As they walked up to the door, Keenan scowled. He didn't pause or knock. He slid the door open and strode inside. He looked ready to strike someone.

Rage.

"Keenan!" She grabbed his arm. "We need to talk to them. Remember? That-"

"Ash-girl, you've finally come calling."

Aislinn looked upward. Bananach was perched on a rafter like a nightmarish vulture. Her feathers were expanding as she sat there, building themselves into sweeping wings that would span two body lengths if they were spread wide. With a crackling sound, she fluttered those wings, stretching them.

"You are good to me," Bananach crowed. She dropped to the floor in front of them. "Come now. The Dark King will be irritating if I keep you to myself."

Aislinn started, "We're here to see you. I need to know-"

Bananach's hand clamped over Aislinn's mouth before the sentence was finished. "Shhh. Mustn't ruin my fun. No more speaking from you if you want speech of mine."

Aislinn nodded, and Bananach pulled her hand away, scratching furrows into her cheek in the process.

They followed Bananach into a gutted concrete abyss. A sickly smell, like burned sugar and musky bodies, lingered in the air. The floor was sticky underfoot, so that each step was accompanied by a squelching sound. Aislinn had the almost irrepressible urge to run. She kept her arms close to her body in an attempt not to touch anything or anyone. They weren't all misshapen, but many of the faeries seemed ill made. Others looked closer to what she was accustomed to but were equally frightening.

Red-palmed Ly Ergs grinned, too wide, gleeful in the funereal atmosphere. Vilas turned their gray gazes on Aislinn and Keenan. Jenny Greenteeth and her cl.u.s.ter of nightmarish kin spoke softly, like gossips at the gate. Spreading a cloud of fear, the Gabriel Hounds moved like sentinels throughout the crowd.

Aislinn looked back at their own guards. They were fine for individual skirmishes, but a full-out war would be devastating. The Summer Court wasn't ready for fighting, not truly. The Dark Court was wrought of violence, among other things. This was their domain.

"Do you like it?" Bananach whispered. "How they want to eat you alive? You took away the last king's mortal. You make the new king mourn for both of his mortals."

"His mortals? Seth is my-" Aislinn started.

But Bananach crowed. Her shadow-wings stretched out behind her and she dragged her talons over Aislinn's arm in a feigned caress. "Pitiful little ash-girl. I wonder if he mourns falsely. Pretending to blame you for taking the boy?"

In front of them, Aislinn saw a shadowed tableau. Unlike in the park when the image had looked real, this was an obvious illusion hanging in front of them. A battlefield spread out of the image. The ground was ravaged. Faeries lay broken and bloodied. Shades of the dead drifted in the smoke from funeral pyres. Mortals were tangled in the mix-horror-stricken and mad, dead and empty.

In the center of the carnage was a table of sun-bleached bone. Skulls were stacked high for legs; ribs and arms and spines were woven together with sinew to make the flat of the table. Bananach sat at the head of the table-and Seth was stretched out on it in front of her.

The shadow Bananach in the image caught Aislinn's gaze and said, "If I were queen, I'd eat his entrails at my table just to make you ache." Then she plunged her talons into Seth's stomach.

He screamed.

It's not real. It's not real at all. But the war faery's earlier words made Aislinn's fear grow. Is this a "what-if"? Is this what will happen if I make the wrong choice?

Keenan pulled her to him. "It's not real, Aislinn. Look away. Look away now."

The image shattered then as one of the Vilas spun through the room. Her delicate shoes, held to her feet with silver chains, made an unpleasant clattering noise as she moved across the cement floor.

"It's an illusion," Keenan said. "Seth is not here."

"Are you so sure, little kingling? Can you be sure of anything?" Bananach reached out and laid her hand over the site of Aislinn's now-healed stab wounds. "Stirrings, beautiful stirrings that will bring me my violence..."

Aislinn had to remind herself that she was not a mortal to be daunted so easily. She put her hand on the raven-faery's taloned hand. "Do you have Seth? Did you take him?"

"What a good question," Niall said.

The Dark King had come up behind them. He paused beside Bananach. "Well?"

"They were in my nest; they are in your presence. The mortal isn't here. But you know that...." She leaned on his shoulder and let her wings curl forward to embrace him. Her wings were still shadowy, not fully tangible, but they weren't illusory anymore.

"Don't." Niall walked over to a throne on a raised platform. Unlike the Summer and Winter Courts, the Dark Court actually had a dais. The Dark Court embraced a bizarre mix of old-fashioned manners and disturbing perversities.

Aislinn walked forward several paces. Keenan stayed by her side. Some of their guards followed; others scattered into the room-not that they would be very effective in this crowd. Bananach was not the only threat: throughout the room were Ly Ergs, several glaistigs, the Hounds, and Cath Pulac. Aislinn shuddered at the sight of the feline faery. Like the great sphinx in the desert, she typically only watched.

Why is she keeping company with the Dark Court?

Aislinn and Keenan exchanged a glance as they took in the faeries who were sitting in Niall's presence. Bananach's whispering of war seemed far more frightening when they stood in a den filled with promises of fear and violence.

Niall lounged in his chair and watched them with a mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt and derision. "Why are you here?"

"I need to know what happened to Seth. Where he is. Why he's gone." Aislinn wasn't sure what she was to do. Do queens curtsy to other rulers when they come seeking favors? She would. She'd beg if it meant finding Seth. "I thought Bananach might answer questions."

Faeries laughed raucously at that.

"My Bananach?" Niall grinned. "Darling? Do you suppose you could answer the Summer Court's questions?"

The raven-faery was suddenly beside the Dark King; she gripped his neck like she'd strangle him.

Niall didn't react. "They have questions."

"Hmm?" She had drawn blood and was watching it trickle down Niall's throat.

"Questions," he repeated.

The room stilled as Bananach looked around and said, "My war comes. Wars need lambs and cinders."

Her wings solidified as everyone watched her.

"Unless you ruin it all, we are where we must be." Bananach kissed Niall and whispered, "We shall bleed, my King. If we're lucky, you might even die horribly."

Then she took flight. Aislinn clutched Keenan's hand as she pa.s.sed them in a blur.

Once Bananach was gone, Niall made a gesture of dismissal. "You have the only answers you'll find here. Go now."

There were more answers to be had. Aislinn was sure of it. Niall knew something more. He cared too much about Seth to be this dismissive if he didn't already know what she wanted. He wouldn't be this calm if Seth were dead.

Her resolve broke. "Tell me what you know," she begged. "Please?"

The look Niall gave her was akin to the disdain he'd had when they'd argued at the Crow's Nest. The stillness that had accompanied Bananach's mad muttering held. When the Dark King broke the silence, he said, "I know that you are why he is gone, and I don't know that you deserve his return."

"He's okay, though?"

"He is alive and physically unharmed," Niall confirmed.

"But..." Aislinn felt simultaneously better and worse. Seth is safe. It was just the one pain then, the one that had been weighing on her. Seth left me and is not here by choice. "You know where he is. You've known..."

The room was full of faeries who were staring at her as she fought not to break down in grief, or perhaps rage. They licked their lips like they could taste her feelings. Vulgar and hateful, these were the faeries she'd feared. They were nothing like her court.

Beside her, Keenan tensed. He extended a hand. She took it. "Will you tell him I-"

"I am not your messenger boy." Niall's scorn was chokingly thick. His faeries giggled and whispered.

She started toward the Dark King, but Keenan tugged her back.

"No. Come closer, Aislinn," Niall beckoned. "Come kneel before me and ask for the Dark Court's mercy."

"Aislinn-" Keenan started, but she was already walking toward the Dark King.

When she reached him, she dropped to her knees at his feet. "Will you tell me where he is?"

Niall leaned forward and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Only if he asks me to."

And to that, Aislinn had no answer. She kneeled on the dirty floor and lowered her gaze to stare at the Dark King's boots. If Seth didn't want to be in this world, what right did she have to try to force him? Loving someone meant letting them be who they were, not caging them.

Maybe he didn't tell me good-bye because he knew I would try to make him stay. His last message had been that he'd call, not that he would come home to her.

She stayed there, kneeling, until Keenan led her away.

Chapter 29.

Sorcha would rather be with her mortal in the garden; however, Devlin had insisted they speak. They walked through the halls, not beside each other but with him not quite a half step behind. It was only enough distance that she would notice. At a casual glance, other faeries would not see it. The swish of her skirts and measure of her step were so predictable that Devlin could time his movement to match hers. After eons together, he could predict every move in the Unchanging Queen. And I loathe that. She wouldn't speak that into their world though.

Her brother had existed almost as long as she and Bananach had. He was a tether between his sisters, an advisor to Order, a friend to War. Of the three, he found his the least appealing position, but Sorcha would gladly have traded fates with him. He had a freedom of choice that she lacked. Bananach had freedom but lacked a firm grasp on sanity.

"Forgive my questioning, but what good can come of letting him leave here? Keep him or kill him. He's just a mortal. His going there will complicate matters. The other courts will quarrel."

"Seth is mine now, Devlin. He's my court, my subject, mine."

"I could remedy that. He introduces risks that are dangerous. Your caring for him is...untidy, my queen." Devlin's tone was even, but even didn't mean safe. His devotion to order was often b.l.o.o.d.y: murder was merely another sort of order.

"He is mine," she repeated.

"He would be yours in the earth too. Let the hall take him. Your affection is causing you to act oddly." Devlin caught her gaze. "He inspires you to forget your tasks. You spend all of your time with him...and then he'll go to their realm, where you won't walk. If he doesn't return to you or if War kills him, I fear that you will be irrational. There are solutions. You can still control this situation. Kill him or keep him here where he is safe."

"And if that's what Bananach wants?" Sorcha paused to look in at Olivia. The starscapes she was painting were perfectly wrought-equidistant pinpoints of light with sporadic glimpses of randomness. The touch of chaos in the order-art required that. It was why true High Court faeries couldn't create.

Devlin stayed silent as they watched Olivia string stars on celestial spider-thread, weaving a frame to anchor bits of eternity for a few brief moments. If envy weren't so untidy, Sorcha suspected she'd feel it in such moments. Devlin, for his part, was in awe. Consuming pa.s.sion fascinated him, and Olivia was consumed by her art. She had only the barest tie to the world, moving through it like a breeze. She spoke, but never while she worked, and rarely when she thought of work.

Sorcha stepped back into the hall.

When Devlin followed, she told him, "I want Seth to have his freedom, but to be kept safe over there. I want him observed when I'm not with him. I need this, Dev. I've not asked for anything like this in all of forever."

"What do you see?"

Sorcha didn't like to talk about the arcs she saw in life-threads. They were rarely predictable, only temporally true, and always fluid. Each choice made the whole pattern shift and refine itself. Like Bananach's far-seeing, Sorcha saw what-ifs and maybes. Bananach only looked to those that would help her further her goals; Sorcha's vision was wider.

"I see his thread woven in mine," she whispered. "And it has no end, no knots or loops...and it shifts even as I speak. It blinks in and out of forever. It chokes mine; it fills in my own where it looks as I had died. He matters."

"Murdering him before this emotion clouded your logic would've simplified things."

"Or destroyed them."

Devlin frowned. "You're keeping something from me."

When Sorcha opened her mouth to reply, Devlin raised a hand. "I know. You are the High Queen. It is your right. All is your right." For a strange moment, he seemed almost affectionate as he gazed at her, but then he spoke, "I will keep him safe over there, but you must tuck this emotion away. It is unnatural."

The faery who had been her counsel for longer than either of them could quite recall seemed to have only the court's needs in mind.

As I should.

But as she returned to business, she wondered if Seth would like her private garden and what art he would make for her before he left.

Every day, Sorcha came to Seth's quarters and listened to him talk, and when he wasn't working, she spent hours showing him as much of the breadth of Faerie as she could in their limited time. He'd miss her when he left. Much like when he'd known Linda was leaving, he felt a dull ache at the thought of going months without her company. It was a maudlin truth, but he suspected he'd admit it to her all the same.

Today, when she walked in, the High Queen had a pensive mien; her moonlight eyes sparkled with cold light so very different from Aislinn's sunlit looks.

Soon I'll see the sunlight again. He smiled at the thought of being with Aislinn, of telling her what he'd seen, of revealing that he'd found a way to have forever with her. He wanted to bring her to Faerie with him. Maybe Sorcha would agree to let Ash stay with me during that month. Or visit. He wasn't sure he was ready to ask, not until he talked to Aislinn, but even if they couldn't work that out, one month out of each year was a small price. He'd gained eternity with Aislinn in exchange for a few short months.

Sorcha didn't speak. She simply walked to the window and opened it, letting in moonlight and the thick scent of jasmine. It was day, but in Faerie, the skies shifted at Sorcha's whim: she apparently felt it should be night just then.

"Good morning," Seth murmured. He had been up working on another painting. It wasn't right, but something would be. It drove him, the pressure to capture something perfect, something ideal, and give it to her-a gift to one queen to pay the fee to return to another. What he felt for Sorcha was oddly like what he'd felt for Linda. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to look at him with pride.

But right then, Sorcha extended a hand, and he offered her his arm as expected.

"Manners, Seth. Women always appreciate a man who treats them with manners." Seth's father was at the mirror fastening the stiff white collar of his dress blues at the time. The military dress uniform seemed to turn his father into a different person, with a straighter spine and sharper moves. It also turned Linda into a different person. Seth's mother sat beside him, stroking his hair absently and gazing adoringly at her husband.

"Manners," Seth repeated obediently as he snuggled into her embrace. He might be in the fourth grade now, but he wasn't going to turn down one of his mother's rare moments of cuddling. There was no doubt that she loved him, but she wasn't usually affectionate.

"Do little things to let her know that there's nothing and no one in the universe that matters more than she does when you look at her," his father said as he turned from the mirror. He held out a hand to Linda, who smiled and came to her feet. She was still in her housecoat, but her hair and makeup were already done for the night out.

As Seth watched, his father kissed her hand as if she were a queen.

His father's lessons on life weren't always clear at the time they were given, but they were invaluable. Seth tamped down on a surge of longing for his family.

Beside him, Sorcha was silent. She'd led him to another hall and approached one of the numerous tapestries that hung on the walls. Faded threads made the palette more muted than it must once have been, but age didn't detract from the beauty of the scene. Sorcha herself was depicted in it, surrounded by courtiers in various positions of attentiveness. Couples danced in what looked to be a formal way. Musicians played. But it was apparent that everyone in it was gazing at Sorcha, who sat regally observing the tableau. The real Sorcha-who looked much the same as her rendered image-pushed the weighty fabric aside. Behind it was yet another door.