolish, but her first lesson in being a faery regent had been to trust her instincts. She hoped that she was not erring as she said, “Speaking of, I don’t like Quinn’s arrogance. He questions me, not to help, but . . . I don’t know his game. He has one, though.”

      “He is not who I would’ve picked to replace my former co-advisor.” Tavish’s expression was unreadable.

      Pretending a self-assurance that she rarely felt for more than a heartbeat, Aislinn said, “When Keenan returns, I want to fire Quinn.”

      At that, Tavish’s lips quirked in a small smile. “For arrogance?”

      “No.” Aislinn pulled her feet up and tucked them under her so that she was sitting cross-legged. “I’d have to cast out everyone if that were the charge.”

      Tavish’s slight smile blossomed. “Present company excluded, I’m sure.”

      For a moment, Aislinn peered at him. “I think you just made a joke.”

      “I am not as solemn as you’d think, my Queen.” Tavish smoothed a hand over one of his already impeccable sleeves. “I am merely as solemn as I need to be to protect my regent.”

      With a comfort she didn’t think she’d ever felt before, she told him, “I don’t think you’re truly solemn, Tavish. If you were, you’d be in a different court. You belong to Summer. I’m sure of that. I can feel how strongly tied you are to my court, to me. You’re mine, Tavish. I have no doubt with you.”

      Her advisor rewarded her with a joyous look, and in the moment, she knew this was the side of him the Summer Girls saw. He was captivating in that faery way that made her think of the old stories where mortals believed them gods. He had uncharacteristically dark eyes, and his hair was silver—not silvered as mortals’ hair turns with age, but true silver. It was, like Keenan’s copper-colored hair, a metallic hue that made clear that he was very much not mortal. She’d never seen his hair unbound; it was kept in a braid of sorts that stretched down his back. The braid bared part of a small black sun tattoo on the side of his throat. That tattoo stood out in a mostly undecorated court. Of course, so, too, did his High Court reserve and his Dark Court eyes. Those eyes were watching her, so she said what she’d wanted to: “I don’t trust Quinn.”

      “I spoke against his selection.” Tavish’s gaze was focused on her, but it was—as it had been increasingly in the past few months—an approving look he gave her. “My king made the choice.”

      “Well, your king isn’t here. Until I decide otherwise, watch Quinn. No . . . extreme measures yet, but keep a close eye on him. Who he talks to. When. Everything.” Aislinn knew worry was in her voice, but unlike with the rest of the court, she didn’t need to hide that from Tavish. With her advisor, she could be unguarded. It was a welcome honesty. She twisted her hands together. “Both Seth and Keenan could be . . . in who knows what sort of danger, and neither of them have the sense to tell me where they are.”

      Tavish moved to sit beside her. “They will both return, Aislinn.”

      “What if Ba—”

      “She would’ve told us had she killed them.” Tavish reached out and smoothed back her hair in an oddly paternal gesture. “Their deaths would be of more use to her if you knew of them. They are alive. Bananach attacked Dark Court fey. Seth was there, and he left with the High Queen’s brother.”

      Aislinn considered rebuking Tavish for not telling her that news the moment he came into the study, but it was of little use to do so: he would only remind her that court matters were her first priority. His withholding that information for the few moments they’d discussed Quinn was negligible. It had to be this way.

      Court before everything. Before everyone. Before myself.

      “You learned this when?”

      “That Seth was safe? Today.” Tavish paused to let her know he was weighing the degree of truth he would offer. “That there was conflict? Two days ago.”

      Before she could speak, he continued, “You are my queen, and my job is to advise and protect you. If anything could have been served by telling you sooner, I would’ve done so. I know he was in the conflict with Bananach, and that there were injuries and deaths.”

      Aislinn’s heartbeat faltered. “Who?”

      “A halfling the Dark Court protected, the Hound- _-tattooist’s sister, was killed.”

      She thought about the girls, their seemingly endless energy, and felt grief wash over her at the thought of either of them being gone. “Was it Ani or Tish?”

      “Tish,” he said.

      “Poor Rabbit!” Even as she spoke, Aislinn’s thoughts flew to her own family. If Grams were injured in the impending violence, Aislinn wasn’t sure how she’d function at all. “Send Grams away. With guards.”

      Tavish nodded. “A wise decision.”

      “I need to know she’s safe and out of Bananach’s reach.” Aislinn crossed her arms, hugging herself to keep from trembling. “Send her on a cruise, so she’s moving around. Somewhere as warm as possible.”

      Tavish nodded. “There is talk of another death . . . not quite complete. My sources in the Dark Court are not as forthcoming as I’d like, but it is my understanding that Irial has been injured.”

       “Irial?”

      Tavish nodded once. “The details beyond that are not available. Yet. It does not bode well. If Irial is . . . gone, Niall will not cope well.”

      “I don’t understand.” Aislinn disliked admitting ignorance, but there were times that doing so was essential. Tavish was her advisor, and he’d lived longer than she could yet fathom. His ability to explain the long histories of the faeries she had only just met was one of his many valuable skills.

      Expression inscrutable, Tavish began, “You know that Niall and Irial have a history?”

      He paused, and she nodded.

      Tavish continued, “Niall has held on to his anger at Irial’s deceits and betrayals for centuries—and rightly so—but becoming a regent makes one see the challenges that might motivate choices that otherwise appear cruel.” Her advisor paused again and gave her a pointed look.

      “Some faeries,” he continued, “don’t realize the complexities of ruling as quickly as you СКАЧАТЬ