Ink Exchange

Chapter 32

Irial had spent several days watching Leslie struggle with the urge to feel something of the emotions she'd lost now that he drank them through her. It was an unexpected dilemma. She'd stepped into traffic, provoked the increasingly aggressive Bananach, and interfered in an altercation with two armed mortals: the moment he relaxed his guard she was out endangering herself. She didn't make sense to him, but mortals rarely did.

Today she was exhausted—as was he.

He pulled the door to the bedroom closed, tearing his attention away from his sleeping girl. She required so much careful handling, so much hiding of his true feelings. He'd not expected a mortal to change him; that wasn't part of the plan.

Gabriel looked up as Irial sat at the other end of the sofa and resumed the conversation they'd been having every time Leslie napped. "We haven't had a good party with mortals in a while." He held out an already open long-neck bottle.

"That's because they break too easily." Irial took the bottle, sniffed it, and asked, "Is this actually real beer? Just beer?"

"Far as you know." Gabriel leaned back on the sofa, legs stretched out, boot-clad feet tapping in tune to some song that only he heard. "So, party with the mortals?"

"Can you get some that'll survive for a few nights?" Irial glanced at the closed door, behind which his own too-fragile mortal slept fitfully. "It'll be better if we don't need to replace them each week. Just gather the same ones up every few days until we see how it goes."

He didn't add that he wasn't sure how well Leslie would cope with channeling too many mortals' deaths, fear, and pain. If there were enough of them and they were terrified and angry and lustful enough, she'd be so intoxicated that he doubted that she'd notice a few deaths, but if too many of them died at once, it could upset her.

"A bit of war might be good too. Bananach is testing every boundary you set. Give her a small skirmish?" The fact that Gabriel had mentioned it at all was reason enough to worry.

"She doesn't have the support yet to get very far." Irial hated that she was always there at his heels, looking for weaknesses, stirring her small mutinies. In time, she would wear him down. If he didn't keep the court strong enough, she would rally them to true rebellion. It wouldn't be the first time. He needed to lull her back to moderate rumblings of war, not give her reason to get more bold. First get Leslie situated.

"Bananach tried for Niall again." Gabriel flashed his teeth in his glee. "Boy still holds his own in a fight."

Irial would've enjoyed seeing that. Niall tended to go for logic before violence, but when he did indulge in a fight, he did it like he did everything: with singular focus. "He's … well still?"

Gabriel shrugged, but his gleeful expression wasn't dimming. "He'll come back sooner or later, Iri. You need to think long term, that's all."

Irial didn't—couldn't—ponder what Niall would do just now. He had hopes, but hope wasn't a solution. Gabriel was right: Irial did need to think long term. He'd been too focused on his initial ideas. It had been too long since he'd needed to truly plan. During the nine centuries Beira ruled unopposed, Irial had allowed himself to grow weak, to assume that their nourishment would always be so easy. The past few months of having a true Summer King and a new Winter Queen had shown him how quickly change could come—and he hadn't been ready.

"Tell Bananach to gather whoever wants to go and start a little chaos with Sorcha. I can't nourish everyone long term. If the seasonal courts are determined to be uncooperative for now, let's see what we can do with her royal tediousness. If anyone can provoke Sorcha, Bananach is our best choice."

Gabriel's forearms grew dark with the details he'd carry to Bananach—and hopefully satisfy her enough that she wouldn't be underfoot for a while.

"And Ani" — Irial paused to measure his words carefully—"bring Tish and Rabbit to stay with her. Have them move into the house where we took Guin. With Sorcha's penchant for stealing half-fey, they'll be too much at risk once Bananach starts her assault. Now that peace is here, Sorcha won't keep the High Court in seclusion."

For a moment, Gabriel hesitated. Then he said, "You'll be careful with my pups. Ani's being able to feed off mortals doesn't make her any less mine. Experimenting on—"

"We won't do anything she doesn't consent to." Irial lit a cigarette. He'd taken to smoking more frequently since Leslie had come to them. Worry, for her. He took a few drags before he spoke again. "Let Ani loose with the mortals, too. I want to see what she can drink off them. Maybe she's what we need to sort this all out."

"That'll mean two … parties … because I'm not going in there if my pup is." Gabriel's menace had vanished under his disgust at the idea of his pup loose in a crowd. "She's a good girl."

"She is, Gabe. Pick a few Hounds you'd trust to mind her. Two rooms, the ones across the hall. We'll see what it'll take to fulfill me—and the court, before Leslie slips into a coma. We'll watch her, keep track of her reactions, and stop when we get close to her limits." Irial cringed at the idea. A few of the mortals seemed to suffer neural damage if they were pushed too far.

"Gather up a few of Keenan's Summer Girls too. They work well as enticement for good behavior. Prizes for those with the most surviving mortals come dawn." Irial lowered his voice at the sound of movement in the bedroom. Leslie shouldn't wake just yet, but she was too stubborn to sleep as she should.

Irial held a hand out to Leslie as she walked into the room. She took his hand and curled into his arms.

"You'll take care of the party plans then?" Irial asked, absently petting Leslie's hair as she nestled closer.

Gabriel nodded. "Need at least two days, though."

"That works." Irial turned his attention back to his girl then, pleased to hear the soft click of the door closing behind Gabriel. "If you can be patient for two more days, we can work on your feeling a little less trapped by this." He motioned to the feathered vine that bound them together.

"What are—"

"No questions, Leslie. That's the condition." He kissed her forehead. "You want more freedom, room to roam?"

She nodded mutely.

"I just need you to stop putting yourself at risk. If you keep doing that, I won't be able to give you your space." He watched her face as he spoke, wondering yet again what she'd be like if she could keep some of her emotions, not all of them, but a few.

"Will what you're doing hurt?" She looked excited at the idea for a moment, interested in the idea of feeling the very thing from which she'd been seeking oblivion.

"Did the first couple weeks with me hurt?"

"I don't remember." She licked her lips as if she could taste his worries. She couldn't because of their tie, but sometimes he felt the tug as she tried to reverse the flow, as if she'd steal his emotions. "I don't have many clear memories of that."

"Exactly."

"You're cruel, Irial." She wasn't angry, accusing, none of those things. She couldn't be.

And for a moment, he realized that they both wished she could be. My Shadow Girl. He kissed her before he made the mistake of saying what he was thinking.

"I can be, Leslie. And if you keep trying to do damage to yourself, I will be." He had a brief hope that—even without feeling fear—her basic intellect would be enough to make her realize that this wasn't something either of them wanted. But she sighed, as if it weren't a threat but a reward, so he asked, "You remember Niall's scars?"

"I do." She watched him carefully, staying motionless.

"You won't like me if I'm cruel." He lifted her to her feet.

She stood motionless, hand outstretched. "I don't like you now."

"We don't lie," he reminded her as he took her hand and pulled her into his arms yet again.

"I'm mortal, Irial. I can lie all I want to," she whispered.

He let go of her, hating that it was hard to do. "Get changed, love."

They had a riot to attend. He hadn't walked her through hospitals, sanitariums, or the like—yet—but tonight he'd take her to the feasts of anger. If he filled her up with all the darkness she could stand and channeled it out to his court, then he could let her breathe for a little while. It was either that or lose her, and right now, that didn't feel like an option. He'd been trying to build her tolerance slowly, but her stubborn streak—and his desire not to destroy her— had made his timeline no longer workable. Not for the first time since the damnable peace had begun, Irial wanted nothing more than to walk away from his court, from his responsibilities—except now he wanted to take Leslie with him.