A slow smile came over Irial’s face. “As you will.”
“I’m not joking, Irial. Either I’m your king or you are gone. If I am to rule this court, I need you”—Niall paused to let the weight of that sentence settle on both of them— “more than I think I’ve needed anyone. So tell me right now: do you want the court back, do you want to leave, or do you intend to be my advisor in truth?”
“I want to keep you safe. I want to see you happy. I want to make this court stronger.” Irial looked only at Niall despite the growing number of faeries outside the shadowed barrier. “I cannot be their king.”
“Then stop trying to make all of the decisions.” Niall ignored the fighting outside the wall as well. A fair number of Ly Ergs stood in front of Devlin, who was steadily throwing them across the room as if they were weightless. “You learned that the High Queen wanted a show of Devlin’s strength, a strike that would be a noticeable display of her assassin’s strength.”
“Yes.”
“I sent Gabe to find out which of your spies you’d visited, and then I waited to see what you’d do.” Niall let his pleasure in the situation be obvious in his voice. “I manipulated you, Irial. I had no choice because you didn’t come to me.”
Irial turned away to watch another faery go sailing by the barrier. “May I rise?”
“No.” Niall hid a grin. “You will give me your vow.”
“On what?”
“I will have your vow that you will tell me when there are threats that you consider protecting me from, threats to me or to the court or to you that you consider withholding, and you will tell me what they are as soon as you are reasonably able to do so.” Niall had weighed the words in his mind as he’d sat stewing over Irial’s deceit. “You will vow to trust me with ruling this court or you will become solitary, exiled from the court and from my presence until I decide otherwise.”
The terror that Irial felt then almost made Niall waver. He didn’t, though. He continued, “You will spend as much time as I require in my presence, teaching me the secrets that you are even now thinking I can’t handle yet.”
“There are centuries of secrets, my King.” Irial shifted as he spoke.
“Do not move,” Niall snarled. “Either you kneel there and give me your vow to all that I just said”—he reached out, gripped the underside of Irial’s jaw in his hand, and forced his once-friend, once-more, once-enemy to look at him—“or you may stand and walk out the door.”
“If I tell you everything, neither of us will sleep or do anything else for months.”
Niall squeezed Irial’s throat, not hard enough to bruise— much—and asked, “If I directed you to tell me what you hide, would you be able to give me a full answer?”
“In time? Yes. Today? No. Centuries, Niall, I’ve been dealing in secrets for centuries.” Irial stayed motionless in Niall’s grasp. “I told you about my understanding with Sorcha. I had Gabe bring you one of—”
“Yes,” Niall interrupted, squeezing harder now. “Did they spy for you?”
“Only on you.”
With a snarl, Niall shoved him away. “You vow or go.” Even as he struggled to remain kneeling, Irial didn’t hesitate in his words. “My vow . . . and full truth within the decade.”
“Within the year.”
Irial shook his head. “That is impossible.”
“Two years.”
“No more than three years,” Irial offered. “You have eternity to rule them; three years is but a blink.”
For a moment, Niall considered forcing the matter, but if it had taken him centuries to change, it was far from unreasonable for Irial to ask for a few years. Niall nodded. “Done.”
“May I rise now?” Irial asked.
“Actually, no. You can stay like that. In fact, maybe you should always stay like that when you bring me news.” Niall dropped the barrier and told his court, “I am a member of this court, not merely your king.”
They paused, a calm rippling over the melee for a moment.
One faery asked, “So we can hit you?”
“You can try,” Niall challenged, and then he launched himself into the fracas. He was a part of them, rejoicing in the violence that fed them, standing alongside them as he hadn’t done since he’d walked away so many centuries ago. He felt their excitement at his inclusion in their fight, and he smiled.
This, at least, I understand.
Chapter 10
Irial felt unconscionably proud of his king as Niall waded into the fight that was now more than a conflict between Devlin and the Ly Ergs. The fight had evolved into the sort of raucous brawl that erupted often in the Dark Court. It was a way to let off steam and a way to create nourishment for one another. What would look like senseless violence to outsiders was, in actuality, a way of caring for one another. They created fear and anger in one another, and in doing so, they created that which they fed on. It wasn’t Irial’s preferred sustenance, but he could see the beauty of it.
Especially when Niall fights.
Niall had always fought with the sort of unrestrained passion that awed Irial. The Dark King was in the thick of the fight, swinging at Hounds and Ly Ergs and Vilas.
Glass shattered over Irial and rained down on him. With it came the remains of a bottle of merlot. The dark wine dripped on Irial, but he stayed exactly where his king had told him to stay: kneeling in the midst of the chaos of a beautiful, bloody battle.
“I’m not joking, Irial. Either I’m your king or you are gone. If I am to rule this court, I need you”—Niall paused to let the weight of that sentence settle on both of them— “more than I think I’ve needed anyone. So tell me right now: do you want the court back, do you want to leave, or do you intend to be my advisor in truth?”
“I want to keep you safe. I want to see you happy. I want to make this court stronger.” Irial looked only at Niall despite the growing number of faeries outside the shadowed barrier. “I cannot be their king.”
“Then stop trying to make all of the decisions.” Niall ignored the fighting outside the wall as well. A fair number of Ly Ergs stood in front of Devlin, who was steadily throwing them across the room as if they were weightless. “You learned that the High Queen wanted a show of Devlin’s strength, a strike that would be a noticeable display of her assassin’s strength.”
“Yes.”
“I sent Gabe to find out which of your spies you’d visited, and then I waited to see what you’d do.” Niall let his pleasure in the situation be obvious in his voice. “I manipulated you, Irial. I had no choice because you didn’t come to me.”
Irial turned away to watch another faery go sailing by the barrier. “May I rise?”
“No.” Niall hid a grin. “You will give me your vow.”
“On what?”
“I will have your vow that you will tell me when there are threats that you consider protecting me from, threats to me or to the court or to you that you consider withholding, and you will tell me what they are as soon as you are reasonably able to do so.” Niall had weighed the words in his mind as he’d sat stewing over Irial’s deceit. “You will vow to trust me with ruling this court or you will become solitary, exiled from the court and from my presence until I decide otherwise.”
The terror that Irial felt then almost made Niall waver. He didn’t, though. He continued, “You will spend as much time as I require in my presence, teaching me the secrets that you are even now thinking I can’t handle yet.”
“There are centuries of secrets, my King.” Irial shifted as he spoke.
“Do not move,” Niall snarled. “Either you kneel there and give me your vow to all that I just said”—he reached out, gripped the underside of Irial’s jaw in his hand, and forced his once-friend, once-more, once-enemy to look at him—“or you may stand and walk out the door.”
“If I tell you everything, neither of us will sleep or do anything else for months.”
Niall squeezed Irial’s throat, not hard enough to bruise— much—and asked, “If I directed you to tell me what you hide, would you be able to give me a full answer?”
“In time? Yes. Today? No. Centuries, Niall, I’ve been dealing in secrets for centuries.” Irial stayed motionless in Niall’s grasp. “I told you about my understanding with Sorcha. I had Gabe bring you one of—”
“Yes,” Niall interrupted, squeezing harder now. “Did they spy for you?”
“Only on you.”
With a snarl, Niall shoved him away. “You vow or go.” Even as he struggled to remain kneeling, Irial didn’t hesitate in his words. “My vow . . . and full truth within the decade.”
“Within the year.”
Irial shook his head. “That is impossible.”
“Two years.”
“No more than three years,” Irial offered. “You have eternity to rule them; three years is but a blink.”
For a moment, Niall considered forcing the matter, but if it had taken him centuries to change, it was far from unreasonable for Irial to ask for a few years. Niall nodded. “Done.”
“May I rise now?” Irial asked.
“Actually, no. You can stay like that. In fact, maybe you should always stay like that when you bring me news.” Niall dropped the barrier and told his court, “I am a member of this court, not merely your king.”
They paused, a calm rippling over the melee for a moment.
One faery asked, “So we can hit you?”
“You can try,” Niall challenged, and then he launched himself into the fracas. He was a part of them, rejoicing in the violence that fed them, standing alongside them as he hadn’t done since he’d walked away so many centuries ago. He felt their excitement at his inclusion in their fight, and he smiled.
This, at least, I understand.
Chapter 10
Irial felt unconscionably proud of his king as Niall waded into the fight that was now more than a conflict between Devlin and the Ly Ergs. The fight had evolved into the sort of raucous brawl that erupted often in the Dark Court. It was a way to let off steam and a way to create nourishment for one another. What would look like senseless violence to outsiders was, in actuality, a way of caring for one another. They created fear and anger in one another, and in doing so, they created that which they fed on. It wasn’t Irial’s preferred sustenance, but he could see the beauty of it.
Especially when Niall fights.
Niall had always fought with the sort of unrestrained passion that awed Irial. The Dark King was in the thick of the fight, swinging at Hounds and Ly Ergs and Vilas.
Glass shattered over Irial and rained down on him. With it came the remains of a bottle of merlot. The dark wine dripped on Irial, but he stayed exactly where his king had told him to stay: kneeling in the midst of the chaos of a beautiful, bloody battle.
