“I was sent to ensure that Seth is safe.”

“I see.” Irial took a drink and let the silence stretch out. “You could speak to my king if you have doubts of the boy’s safety. Shall I see if he’s in?”

Devlin weighed his words. It wasn’t as if he’d never conducted business without his queen’s consent; eternity was a long time not to chafe against the bounds of being ruled. He’d only acted without orders when it was for his court or queen’s best interests—or when there were no consequences to measure.

Except for Ani.

Devlin set his glass aside. “I’m not here about Seth, but I expect that you already know that.”

“Indeed.”

Devlin hated the necessity of speaking about it, of admitting to anyone that it mattered to him that Ani was vulnerable, but pride wasn’t a luxury he could have just then. “Ani is in danger, and I would like to keep her safe.”

The laughter that rolled out of Irial then held every dark thing that had once thrived in Faerie. “I doubt that safe is what Ani seeks.”

Devlin ignored that truth and added, “Ani is of interest to my sister. I would like to take her away from Huntsdale, but I suspect if I did so without informing her court, we’d be pursued.”

The guise of debauched layabout vanished. Irial’s smile was akin to an animal’s bared teeth. “Do you think I’ve hidden her only to have you take her to Faerie?”

“She is not being retrieved for Faerie. It would be best not to take her there…. Because of my involvement in Ani’s life, Sorcha does not See her.” Devlin said the words quietly.

Irial was silent.

“Now that Ani has come to your court, she is unsafe. Bananach has taken an interest in her too,” Devlin added.

“And why does the High Queen’s Bloody Hands involve himself in the safety of a Hound?” Irial swirled his drink. “It’s a conundrum. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Does it really matter?” Devlin asked.

“Perhaps. I suspect it matters to Bananach—and to Sorcha. It would matter to me if those I trusted were keeping such secrets. Do you suggest that it wouldn’t matter to them? To your queen especially?”

Irial wasn’t saying anything that Devlin didn’t already know. All faeries knew the importance of fealty. Once sworn to a king or queen, obedience was to be absolute. Devlin was acting in direct opposition to his queen’s orders—not only had he let Ani live, but he was working now to keep her alive instead of protecting Seth. Few faeries were likely to think that he would disobey his queen—except, of course, his queen herself.

Hasn’t she always known the day would come?

Time passed without words or sounds. It was akin to being in the High Court, silence and contemplation.

Finally, Irial said, “If Ani goes with you by choice, I will dissuade Gabriel and Niall from pursuing you. If she refuses, we will protect her here. It’s her choice though. Your vow on it.”

Devlin stood. “You have my vow that the choice is hers.”

Irial frowned up at him. “Be careful with her.”

“She’ll be safer than if she were in your court.” Devlin turned to leave.

“Devlin?”

Devlin paused with one hand on the door.

“Be careful with her as well. Ani’s not like any other faery.” Irial’s look was pitying.

“I am the High Queen’s Bloodied Hands.” Devlin straightened his shoulders and dropped enough of the control he’d held over his emotions to let the dark faery know that pity wasn’t necessary. “In all of eternity, no faery born has overcome me in anything.”

“Aaah. Pride goeth before the fall, my friend”—Irial stood and clasped Devlin’s hand—“but you’ve already fallen, haven’t you?”

And to that, Devlin had no answer.

Chapter 14

It was finally dark in Faerie, so Rae took advantage of the opportunity to leave the cave for a while. The world around her looked less full than usual, but Rae had long since grown used to the changing landscape of Faerie. The High Queen’s moods determined reality, and some days the queen decided to create a new vista.

Rae drifted over a stream that had been a river previously. On either side, willows clung to the banks in clusters like groups of people in conversation. Thin branches swayed in a light breeze. Reclining on the soil with her bare feet dangling over the edge of the bank was a beautiful faery, one Rae hadn’t met in dreams or in Devlin’s body before. The faery slept on the mud-slick ground, a pile of moss under her cheek as if the earth had formed a pillow just for her. Bits of mud, twigs, and reeds were caught in a fiery mass of hair. Unlike the majority of the High Court faeries, this one looked like she belonged elsewhere, as if she had stepped from some Pre-Raphaelite painting of sensual women.

Rae entered the faery’s dream.

“I don’t know you,” the faery said. In her dream, she was sitting on the bank of a much larger river. Lilacs bloomed at the edge of a lush garden that stretched into the distance.

Rae drew a deep breath. In dreams, her senses were as if real. The perfume of flowers lay heavy on her tongue, so thick that she was near to choking on it.

“Where do you come from?” the faery prompted.

“Perhaps you saw me in the streets, and you’re remembering me.” Rae was used to the High Court faeries resisting her presence in their minds. It wasn’t logical to dream of strangers, so they often needed gentle guidance to accept that she was imagined.