Radiant Shadows (3 page)

Ani had gone to the Dark Kings’ home knowing it would be another painful experience—
and not the fun kind of pain
.

Irial held one of her hands in his. It was a comfort of sorts. “Are you ready?”

“Take it.” Ani extended her other arm toward the former Dark King. She stared at the fleur-de-lis wallpaper, at the flickering candles, at anything other than the faery sitting beside her. “Take
all
of it if that’s what you need.”

“Not all, Ani.” He squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “If there was another way—”

“You’re my king. I will give whatever you ask of me. Do it.” She watched as he jabbed a thin tube into her skin. Bruises from the last several tubes decorated her skin like love bites.

“Not your king now. Niall’s the Dark King.”

“Whatever.” Ani didn’t resume the argument she’d
lost too often: Irial might be king-no-more, but he had her loyalty. Truth be told, he had the loyalty of many of the denizens of the Dark Court. He might not rule them, but he still looked after them. He still handled those matters too disquieting for the new Dark King. Irial cosseted Niall.

Ani, however, wasn’t sheltered.
Not anymore.
When Irial learned that Ani could—
that I need to
—feed from both touch and emotion, he’d begun trying to find out how to use that for the Dark Court. According to Irial, as a halfling, she shouldn’t have either appetite. She certainly shouldn’t have both; and she definitely shouldn’t be able to find nourishment from mortals. Irial believed that Ani’s blood might hold the key to strengthening their court, so she’d become the subject of his experimentation.

Which is fine. For my court. For Irial.

“More?” she asked.

“Just a bit.” Irial bit the cork that sealed the next vial and tugged it out. He spoke around the cork held between his teeth and added, “Tilt down.”

She lowered her arm, clenching and unclenching her fist to pump the blood faster. She wasn’t sure if it actually helped the flow of blood, but it did give her the illusion that she was doing
something
. Bloodletting hadn’t become easier despite the number of times she’d done it.

With her free hand, she took the cork from his mouth. “I have it. Grab the next one.”

As the vial filled, Irial took another empty one from the rack and lifted it to his lips. Once it was uncorked, he switched the empty vial with the now full one. “Take this?”

Silently, she accepted the glass container with the same hand that held the cork. She sat it beside the other vials, all recorked, all filled with her blood. Then, she pushed the cork into the top of it.

“Last one,” Irial murmured. “You’re doing great.”

Ani stared at the empty space in the sixth rack; the others were all filled with vials of her blood. “Good.”

Irial handed her the last tube of blood and pressed a kiss to the inflamed extraction site. Neither of them spoke as he took the final container, settled it with the others, and carried all of it to the doorway and handed it off to a faery she didn’t see.

Their experimentation was a secret that neither Niall nor Gabriel knew of, but it was one of the myriad things Ani would do if Irial so much as hinted that he wished it of her.
Not as painful as what I have done.
At Irial’s request, she had let a trusted thistle-fey embrace her on one particularly unpleasant evening. Her hair and skin were collected by his touch. Should the court at large know of Irial’s experiments on her blood and flesh, should they learn why he sent samples to be tested and hopefully copied, she’d be at risk.

As would Iri.

Few faeries knew of her abnormalities—and she was
grateful for that—and while Niall
did
know that she was unlike other faeries, he did not know of the experiments. He thought her ability to feed on the emotions of both faery and mortal was hidden from those who would kill, use, or champion her. Niall was a humane king. He allowed their faeries to do as they must, but he kept the court on a leash.

In a time when Bananach—the carrion crow, the bringer of war—grew stronger, leashes were dangerous. The faery courts, at least those on the mortal side of the veil, were on the verge of violence. The growing conflict nourished the Dark Court, who fed on the chaotic emotions, but it was also a threat to those Ani held dear. Upheavals between courts, whispers of deaths to come, these were all well and good—up to the point at which her own court was in jeopardy.

And Bananach will not spare the Dark Court. Or the mortal world my family lives in.

Irial did as he had done when he was king: moving pieces behind the scenes, making bargains, bending rules. This time, though, Ani’s safety was one of the rules he bent.

With my consent.

When Irial came back into the room, she watched him warily. For all of her adoration of him, she knew that he was rarely influenced by weakness or tenderness. He hadn’t held the throne of the court of nightmares for
centuries by being easily swayed.

“You know I wouldn’t do this if there were better options.” His words weren’t a lie; they weren’t fully true either. Unless there was one clear option that would assure his court’s safety, he would do this—
and much worse.

Yet, the former Dark King still thought of her as a child, as one foolish enough to accept the misdirection in his words. She wasn’t a child.

Perhaps foolish, but not naive, not innocent, not easily misled.

She leaned on the wall. The room was out of focus. “You’ve kept me safe my whole life. Kept Tish safe… and Rab… and… we’re good. It’s fine.”

The world around her spun. Tonight’s experiment had begun with her being as hungry as she could stand before the bloodletting. It wasn’t the least pleasant of the experiments, but it wasn’t pleasurable either.

Irial walked over to feed the fire—away from her so she could have the privacy to pull herself together—and asked, “You okay?”

“Sure.” She sat down, not feeling exactly
well
. Most days, she was only barely above starved. During the first few months of her hunger, she’d had humans and a few halflings. Since she’d moved to Gabriel’s care, she’d been restricted to the point that her hunger was hurting her physically. She’d been barely nourished by the emotion Irial shared and the scant contact that Gabriel grudgingly allowed her to pursue in court. Hugs and feather touches
weren’t anywhere near enough.

Irial ran one hand absently over the side of the marble fireplace. Like everything in his house, it was carved with an appreciation of textures. The sharp edges and smooth curves drew her attention, but she didn’t approach the fireplace or the faery in front of it. Instead, she moved to one of the white leather chairs and traced a finger over the raised gray fleurs-de-lis barely visible on the walls.

“I know this is… difficult for you, pup.” Irial kept his distance, but he let her taste all of his emotions, giving her nourishment to make up for what she’d lost.

Ani caught his gaze. “Do you apologize to Gabriel when he punishes faeries who need it?”

The play of firelight and shadows made the former Dark King appear ominous, but his temper was not stirred. “No.”

“Then drop it. I’ll do what’s necessary for my court.” She fought the urge to fold her arms, forced herself to be calm, even though he knew exactly how unsettled she was. Dark Court faeries couldn’t feed on mortal emotions, but Ani wasn’t entirely mortal.

If Irial had not been there for her when she’d come to live with the Hounds, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done. He helped her cope with her changes, nourished her enough to keep true starvation at bay. In truth, if not for him she might have died forever ago. He’d protected her—and Tish and Rabbit—for almost all of their lives.
She let him feel the surge of gratitude and whispered, “I serve the will of the Dark Court. I know you have reasons.”

“If we can find a way to filter out your blood, our court will be unstoppable; Niall will be safe; and…” His words faded, but the hope was undeniable. Unlike many faeries, Irial was comfortable with modern science. If they could identify the anomalous component within her, replicate it, and introduce it to others, Dark Court faeries would be able to feed on both faery and mortal emotions. They’d be sated. They’d tried another plan, binding mortal to faery as conduits with tattoos, but those ink exchanges had presented unexpected complications.

“Right.” Ani stood. She’d heard his theories before; there was little Irial could say that would be new.

“You can save us,” he said yet again.

Ani wasn’t sure if his words were truth. Faeries couldn’t lie, but belief was a tricky thing. If Irial believed the words, they were utterable, and he did believe that her blood was the solution they needed to save the Dark Court.

“I’ll be back later. You’ll tell me”—she folded her arms over her chest as if it would still the shivering—“when you need me?”

“Your court needs you every day, Ani. No one else can feed on both touch and emotion; no one else can feed on both faery and mortal. You are the key.” Irial wrapped his
arms around her and kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t much, but small touches from such a strong faery fed her skin hunger more than a lot of touch from a weak faery or a mortal would.

Ani stayed still, grateful for even the scant contact.

Irial stroked her hair. “You let me keep my promises to stop the ink exchanges, to protect my king…. We
do
need you, pup.”

She looked up at him. “As long as Gabriel and Niall don’t find out, right?”

“For now.” Irial stepped away, his hands still on her shoulders, and then he unfolded her arms and took her hands in his as he repeated the same assurances he had the past few months. “Just for now. Once we figure out what’s in your blood, they’ll understand why we did this.”

She nodded.

He led her to the door. “Do you need anything else?”

All sorts of things no one will give me.

Ani said nothing. Instead, she hugged him, knowing from other rejections that his offer didn’t include the other things she needed. Irial—for all of his love for court and king, for all his protection for family and beloved— didn’t want to hear what she truly needed. He wouldn’t share his bed with her or force her father to let her run free with the Hounds.

“I need to go,” Ani murmured, and then she turned her back on him before she gave in to the temptation to beg. He
gave her enough to keep her from starvation, but the former Dark King wouldn’t help her fully sate her hungers. She would have to find a few tastes here and there to silence the gnawing inside her.

Again.

Rae walked into the image of a tiny kitchen. Ani stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. A memory played out in the adjoining room. The tableau was set in a different era than the one where Rae had lived. It was familiar though: it was a memory that Ani replayed over and over in her dreams. So, Rae waited for the memory to run its course.

Ani’s thinking of Tish so protectively wasn’t unusual, but more and more often, the memories of difference, of awareness of the sisters’ dissimilarities, had become central in Ani’s dreams.

“She is well? Your sister?” Rae asked, drawing Ani’s attention away from the memory.

Ani turned to face Rae. “Yeah, Tish is good. I miss her.”

“And you? Are you well?” Rae materialized a sofa that was reminiscent of one from her own long-gone sitting room.

Ani sat on the arm of the sofa, balanced there with no effort. Even in dreams, Ani had innate animal grace.

“I’m mostly okay.” Ani’s gaze skittered away from Rae.

Her words weren’t a lie; if they were, the Hound wouldn’t be able to speak them.
Even here.
They were together in a dream, but because Rae was a dreamwalker, this, too, was a sort of reality.
And some rules,
faery
rules, are inescapable in every reality.

“Mostly okay?” Rae envisioned a nice cup of tea and a tray of finger sandwiches, pastries, and other assorted treats. In dreams, she could adjust the world around her, so the imagined treats appeared as quickly as the thought had. “Scone?”

Absently, Ani took one. “It’s weird to dream about eating.”

“You needed comfort, so you dreamed of food,” Rae said. Unlike faeries, Rae
could
lie at will. “You were stressed over thinking about your sister. It makes sense.”

The Hound slid from the arm of the sofa into the seat. “I guess.”

As Ani sat silently and ate, Rae enjoyed the semblance of normalcy. If Ani realized Rae wasn’t a figment of her imagination, they’d stop talking, but Rae had been visiting her dreams since Ani was a child. Ani rationalized Rae’s presence.

“I think I’m lonely.” Ani pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her. “Plus, being apart from Tish is…
wrong
. What if she needs me? What if—”

“Is she alone?”

“No, but still…” Ani’s voice drifted off as distorted images from her fears formed around them.

A faceless faery reached for Tish.

Hands covered in blood swung at Rabbit.

Ani’s mother, Jillian, lay dead outside a cupboard.

Ani was trapped behind a too-small barrier as a faceless faery reached for her.

Unlike the tea and food, these weren’t things Rae created. They were the terrors of Ani’s imaginings. Here, where Ani felt safe, she envisioned a mix of memories and fears. Rae could alter reality, but the dreamer’s mind also held sway.

“These aren’t real memories,” Rae reminded. “This is
not
what happened. You don’t even know—”

“She was there, and then she was gone.” Ani glared at Rae. “There
was
a monster. There had to be. He took her and… did something. Hurt her. Killed her. He
had
to have. If she was alive, she’d have come home. She wouldn’t have left us. She
loved
us.”

“You’re a creature that creates fear in others, not one who should dwell in it.” Rae concentrated on remaking the landscape around her. She removed the faceless faery, the dead mother, and the trembling girls. She wiped it all away, and—hopefully—Ani’s fear with it. “Tell me about
your court. Think about that. Tell me how things go with the Hunt.”

“I rode again. The wolves were at our feet; the steeds were like shadows…. It’s perfect when it happens. I want it always like that…. I want a steed; I want to be stronger; I want… oh… I want everything.” Ani’s eyes glimmered the strange green of the Hunt’s beasts. Despite her mixed parentage, she was meant to be among faeries; it had been obvious to Rae since she first met the girl.

Ani had no awareness of the vows they’d made and broken so Ani could live. Rae did. She remembered it each time Devlin refused to talk about the Hound, each time he refused to go check on her. They’d spared Ani. The time was coming when they’d have to deal with the inevitable consequences.

Rae reached out and squeezed Ani’s hand. In the dream- scape where Rae walked, she could do that, touch another body. “You’re too impatient.”

Ani pointed at herself. “Hound. What do you expect?”

“Exactly what you are,” Rae said.

Ani wandered into the dreamscape. To her, this was just another dream where her mind worked through fears and worries. And, just then, Ani didn’t want to work through them—so she walked away.

Rae followed in what was now a vast shadowed forest.

Time was running out, and neither Devlin nor Ani was any closer to finding their rightful places.
And I can’t tell them without undoing everything.

From the depths of the forest, wolves’ songs rose. A space between the trees opened up, and as Rae walked she could hear the pad of their feet on the needle-covered trail. Rae shuddered as the wolves drew near. Beside her, Ani sighed: the wolves were a comfort to her.

Ani spun to face Rae and blurted, “Do
you
think the monster was High Court? They hate my court. They steal halflings. They
are
monsters.”

“Monsters are called such by those who are doing the naming.” Rae tensed as a sulfurous green glow illuminated all of the wolves’ eyes in the forest. “Mortals write stories of the beauty of Faerie, of the delicate fey creatures of other courts, and
your
court’s creatures are the fiends.”

“He wasn’t
my
court. That’s for sure.” Ani crouched on the path and the wolves began to slip from among the woods. Their muzzles butted against Ani and Rae. Furred sides brushed against them. Howls rose into a cacophony.

Ani opened her arms to the wolves. The creatures began circling them in a blur of white teeth and green eyes, musky fur and growling throats. They ran faster and faster, pressing against Ani.

Rae visualized herself outside the circle, at a far distance up the path.

One by one, each wolf dove into the center of Ani and disappeared there. They were a part of her, the part that would wake and change the world.

If.
That was the worst part of knowing: the knowledge that the future Rae so desperately wanted was only an
“if.” She didn’t know what the other possibilities were, but she did know that the future she had glimpsed was one she wanted, one where she would have autonomy for the first time.
Please, Ani.

“I hope you are able to forgive him,” Rae whispered. “He’s not a monster. Neither are you.”

And then she was gone from Ani’s mind.

After being in the dream forest, her cave felt even more restrictive. Rae paced around the perimeter, counting out steps as if the murmuring of numbers would make the small space seem somehow larger. It didn’t work.

Darkness, the time of dreams, was Rae’s rightful place, but the past few weeks, Sorcha had insisted that there were but a few dark hours in Faerie. The moon did not go through normal phases; instead, it almost always stayed full in the sky, casting silvered light over them as if they were caught in one endless day. And without the dark, Rae was caught, trapped in the small cave that was her prison.

“Rae?” Devlin was in the doorway of the cave. The light from outside shone around him, illuminating him and adding to his otherworldly appearance. His coarse white hair, loosened from restraints, offset the harshness of his features a little, but not so much that the sharp angles of his cheeks looked human.

“You’re here.” Rae shifted her attire to match Devlin’s more formal garb. Her dress was pale rose with a hem that swept the ground, and although the waist was narrow, the bodice
was demure. Her almost floor-length hair was swept up with gilt combs. The only ornament beyond her combs was a black band around her throat that held a cameo. If Devlin looked closely, he’d see that it was his image in the ivory.

The stern set of his mouth softened. “You need not change for me.”

“I know,” she lied. She
did
need to change if it brought her the smile she’d sought. His stress was heavy enough that his straightened shoulders were rigid with it.

“I must go over to the mortal world again.”

Rae stilled. “Again?”

Devlin stepped farther into the shadows of the cave. “I am not sure how long I’ll be gone this time.”

“Something is wrong with the High Queen. She barely lowers the light.” Rae couldn’t see beyond the crevice where Devlin had entered. The brightness that seeped through the small fissure was painful to her. Facing it full on would be blinding.

“Light soothes her; darkness reminds her of her twin.” He was out of the light now, comforting in his presence as none other had ever been. The High Court’s assassin was her friend, her companion, her only solace in a world that— even after decades—still made little sense to her.

Rae leaned against a flat stone on one side of the cave. “I could come with you.”

Devlin kept his distance. “And if you were drawn back to your body by being in the mortal world?”

“
If
I was drawn into my body, which I don’t think I would
be, I suspect I’d die.” She stepped a little closer to him.

Devlin didn’t move away. “Which I do not want.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. She hated being left alone in Faerie, feared the High Queen, worried about Devlin, and wished she could go to the mortal world.

With careful deliberation, Rae stepped closer to him again. Were she solid, her skirt would be atop his feet. “Will you check on her? Ani is important. Just once go seek her out.”

“Don’t do this.” Devlin’s voice held the edge that it always did when Rae broached forbidden topics.

“You’re making a mistake,” she whispered. “You saved her. You ought to—”

“Don’t.” Devlin turned his back to her and walked away, retreating almost to the sunlight at the mouth of the cave. “I did as you wished. She lives. Nothing more is required.”

Rae lifted one hand, but didn’t follow. It wouldn’t matter: she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t force him to face her. Without his help, she had no physical substance.

Without him, I have nothing.

“Can I take a walk? Before you go?” Rae tried to make her invitation sound casual. It was one of the things she’d realized early on: she couldn’t act like it was important.

To either of us.

He turned. A flash of relief, so brief that it barely registered before vanishing, slid across Devlin’s impassive face. “If it would calm you…”

“It would,” Rae assured him. She didn’t give voice to
the fact that it would calm
both
of them. Devlin wouldn’t have stood so pensively if he didn’t seek the reprieve. He needed an excuse, and he needed an invitation. Unless it was for political maneuvers, for the ability to lie, Devlin never admitted wanting the respite that Rae’s possession allowed them both. Letting her close to him, letting her possess him, gave him freedom from the stifling rules of Faerie. It gave him an excuse to enjoy his
other
sister’s heritage without consequences.

“Fine.” Devlin stood still, motionless as only a faery could be.

She walked across the cave as if she could touch the stone floor. She measured each step as she’d been doing earlier for peace, counting them out as if at one of the long-ago dances she’d attended when she still had a body. Her skirts swayed, and the illusion made her feel closer to being tangible.

Devlin’s lips parted enough that a sigh could escape as Rae stood face-to-face with him. His body tensed in anticipation. His pupils dilated in the flood of adrenaline released by fear and excitement.

She slipped into his body, pushing Devlin to the back of his own mind and animating the body as if it were her own. She could feel him, talk to him inside their body, but he didn’t control the movements.
Not now.
After so many times inside Devlin, it felt as familiar as her own body had.
More perhaps.

She didn’t ask where he wanted to go. If she did, he would pretend not to have any interest in what she did with
his body, but she felt him, watching and riding out the emotions they both felt during their shared occupation. It was the only time within Faerie that he could revel in passions— because he was not the one choosing to indulge.

“In the mortal world, you are not so cautious,” she whispered. “I know your secrets, Devlin. I’ve seen the memories. The indulgences…”

What I do there is of no consequence,
he muttered.
I do as my queen bids first. I serve my—