Radiant Shadows (4 page)

“I’m not chastising. I think you
should
take pleasure for yourself.” Rae stretched, enjoying the heaviness of wearing bone and muscle again. She reached her hands out and touched the rocks that jutted unevenly in the cave. It was within the side of a mountain, not visible to the High Queen or perhaps simply not worthy of her notice. Devlin had made the cave where Rae hid. Like the queen, Devlin could bend reality in Faerie if he wanted to, but no one—save Rae— knew that Devlin could remake the world at his will. Out of respect for his queen, he’d hidden that truth from everyone.

“Oh, the things we could do if you weren’t so obstinate, Dev,” she said. “The world could be ours. No limits. Think about the freedom, the pleasures….”

I’m not going to spend all day like this, Rae
, he said
. Or discussing
that
again.

“Only because you know I’m right, and you’re going to have to admit it or lie to me… which you can’t do.” Rae grinned and kicked off the sandals that Devlin had worn. They were too utilitarian, too restrictive. Feet bare,
Rae stepped out the doorway into the brightness of Faerie. It felt deliciously scandalous to have her feet naked. Such a thing would’ve shocked everyone she’d known in the mortal world.

I serve the High Queen. It’s the choice I made,
he repeated as usual
.

“Some choices can be traps. Do you honestly think that staying the course just because you once thought it was right is wise? There are other choices.”

Enough, Rae.
He raised his voice inside their body.
Can we not… argue? Take the body where you will, Rae.
Devlin sounded both wearied and hopeful.

Rae heard the hope in his voice. It was small progress, but it was progress.

Ani and Tish flung themselves down the street toward the Crow’s Nest. It wasn’t quite running, but it was far faster than walking. Ani had to pace herself, force her feet to move slower to keep beside Tish. It didn’t used to be like that, but over the last year, Ani had changed more every month. Tish hadn’t.

Ani had always been a little different, but not enough to matter. She was just part of Ani-and-Tish, the “Trouble Twins”—even though Tish was really almost three years older. They had a difficult time being apart, so Tish stayed home a couple years extra before starting school. She helped Ani with book stuff and following mortal world rules, and Ani kept Tish safe from dangers and boredom. That was how it worked. And it
did
work—until Ani had changed too much.

“Ani?” Tish’s voice was breathless. “Slower?”

“Sorry.” Ani slowed down, looking up ahead at the
cluster of people outside the Crow’s Nest. Mortals. Almost everyone there was mortal, but that was fine by Ani. All the delectable faeries were afraid of Gabriel
and
of Irial, but mortals weren’t aware of the Dark Court. Most weren’t aware of the existence of faeries—which made them the best game in town.

“…Rabbit’s worried about money.” Tish was breathing heavily, despite Ani slowing down even more.

“Money?”

“Things are tight, but he’s still talking like I should”— Tish sent a pleading look at Ani—“go to college next year. Not far away or anything, but just…
away.
”

Ani kept her face as expressionless as she could. “Oh… so you want to… I mean… if that’s what you want, good.”

“I do, but I don’t like being far from you or Rab or Iri or Dad, especially lately. I hated when Winter was constant, but at least then you knew what to expect. With the courts all snarling at one another… I’m not sure I want to be away.” Tish looked down briefly, not saying the things they couldn’t, not admitting that she was too weak to defend herself.

Ani slowed to a casual stroll. Tish being out of reach scared Ani, but Tish being out of the growing conflict in Huntsdale was appealing. Ani didn’t voice that. No one—least of all Ani—was going to let Tish go where she was unprotected.

“I could come,” Ani suggested. “Not to
school
, but I could get a job or something. We can get an apartment.
Oooh, maybe in Pittsburgh near Leslie? Or in Atlanta? You could totally pass there if you wanted.”

“
You
couldn’t.” Tish said it softly. “Not anymore.”

“Whatever.” Ani didn’t want to talk about
that
. She wasn’t able to pass as mortal: any faery seeing her would know, but she was also under the protection of the strongest of the Dark Court faeries. Outside Huntsdale, she’d be vulnerable.

“Maybe in a few years I could go.” Tish hugged her. “You’ll get better at being what you are, Ani. I know you will. It’ll get easier.”

“Whichever is best for you is what we’ll do.” Ani forced a smile to her lips.

It was a matter of time until they’d end up apart. Half- lings were sometimes strong, but strong Dark Court half- lings were often targeted by solitaries or kidnapped by the High Court.
Not strong enough to be truly in the Dark Court, but too threatening to live outside it.
Irial’s protection had kept them safe—and well hidden—for most of her life. Then Ani had changed and had to move away from her family. Rabbit and Tish were not fey enough to need to be within the court, and Ani was too fey to live outside it. Rabbit was able to pass; Tish was able to pass; and now that Ani lived with the Hounds, Rabbit could relocate to somewhere away from Huntsdale.
So Tish is safe.

Ani wasn’t book smart, but she understood a few things she hadn’t when they were pups: Tish was almost mortal, and Rabbit had known how different the two girls
were from each other long before they did. He didn’t talk about those things, and Ani didn’t do anything that demonstrated how different she was from Tish. She’d kept that as secret as she could, for as long as she could. Life was about secrets and pretending. It had been that way since Jillian died.

Jillian wasn’t even a face in Ani’s memories; she was hands and too-fast words trying to get Ani-and-Tish—their names were already just one word then—to hide and “stay quiet, please quiet like you’re bunnies. For Mama?”

And after, when it was just Ani and Tish, when Jillian never came back to open the cupboard where the girls stayed still and waiting, Ani remembered that part too. Tish was sad, broken somewhere inside that Ani couldn’t fix. She pretended though, for Ani. Tish held on to Ani, and late that night Tish pushed the buttons they had on the phone to the “special number for trouble.” That was when Irial came and took them to Rabbit; that was when Irial made them safe in a new home.

Tish didn’t remember that day. She’d erased it from her memory, locked it away somewhere. The
before
and the
after
was what Tish remembered: Irial, Rabbit, and a new home. Tish never remembered the other parts.

Ani did.

Remembering Jillian not coming back made Ani feel raw inside. The day when Jillian was gone and Tish was sad was the first complete memory that Ani had. Life, as she remembered it, began for Ani in that moment.

“Hey, you okay?” Tish grabbed Ani’s hand and pulled her to the side of a group of guys headed into the club. “You weren’t listening to a thing I said, were you?”

“Sorry, Sis.” Ani flashed a fake smile. “The whole nonsense with Gabr—”

“Dad,” Tish corrected.

“With
Gabriel
not letting me relax with any of the Hounds has me all out of sorts.” Ani had found lying increasingly impossible the older she got, but she’d picked up the importance of misdirection years ago. She was out of sorts with Gabriel. That might not be what she’d just been thinking, but it was a true statement.

“He’s a good person. Give him a chance.”

“He’s never been a father, not like Rabbit.” Ani didn’t want to admit that being in the Dark Court wasn’t everything she dreamed of, not even to Tish. Being surrounded by the Hounds and the Dark Court should make her feel less alone, but the exact opposite had happened. “It’s not like I’m a pup. And his not letting you and me live in the same place, keeping me away from you and Rab, is no good.”

“I miss you too.” Tish always gave voice to the stuff Ani couldn’t deal with or even admit she needed to deal with.

Ani leaned her shoulder against the wall, enjoying the way the rough edges of brick felt against her bare back. It anchored her in the
now
—which was where she needed to be, not dwelling on memories best kept boxed up.

“Are you coping?” Tish gestured vaguely. They never
really talked about the way Ani craved contact—or the consequences of her getting too much of it.

“Sure.” Ani watched a group of guys head toward the door. They weren’t faery-pretty or emotional feasts, but they were on the prowl. For her, right then, that was good enough.
It has to be.
She could take a taste from each of them, a touch here and an emotion there, to keep the hungers at bay.

Not both. Never both from the same person.

She linked her arm through Tish’s. “Come on.”

Glenn was working the door. He winced as they approached. “And here it was looking like such a good night.”

“Jerk.” Tish cuddled into his open arms. “You’d miss me if I didn’t stop in.”

“Sure, but when you have your partner in chaos…” He wrapped an arm familiarly around Tish’s waist and lifted her into his lap.

Ani tilted her head inquiringly.
This is new
. And Ani hadn’t seen it because living with the Hounds meant not seeing her sister but once or so every other week.

Tish smiled contently as Glenn held her.

“Hey.” Glenn kissed Tish’s forehead, and then swept his gaze around the people and shadows in the lot. He didn’t get involved in whatever business people took out of sight, but dealing inside was banned.

“Aren’t you going to give Glenn a hug?” Tish played coy and silly, slipping into her role as easily as if their outings were still a daily thing. “It’s been, like, weeks.”

“You heard her. C’mere.” Glenn held out the other arm.

Ani leaned in close, enjoying the feel of bare arm and partly bare chest. Glenn had a sleeveless shirt on, fastened with only one button. He’d taken to the surprising return of Summer like most mortals—exposing a good amount of skin.

Glenn released Ani, but held on to Tish. “You be careful in there. Both of you.” He stared at Ani. “I mean it.”

Tish kissed him. “We’ll do our best.”

“That’s what I worry about,” Glenn muttered.

“Just dancing, Glenn.” Ani took her sister’s hand and pushed open the door. “I promise she’ll be fine.”

“You too,” Glenn said.

But the door was open and the crowd of bodies was right there, and all Ani could do was call back, “Sure.”

The band was old-school punk, and there was a pit.
Perfect.
With a gleeful squeal, Tish shoved Ani forward into the mass.

Devlin watched for Seth as he walked through the crush of mortals in the Crow’s Nest. It was less complicated to await Seth here; the alternative was going to the Dark Court, and dealing with the Dark King could be fraught with difficulties. Niall, the Gancanagh who’d once lived in Faerie and now ruled the Dark Court, had changed. His years with Irial, his centuries advising the Summer King, and his recent ascension to the Dark Court’s throne all combined to create a faery monarch who should not be trusted.

Not that Seth should be trusted either.

Seth was loved by the Summer Queen, had been gifted with Sight by the Winter Queen, and had been declared “brother” to the Dark King. Rather than nullify the threat of a mortal walking among all the courts—as Sorcha should’ve done—the High Queen had remade Seth as a
faery and invited him into her court. Devlin couldn’t help but wonder at the logic in some of the decisions she was making of late.

Mortals pushed against Devlin, and he had to remind himself that physically relocating them was considered aggressive in the mortal realm—
and
that aggression was not a quality he was supposed to embrace. He threaded his way through the crowd.

With the noise and blaring music, the shadows and flashing lights, the Crow’s Nest called to the discordant side of his ancestry.

“I am looking for Seth,” he told the barmaid.

“Not here yet.” She glanced at his wrist, seeking the age band that would indicate whether or not he was allowed to order alcoholic drinks.

Devlin shifted his appearance so that she saw a glowing strip of plastic, white under the black lights hanging over the bar.

“Wine. White.” He dropped a bill on the bar.

“Change?”

He shook his head. Exchanging funds for alcohol was odd; in Faerie such transactions were unnecessary. What one required was simply provided.

The barmaid grabbed a bottle of chardonnay, filled a cocktail glass, and set it on the bar. It was the wrong glass and cheap wine, but he didn’t expect much else from the Crow’s Nest. Her hand was still cradling the short glass
when Devlin wrapped his hand around the other side, interlacing his fingers with hers, holding her attention. “I’m Devlin.”

She paused. “I remember you.”

“Good. You’ll tell him I’m here,” Devlin said.

She nodded and turned to the next customer.

Neither the doorman nor the barmaid had seen Seth, but between the two, Devlin was assured that Seth would know Devlin was looking for him the moment he arrived.

Drink in hand, Devlin retreated to the periphery. Something in the club was making Devlin want the release of a fight.

He looked over the crowd, but it wasn’t Niall or Seth that he saw on the floor: Bananach stood in the shadows across the room. Her presence explained the extra urge to violence. Just as being near Sorcha made him feel calmer, being near Bananach made him feel disorderly urges.

If 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-sometimesfey 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 at her.

She went up on her toes to kiss his chin. “I miss you. Stay and dance?”

Rabbit’s expression softened. “One song. I have work yet tonight.”

“’Kay.” Ani grabbed the hands of her sister, Tish. They shoved another girl toward Rabbit, and then pulled several mortals toward themselves, and they all writhed like fire burned in their skin. Their dancing was joyous and free in a way that Devlin admired.

I want to join her
. He realized it with a start. The Hound was Dark Court, mortal, predator, any variety of things he should not find tempting.
Or beautiful.
He did, though. Her freedom and her aggression made her seem like the most beautiful faery he’d ever glimpsed. If only for a moment, Devlin wished he could step into her world. It was a deviant urge: Ani shouldn’t hold his attention as she did in that instant.
No one should. It is illogical.

When the song ended, a mortal girl whispered in Rabbit’s ear. He dropped an arm around her shoulders, but before he left, he paused to tell his sisters, “Be good. I mean it.”

They both nodded.

“Call if you need me,” Rabbit added. Then, he led the mortal into the crowd.

The music resumed, and Tish bumped into Ani’s shoulder and said, “Dance, silly.”

Ani mock-growled, and they both giggled.

Devlin watched Ani, transfixed as he’d never been before. She shouldn’t even be alive. If he’d obeyed his queen, she’d be long dead. But here she was, alive and
vibrant
.

After the first time, he’d never sought her out. He’d seen her in passing, but he’d kept away from her. His only intentional encounter with her had been when he was sent to kill her—and didn’t—but as he watched her just then, he wondered if he should correct his oversight.

The request Rae made was to spare Ani, not to let her live for always.

The loophole was there; it had always been there. Ani was the proof of Devlin’s deceit, the evidence of his failure, and the most captivating faery he’d ever seen.