Irial smiled as he thought of the year it had been built. He’d been bored, and while he couldn’t create, he could fill the architect’s mind with visions.
“Columns?” the man repeated.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Irial murmured. “Utterly impractical. Who cares what a place looks like?”
“Right.”
Irial continued, “And there were statues, towering nearly na**d women; can you imagine?”
Niall stood staring at the columns that stood on either side of the ornate wooden door to the library. “It always looks familiar.”
“Indeed.”
“The building . . . it’s like somewhere I’ve seen before.” Niall prodded, but he kept his attention on the building as he spoke. “Why is that?”
“It’s hard to say,” Irial demurred.
Niall glanced his way. “I can taste your emotions, Irial. It’s not a coincidence that I find it familiar, is it?”
“You know, my King, it’s much easier to get answers when you order people to obey you.” Irial smiled at a young mother with a pair of energetic toddlers. There was something enchanting about the unrestrained enthusiasm of children of any species. He had a fleeting regret that he hadn’t any young to indulge, but such regrets were followed by memories of half-mortal Dark Court offspring who were as easily contained as feral beasts. Beautiful chaotic things, children. He’d loved several of them as if they were his own.
“Irial.” Niall’s tone was testy now. “Why does the library look familiar?”
Irial stepped up to stand a bit closer than his king would allow. Their shoulders were brushing, and Irial whispered, “Because a very long time ago, you were happy in the courtyard of a building very like this one.”
Niall tensed.
Irial continued as if neither of them noticed Niall’s discomfort, “And I was feeling . . . a longing for such moments one day last century when a young architect was staring at his plans. I made a few suggestions to his designs.”
The Dark King moved to the side. “Is that to impress me?”
Irial gave him a wry grin. “Well, as it took more than a hundred years for you to notice, it obviously didn’t.”
Niall sighed. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” Irial walked over to a bench that faced the library and sat down.
As expected, Niall followed. “Why are you looking for me?”
“I went to Faerie . . . to see her.” Irial stretched his legs out and watched a few mortals slide around on wheeled boards. It was a curious hobby, but he found their agility fascinating.
With a nervous bit of hope, Niall joined him on the bench—at as much of a distance as possible, of course. “You went to see Sorcha.”
“I thought she should know that there was a change in the court’s leadership.”
“She did know,” Niall snapped. “No one goes there without her consent.”
“The Dark King can,” Irial corrected. “You are not the Dark King.” Niall’s temper flared. “You threw it away.”
“No,” Irial said. “I gave it to the rightful king. Don’t be absurd.”
The emotions coursing through Niall were a delicious treat. Irial had to force his eyes to stay open as the flood of worry, fear, anger, shock, outrage, and a tendril of sorrow washed over him. It was best to not mention that he could read all of this. In theory, only the Dark King could read other regents, but for reasons Irial didn’t care to ponder, he had retained that particular trait. Most of his gifts of kingship had vanished: he was vulnerable to any faery who struck him, and he was once again fatally addictive to mortals. The connection to the whole of the court was severed, and the ability to write orders on Gabriel’s flesh was erased. These and most every other kingly trait were solely Niall’s, but the emotional interpretation was unchanged.
Even as his emotions flickered frantically, Niall spoke very calmly. “If she had wanted to, she could’ve killed you.”
“True.”
Several more moments of delicious emotional flux passed before Niall said, “You can’t tell me you’re going to be my advisor, and then get killed. A good advisor advises. He communicates. He doesn’t do idiotic things that can result in infuriating the High Queen.”
Innocently, Irial asked, “Does he do idiotic things to infuriate the Dark King?”
“You are far more trouble than you’re wor—” Niall’s words halted as he tried to speak that which was neither true nor his true opinion. He scowled and said, “Don’t be an ass, Iri.”
“Some things are impossible to order, my king.” Irial grinned. “Would you like me to apologize?”
“No. I’d like you to do what you said you would—advise me. You can’t do that if you piss off Sorcha enough to get killed or imprisoned or—”
“I’m here.” Irial reached out, but didn’t touch Niall. “I went to find out why Bananach visits her. The High Queen and I have had an . . . understanding these past centuries.”
Niall opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Irial continued, “I needed to know that she wouldn’t support her sister in any attempts on your throne. I know chaos is good for the court, but I will not sacrifice you for the court if it is ever in my power. Not again.”
“A king’s duty is to his court,” Niall reminded.
“Columns?” the man repeated.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Irial murmured. “Utterly impractical. Who cares what a place looks like?”
“Right.”
Irial continued, “And there were statues, towering nearly na**d women; can you imagine?”
Niall stood staring at the columns that stood on either side of the ornate wooden door to the library. “It always looks familiar.”
“Indeed.”
“The building . . . it’s like somewhere I’ve seen before.” Niall prodded, but he kept his attention on the building as he spoke. “Why is that?”
“It’s hard to say,” Irial demurred.
Niall glanced his way. “I can taste your emotions, Irial. It’s not a coincidence that I find it familiar, is it?”
“You know, my King, it’s much easier to get answers when you order people to obey you.” Irial smiled at a young mother with a pair of energetic toddlers. There was something enchanting about the unrestrained enthusiasm of children of any species. He had a fleeting regret that he hadn’t any young to indulge, but such regrets were followed by memories of half-mortal Dark Court offspring who were as easily contained as feral beasts. Beautiful chaotic things, children. He’d loved several of them as if they were his own.
“Irial.” Niall’s tone was testy now. “Why does the library look familiar?”
Irial stepped up to stand a bit closer than his king would allow. Their shoulders were brushing, and Irial whispered, “Because a very long time ago, you were happy in the courtyard of a building very like this one.”
Niall tensed.
Irial continued as if neither of them noticed Niall’s discomfort, “And I was feeling . . . a longing for such moments one day last century when a young architect was staring at his plans. I made a few suggestions to his designs.”
The Dark King moved to the side. “Is that to impress me?”
Irial gave him a wry grin. “Well, as it took more than a hundred years for you to notice, it obviously didn’t.”
Niall sighed. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” Irial walked over to a bench that faced the library and sat down.
As expected, Niall followed. “Why are you looking for me?”
“I went to Faerie . . . to see her.” Irial stretched his legs out and watched a few mortals slide around on wheeled boards. It was a curious hobby, but he found their agility fascinating.
With a nervous bit of hope, Niall joined him on the bench—at as much of a distance as possible, of course. “You went to see Sorcha.”
“I thought she should know that there was a change in the court’s leadership.”
“She did know,” Niall snapped. “No one goes there without her consent.”
“The Dark King can,” Irial corrected. “You are not the Dark King.” Niall’s temper flared. “You threw it away.”
“No,” Irial said. “I gave it to the rightful king. Don’t be absurd.”
The emotions coursing through Niall were a delicious treat. Irial had to force his eyes to stay open as the flood of worry, fear, anger, shock, outrage, and a tendril of sorrow washed over him. It was best to not mention that he could read all of this. In theory, only the Dark King could read other regents, but for reasons Irial didn’t care to ponder, he had retained that particular trait. Most of his gifts of kingship had vanished: he was vulnerable to any faery who struck him, and he was once again fatally addictive to mortals. The connection to the whole of the court was severed, and the ability to write orders on Gabriel’s flesh was erased. These and most every other kingly trait were solely Niall’s, but the emotional interpretation was unchanged.
Even as his emotions flickered frantically, Niall spoke very calmly. “If she had wanted to, she could’ve killed you.”
“True.”
Several more moments of delicious emotional flux passed before Niall said, “You can’t tell me you’re going to be my advisor, and then get killed. A good advisor advises. He communicates. He doesn’t do idiotic things that can result in infuriating the High Queen.”
Innocently, Irial asked, “Does he do idiotic things to infuriate the Dark King?”
“You are far more trouble than you’re wor—” Niall’s words halted as he tried to speak that which was neither true nor his true opinion. He scowled and said, “Don’t be an ass, Iri.”
“Some things are impossible to order, my king.” Irial grinned. “Would you like me to apologize?”
“No. I’d like you to do what you said you would—advise me. You can’t do that if you piss off Sorcha enough to get killed or imprisoned or—”
“I’m here.” Irial reached out, but didn’t touch Niall. “I went to find out why Bananach visits her. The High Queen and I have had an . . . understanding these past centuries.”
Niall opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Irial continued, “I needed to know that she wouldn’t support her sister in any attempts on your throne. I know chaos is good for the court, but I will not sacrifice you for the court if it is ever in my power. Not again.”
“A king’s duty is to his court,” Niall reminded.
