"Go home and wail. When the others come to you, tell them this area is off limits for now." Then he lifted the bloodied faery into his arms and walked away, leaving the beansidhe to begin keening as she ran. Her cries would summon them, his now-vulnerable Dark Court faeries, bring them to hear the awful word that a mortal had killed a faery.

By the time the current Gabriel—Irial's left hand— approached mere moments later, Irial's winged shadow had spread like a pall over the street. His ink-black tears dripped onto Guin's body, wiping away the glamour that still clung to her. "I've waited long enough to address the threat of the Summer Court's growing strength," he said.

"Waited too long," Gabriel said. "Keep waiting and war comes on their terms, Iri."

Like his predecessors, this Gabriel—for the name was one of rank, not birth—had always been blunt. It was an invaluable trait.

"I'm not seeking war in the courts, just chaos." Irial paused at the stoop of a heavily shuttered house, one of the many such houses he kept for his faeries in whichever cities they called home. He stared at the house, the home where Guin would be laid out for the court's mourning. Soon, Bananach would hear the news of Guin's death; the war-hungry faery would begin her interminable machinations. Irial was not looking forward to trying to placate Bananach. She grew less patient by the year, pressing for more violence, more blood, more destruction.

"War is not what's best for our court," Irial said, as much to himself as to Gabriel. "That's Bananach's agenda, not mine."

"If it's not yours, it's not the Hounds', either." Gabriel reached out and brushed Guin's cheek. "Guin would agree. She wouldn't support Bananach, even now."

Three dark fey came out of the house; smoky haze clung to them as if it seeped from their skin. Mute, they took Guin's body and carried her inside. From the open door, Irial could see that they'd already begun hanging black mirrors throughout his house, covering every available surface in the hopes that some lingering darkness would find its way home to the body, that some trace would be strong enough to come back to the empty shell, so Guin could be nurtured and heal. It wouldn't: she was truly gone.

Irial saw them in his street, filthy mortals with so much lovely violence he couldn't reach. That will change. "Find them, the ones who did this. Kill them."

The previously blank space around the oghams on Gabriel's forearm filled with scrolling script in recognition of the Dark King's command. Gabriel always carried out the king's orders with the intent plainly writ on his skin— to intimidate and to make clear that the king willed it.

"And send the others to bring some of Keenan's fey for the wake. Donia's too." Irial grinned at the thought of sullen Winter Court faeries. "Hell, bring some of Sorcha's reclusive faeries if you can find them. Her High Court's not good for anything else. I'll not sanction a war, but let's start a few fights."

At nightfall Irial sat on his dais looking out at his grieving faeries. They squirmed, paced, and wailed. The glaistigs were dripping dirty river water all over the floor; several beansidhes still keened. The Gabriel Hounds—in their human guise, skin decorated with moving ink and silver chains—joked amongst themselves, but there were undercurrents of alarm. Jenny Greenteeth and her kin stared at everyone with accusing eyes. Only the thistle-fey seemed calm, taking advantage of the fear of the others, nourishing themselves on the panic that pervaded the room. They all knew that the rumblings of upheaval had already begun. With the reality of a faery death, the inducement to resort to extreme measures was inevitable. There were always factions, murmurs of mutiny: that was status quo. This was different: one of their own had died. That changed the stakes.

"Move away from the streets" — Irial let his gaze slide over them, assessing the signs of disagreement, determining who would sway toward Bananach when she began rallying them to her cause—"until we know how weakened we are."

"Kill the new queen. Both of 'em," one of the Hounds growled. "Summer King too if we need."

The other Hounds took up the cry. The Ly Ergs rubbed their bloodred hands together in glee. Several of Jenny's kin grinned and nodded. Bananach sat silently among them; her voice wasn't ever necessary to know her preference. Violence was her sole passion. She tilted her head in her avian way, not doing anything other than watching. Irial smiled at her. She opened and closed her mouth with an audible snap, as if she'd bite him. She made no other movement. They both knew she disapproved of his plans; they both knew she'd test him. Again. If she could, she'd kill him to set the court into discord, but Dark Court faeries could not kill their regents.

The snarls grew deafening until Gabriel held a hand up for silence. When the rest of the room quieted, Gabriel flashed a menacing smile. "Your king speaks. You will obey him."

No one objected when Gabriel snarled. After he'd slaughtered one of his own brethren for disrespecting Irial so many years ago, few ever challenged his will. If Gabriel had the political grace to go with the violence, Irial would try to cede the throne to him. In all the centuries Irial'd looked for his replacement, he'd only found one faery fit to lead them, but that faery had rejected the throne to serve another. Irial shoved that thought away. He was still responsible for the Dark Court, and considering what might have been didn't help.

He said, "We are not strong enough to fight one court, much less two or three working together. Can any of you truly tell me that the kingling and the new Winter Queen wouldn't work together? Can you tell me that Sorcha wouldn't side with anyone" — he paused and smiled at Bananach—"most anyone who opposed me? War is not the right path."