Darkest Mercy. Melissa Marr
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in the mortal world. Here, he felt the fear that he could ignore in Faerie; here, he knew that he was running from safety and headed toward danger. He might die. So be it. Fear didn’t outweigh love.
Try not to die.
Seth smiled and said, “That’s the goal, Brother.”
And then he went to find Aislinn.
Chapter 8
Aislinn paced in the study. Once, she’d felt uncomfortable in the room, and then it became a place to relax with her king, and now . . . it was hers. Somehow, Keenan’s absence had made her feel proprietary of a lot of things that were his first. And a lot of people. She had already felt connected to her court, but his choices had made her feel a protectiveness that bordered on maternal.
She looked up as the door to the study opened, and one of the few faeries she now trusted without hesitation stood there. Tavish was an excellent advisor. Where Quinn was intrusive and bordering on belligerent, Tavish was steady. He’d been the voice helping her see what traits were best employed as queen. He’d reminded her that Summer was both playful and cruel, that her new volatility was a tool to harness, that her maudlin worries were best surrendered to passions. If she thought on it, his skill in advising her was unsurprising: he had been the guiding force as Keenan grew into being the Summer King. Along with Niall, he had taught one Summer regent how to rule—and done so when that regent was her age—so teaching a second Summer regent was well within Tavish’s abilities.
Tavish came into the room and held out a glass of what he habitually claimed was a “healthy vitamin drink” but she was pretty sure was vegetables and moss or something else equally unpleasant. “Drink.”
She waved the glass away. “I’m good.”
“My Queen?”
“I’m not thir—” The lie she started was unutterable. She sighed and muttered, “Those are disgusting.”
“Keenan always thought so too.” Tavish continued to hold the glass out to her.
“Fine.” She accepted it and took a gulp. After forcing it down, she set the glass on the coffee table. “Some things aren’t meant to be in liquids, Tavish.”
“Winter isn’t kind to Summer regents. Neither”—he picked the glass up—“is the stress you are trying to hide. Drink it.”
She drank the rest of the noxious stuff. “Promise me that if you ever poison me, it will at least taste better than this.”
“I will never poison you, my Queen.” In a move too graceful for even most faeries, Tavish dropped to his knees. He stared up at her as he knelt in front of her, and despite the peculiarity of the setting, Aislinn suddenly felt as formal as if she were on a dais in front of her court.
For a moment, Aislinn simply stared at him. “I wasn’t being literal.”
“You are my queen. I’ve spent nine centuries seeking the mortal who would free this court, who would save my best friend’s son, who would save the lives of the rest of the girls who were not you. I’d die before I’d allow harm to you.” He bowed his head.
“I didn’t think . . . I know you’re trying to look out for me, Tavish.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “I trust you. You know that, right? I mean, I’m not great at all this stuff, but you know I trust you, right?”
“I do.” He lifted his gaze. “The words are true all the same. You are our queen, Aislinn. You’re a good queen, and gods know, that isn’t an easy thing to be when you are tossed into the fray with no warning—and with the bias you had against faeries. You’ve done it, though. You put your heart into your court, stood up to Bananach when she first came to you, faced down the Winter and Dark Courts. You’ve weathered the king’s manipulations and his absence. You are exactly what we need, and I am here to do whatever you need. At times, I’ll argue with you because that’s how I can help you, but I’d willingly kill or die for you. It would be an honor to do so.”
“Right. The problem there is that I don’t want you to need to kill or die.”
“Nor do I, but we must face the situation,” Tavish said, sounding characteristically imperturbable.
She flopped down on the sofa and patted the cushion. “Sit with me?”
With a small frown, Tavish sat in a chair across from her.
Aislinn grinned at him. “You know, for a Summer faery, you are awfully proper.”
“Indeed,” Tavish said. “Is that on the agenda for our meeting? My propriety? Shall I add ‘frolic more’ to the tasks for my week?”
“No. . . . I met Far Dorcha. I’m sure the guards already told you.” She paused, and Tavish nodded. “Right,” she continued. “I need the girls to stay in the loft. Whichever fey have . . . defected are on their own. Those who are mine stay here.”
“That is wise.”
Aislinn took a steadying breath. “I need to find out where Keenan is. If he’s not home, I’m going into war without him . . . which is not ideal. Someone knows where he is.”
“I do not, my Queen. I give you my word that I will find out, though.” Tavish’s restrained facade slipped, and she saw the faery-cruel expression as he asked, “Are there limits to the methods?”
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