Sorcha knew that her mad twin was in the club favored by Seth, the illogical anxiety the High Queen had experienced of late would worsen. If Bananach injured Seth, Sorcha would be … He couldn’t fathom what she would be. However, he was certain that he needed to convince Bananach to leave before Seth arrived. It would be preferable if Seth returned to Faerie—at least until the likelihood of true war in the mortal world was past. If Seth were injured, Sorcha might very well involve herself in battle with Bananach, and that could not end well for anyone.
Devlin didn’t observe social niceties as he went toward Bananach. Instead, he pulled his glamour around him like a shadow to hide his presence and shoved mortals from his path.
Necessary logical aggression.
“Brother!” Bananach smiled at him and casually knocked a mortal to the ground.
A small fight broke out as two guys both blamed the other. One threw a punch. The one on the floor came up swinging.
“How are you, Sister?”
“I am well.” She flicked her wrist out and cut a thin line on a mortal who wasn’t in the squabble yet. It wasn’t much of an injury, but her talon-tipped fingers were bloodied. Neither her presence nor the quarrel were random, but he wasn’t yet sure what her agenda was just then, only that she had one. War might start in madness, but to flourish it must be calculating—and Bananach was the embodiment of war.
Her intermittent madness was increasingly absent as she became more powerful. The visible presence of her strength was in her shadowed wings—which were shadows no more. They’d been made manifest. Bananach drew strength from the growing intercourt conflicts and mistrusts, and her strength enabled her to increase the conflicts. It was a deadly cycle—one he didn’t know how to end. Bananach had manipulated the courts, inner-court factions, and her sister until they were on the precipice of war. He’d seen her do so over the centuries, but this time he was afraid that they wouldn’t escape without more deaths than he could comfortably sanction. The last time she’d been so effective was when the now-dead Winter Queen, Beira, had killed the last Summer King, Miach. Miach had been Beira’s opposition, her lover, and father to her child. The consequences of his death had set the courts off balance for nine centuries.
Devlin pulled out a chair for his sister. Once she sat, he dragged another chair over and sat beside her. “Had you wanted to quarrel?”
“Not with you, dear.” She patted his hand absently as she watched the mortals fighting. “If the Dark Court could feed from mortals’ emotions and faeries’ emotions … that would change things, wouldn’t it? Imagine if I could make it so.”
“They can’t. You can’t,” Devlin pointed out. The Dark Court thrived in times of discord, but they were denied access to the throngs of emotional mortals all around them.
“Perhaps.” She traced a jagged line down her forearm with one talon-tipped finger. “Or perhaps I just need the right sacrifice.” She stretched her arm out, turning it so the blood dripped into his glass. “Blood makes Faerie stronger. She forgets, pretends she’s not like us.”
Devlin wrapped his hand around the glass of wine and blood now swirling together. “Sorcha is not like you, and you”—Devlin lifted his glass in a toast—“are not like her.”
War stabbed a passing mortal. “We are all—faeries, mortals, and other creatures—alike.” She stood and stabbed the mortal a second time. “We fight. We bleed.” She looked across the room at someone and smiled. “And some of us will die.”
The mortal pressed a hand to his side, but the blood wasn’t slowed.
“Stop by for dinner soon, precious one.” Bananach leaned over and cupped Devlin’s cheek with her bloody hand. She straightened. “Hello, my pretty lamb.”
Seth came up to them, glaring at Bananach. “Get out now.”
Devlin stepped in front of Seth, blocking his access to Bananach. He pointed to the mortal on the floor. “That one is injured.”
Seth raised a fist. “Because of her.”
“You can help him or argue with War,” Devlin said. “You cannot do both.”
Seth scowled. “And you won’t do either.”
“That is not my function.” For an unexpected moment, Devlin wondered if the sometimes-mortal-sometimes-fey boy would fight Bananach or save the injured mortal. He hoped that he’d not have to try to wrest Seth from Bananach’s grasp tonight.
Is he logical enough to sacrifice one mortal to strike Bananach or compassionate enough to save the mortal and plan to confront Bananach later?
After a lingering disdainful look at Devlin, Seth lifted the injured mortal. “At least help me get him to the door.”
Bananach stood to the side and watched, a bemused smile on her lips. She, undoubtedly, had weighed the possibilities too. The knowledge of Seth’s actions would be factored into her next maneuver. The strategy behind maximizing conflict required skill and patience.
Devlin cleared a path so they weren’t jostled. It wasn’t quite the way he’d hoped the evening would proceed, but his primary goal was met: Seth was uninjured. All things considered, everything was as fine as it could be.
Then he saw her.
Seth stepped past Devlin, blocking the sight of everything else for a moment.
“Wait here?” Seth shifted his hold on the injured mortal. “I’m going to get him to the …”
But the rest of the words he said were lost on Devlin: the girl laughed, joyous and unfettered. Absently, he nodded and stepped closer to the crowd, closer to her.
Ani.
She had shorter hair: close-cropped in the back so that it framed her face, longer toward the front so the pink-tinted tips brushed the edge of her jawline. Her features were too common to be truly beautiful, yet too faery to be truly common. If he hadn’t already known she was a halfling, a look at her overlarge eyes and angular bone structure would be sufficient reason to suspect faery ancestry.
Ani. Here.
Beside her stood her brother, the tattooist who’d bound mortals to faeries in the ill-fated ink exchanges and raised his halfling sisters as if they were his own children.
“Rabbit! Where did you come from?” Ani grinned at him.
“You were to call an hour ago.”
“Really?” She tilted her head and widened her eyes beseechingly. “Maybe I forgot.”
“Ani.” Rabbit glared at his sister. “We talked about this. You need to check in with me when Tish is with you.”
“I know.” She was completely unapologetic. Her chin lifted; her shoulders squared. In a pack, she’d be an obvious alpha. Even with her older brother, she was trying to challenge the dominance order. “I wanted you to come out with us though, and if I didn’t call, I knew you—”
“I ought to drag you out of here,” Rabbit growled
