Darkest Mercy

Chapter 18

Seth thought he was prepared; he thought that he understood Niall. As he walked into the Dark King’s house, he realized just how wrong he was. The floor was covered with the evidence of the Dark King’s fury: broken furniture and glass, bits of paper, a half-charred log from the fireplace that looked like it had still been burning when it was thrown. The debris was ankle deep in places.

A thistle-fey huddled against the wall with a strange expression on his face. As the faery turned, Seth realized that a fireplace poker had been driven through the faery’s thigh and pinned him to the wall. It hadn’t been obvious at first because it was so deeply embedded in the wall that only the handle was visible.

“The king is in mourning,” the faery said.

“I know.” Seth gestured at the handle of the poker. “May I help?”

The faery shook his head. “The king shouldn’t suffer alone. It is an honor to be in pain with him.”

“You did this?”

“No. My king did.” The thistle-faery leaned his head back. “I didn’t understand how I should feel at the loss of our last king. I understand more now.”

“Let me help y—”

“No,” the faery interrupted. “It is brass, not iron.”

For a moment, Seth felt a flicker of fear. Would Niall strike me? He looked at the destruction. Only one way to find out.

As he walked through the house, more than a few faeries lay bleeding. One Ly Erg dangled half on, half off a chandelier. The Ly Erg’s eyes were closed, but it appeared to be breathing.

Several Hounds walked up behind Seth. One, Elaina, asked quietly, “You sure you want to go in alone?”

“No,” Seth admitted, “but I’m going to.”

“The king is distraught. We could go in first so he can have someone to strike,” the female Hound suggested.

Seth shook his head. “I think I’d better go alone from here.”

The expression on Elaina’s face made quite clear that she thought he was being a fool.

She may be right.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. “He is my brother.”

She scowled, but she held up both hands in defeat.

No one in the house appeared to be moving. The faeries that Seth passed were either injured, unconscious, or staying still to avoid attention. Many were half buried under the apparent destruction of everything in the house.

Following the sounds of crashing glass, Seth made his way through rooms he’d never seen, down more hallways than seemed possible to fit into the dimensions of the building. Like Sorcha’s palace in Faerie. At the end of a hall was a room, and in the room was a very battered, bleeding Dark King. All around him, shadow figures—the same seemingly insubstantial amorphous bodies Seth had seen when they stood at Ani’s house—reassembled what remained of the contents of the room, handed them to Niall, and watched as he broke them again.

“Niall,” Seth said softly.

For a moment, Niall paused. He looked at Seth without recognition, and then he glanced at the green cut-glass decanter in his hand.

“Niall,” Seth repeated a little louder. “I’m here. I’ve come to help you.”

“He’s dead. Irial. Is. Dead.” Niall dropped the decanter and walked away.

After a few steps, Niall slammed his fist into the wall.

Seth grabbed him and pulled him backward. “Stop.”

Niall looked at Seth. “She killed him.”

“I know.” Seth held on to his friend’s arm. “I was there when she stabbed him. Remember?”

The Dark King nodded. “I tried to stop it. Healers . . . I tried. . . . I failed. . . . I thought I wanted him dead once. I thought that . . .” Niall’s words trailed off as he looked past Seth to the destruction in the hall. “I did that?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t remember. . . .” Niall reached up to rub his face, but he stopped mid-motion. “I didn’t remember things, but now . . . You make me remember. He died. I remember that. Irial is dead.”

“There are other things you need to remember. You can do this, Brother.” Seth waited. He couldn’t tell Niall what he saw. That was the limitation of being a seer. One of them at least. He couldn’t try to manipulate the future he wanted by telling Niall what could come to pass; Sorcha had explained that at length. As it was, he was playing with the rules more than he probably should.

“I’ve been trying; since you left, I tried. . . .” Niall shook his head.

Seth led him away from the now blood-spattered wall. “You would cope a lot better if you slept.”

Niall pulled away. “I can’t.”

“You can. You need to.” Seth used a foot to push a bunch of glass to the side. It crunched under his boot.

Niall looked down at his own bare feet. “I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah. I know,” Seth said.

“I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“What?”

Niall made a vague gesture. “You’re afraid. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I didn’t—”

“I can taste it,” Niall interrupted.

Seth quirked a brow.

“Dark King thing,” Niall muttered. Then he swayed. He leaned against the wall. “I’m tired, Seth.” He pushed off the wall immediately. “No. I’m not. Find me something—”

“No.”

Niall turned then, and the abyss-guardians snapped to life around them. “I am the Dark King. If I say—”

“Niall. Seriously. Chill the fuck out.” Seth grabbed him by both shoulders. “You need to sleep. Trust me.”

“I can’t. No sleep since he’s been gone . . . He haunts my dreams.” Niall leaned his head on Seth’s shoulder. “I’m afraid . . . and I cannot do this on my own, Brother.”

“Where’s Gabe?”

“With Iri.” Niall glanced toward a closed door. “I ordered him to stay with Irial. I needed to leave the room, but I didn’t . . . I can’t . . . This is our home.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“I want you to remember that, Niall,” Seth said, and then he called, “Elaina!”

The blur of Hounds raced toward them. Niall stared at them as they encircled him.

“Your king needs to find rest,” Seth told the female Hound.

Then Seth looked at Niall. “Give me permission.”

“For?”

“Trust me,” Seth pleaded. “What I do is necessary.”

Niall stared at him—and hesitated. “You have permission for the acts of the next minute.”

“That’ll do it.” Reluctantly, Seth gave the order he knew his friend needed: “Knock him out. He needs sleep.”