Читать книгу Radiant Shadows - Melissa Marr - Страница 8

Ani had gone to the Dark Kings’ home knowing it would be another painful experience—and not the fun kind of pain.

Irial held one of her hands in his. It was a comfort of sorts. “Are you ready?”

“Take it.” Ani extended her other arm toward the former Dark King. She stared at the fleur-de-lis wallpaper, at the flickering candles, at anything other than the faery sitting beside her. “Take all of it if that’s what you need.”

“Not all, Ani.” He squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “If there was another way—”

“You’re my king. I will give whatever you ask of me. Do it.” She watched as he jabbed a thin tube into her skin. Bruises from the last several tubes decorated her skin like love bites.

“Not your king now. Niall’s the Dark King.”

“Whatever.” Ani didn’t resume the argument she’d lost too often: Irial might be king-no-more, but he had her loyalty. Truth be told, he had the loyalty of many of the denizens of the Dark Court. He might not rule them, but he still looked after them. He still handled those matters too disquieting for the new Dark King. Irial cosseted Niall.

Ani, however, wasn’t sheltered. Not anymore. When Irial learned that Ani could—that I need to—feed from both touch and emotion, he’d begun trying to find out how to use that for the Dark Court. According to Irial, as a halfling, she shouldn’t have either appetite. She certainly shouldn’t have both; and she definitely shouldn’t be able to find nourishment from mortals. Irial believed that Ani’s blood might hold the key to strengthening their court, so she’d become the subject of his experimentation.

Which is fine. For my court. For Irial.

“More?” she asked.

“Just a bit.” Irial bit the cork that sealed the next vial and tugged it out. He spoke around the cork held between his teeth and added, “Tilt down.”

She lowered her arm, clenching and unclenching her fist to pump the blood faster. She wasn’t sure if it actually helped the flow of blood, but it did give her the illusion that she was doing something. Bloodletting hadn’t become easier despite the number of times she’d done it.

With her free hand, she took the cork from his mouth. “I have it. Grab the next one.”

As the vial filled, Irial took another empty one from the rack and lifted it to his lips. Once it was uncorked, he switched the empty vial with the now full one. “Take this?”

Silently, she accepted the glass container with the same hand that held the cork. She sat it beside the other vials, all recorked, all filled with her blood. Then, she pushed the cork into the top of it.

“Last one,” Irial murmured. “You’re doing great.”

Ani stared at the empty space in the sixth rack; the others were all filled with vials of her blood. “Good.”

Irial handed her the last tube of blood and pressed a kiss to the inflamed extraction site. Neither of them spoke as he took the final container, settled it with the others, and carried all of it to the doorway and handed it off to a faery she didn’t see.

Their experimentation was a secret that neither Niall nor Gabriel knew of, but it was one of the myriad things Ani would do if Irial so much as hinted that he wished it of her. Not as painful as what I have done. At Irial’s request, she had let a trusted thistle-fey embrace her on one particularly unpleasant evening. Her hair and skin were collected by his touch. Should the court at large know of Irial’s experiments on her blood and flesh, should they learn why he sent samples to be tested and hopefully copied, she’d be at risk.

As would Iri.

Few faeries knew of her abnormalities—and she was grateful for that—and while Niall did know that she was unlike other faeries, he did not know of the experiments. He thought her ability to feed on the emotions of both faery and mortal was hidden from those who would kill, use, or champion her. Niall was a humane king. He allowed their faeries to do as they must, but he kept the court on a leash.

In a time when Bananach—the carrion crow, the bringer of war—grew stronger, leashes were dangerous. The faery courts, at least those on the mortal side of the veil, were on the verge of violence. The growing conflict nourished the Dark Court, who fed on the chaotic emotions, but it was also a threat to those Ani held dear. Upheavals between courts, whispers of deaths to come, these were all well and good—up to the point at which her own court was in jeopardy.

And Bananach will not spare the Dark Court. Or the mortal world my family lives in.

Irial did as he had done when he was king: moving pieces behind the scenes, making bargains, bending rules. This time, though, Ani’s safety was one of the rules he bent.

With my consent.

When Irial came back into the room, she watched him warily. For all of her adoration of him, she knew that he was rarely influenced by weakness or tenderness. He hadn’t held the throne of the court of nightmares for centuries by being easily swayed.

“You know I wouldn’t do this if there were better options.” His words weren’t a lie; they weren’t fully true either. Unless there was one clear option that would assure his court’s safety, he would do this—and much worse.

Yet, the former Dark King still thought of her as a child, as one foolish enough to accept the misdirection in his words. She wasn’t a child.

Perhaps foolish, but not naive, not innocent, not easily misled.

She leaned on the wall. The room was out of focus. “You’ve kept me safe my whole life. Kept Tish safe … and Rab … and … we’re good. It’s fine.”

The world around her spun. Tonight’s experiment had begun with her being as hungry as she could stand before the bloodletting. It wasn’t the least pleasant of the experiments, but it wasn’t pleasurable either.

Irial walked over to feed the fire—away from her so she could have the privacy to pull herself together—and asked, “You okay?”

“Sure.” She sat down, not feeling exactly well. Most days, she was only barely above starved. During the first few months of her hunger, she’d had humans and a few halflings. Since she’d moved to Gabriel’s care, she’d been restricted to the point that her hunger was hurting her physically. She’d been barely nourished by the emotion Irial shared and the scant contact that Gabriel grudgingly allowed her to pursue in court. Hugs and feather touches weren’t anywhere near enough.

Irial ran one hand absently over the side of the marble fireplace. Like everything in his house, it was carved with an appreciation of textures. The sharp edges and smooth curves drew her attention, but she didn’t approach the fireplace or the faery in front of it. Instead, she moved to one of the white leather chairs and traced a finger over the raised gray fleurs-de-lis barely visible on the walls.

“I know this is … difficult for you, pup.” Irial kept his distance, but he let her taste all of his emotions, giving her nourishment to make up for what she’d lost.

Ani caught his gaze. “Do you apologize to Gabriel when he punishes faeries who need it?”

The play of firelight and shadows made the former Dark King appear ominous, but his temper was not stirred. “No.”

“Then drop it. I’ll do what’s necessary for my court.” She fought the urge to fold her arms, forced herself to be calm, even though he knew exactly how unsettled she was. Dark Court faeries couldn’t feed on mortal emotions, but Ani wasn’t entirely mortal.

If Irial had not been there for her when she’d come to live with the Hounds, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done. He helped her cope with her changes, nourished her enough to keep true starvation at bay. In truth, if not for him she might have died forever ago. He’d protected her—and Tish and Rabbit—for almost all of their lives.

She let him feel the surge of gratitude and whispered, “I serve the will of the Dark Court. I know you have reasons.”

“If we can find a way to filter out your blood, our court will be unstoppable; Niall will be safe; and …” His words faded, but the hope was undeniable. Unlike many faeries, Irial was comfortable with modern science. If they could identify the anomalous component within her, replicate it, and introduce it to others, Dark Court faeries would be able to feed on both faery and mortal emotions. They’d be sated. They’d tried another plan, binding mortal to faery as conduits with tattoos, but those ink exchanges had presented unexpected complications.

“Right.” Ani stood. She’d heard his theories before; there was little Irial could say that would be new.

“You can save us,” he said yet again.

Ani wasn’t sure if his words were truth. Faeries couldn’t lie, but belief was a tricky thing. If Irial believed the words, they were utterable, and he did believe that her blood was the solution they needed to save the Dark Court.

“I’ll be back later. You’ll tell me”—she folded her arms over her chest as if it would still the shivering—“when you need me?”

“Your court needs you every day, Ani. No one else can feed on both touch and emotion; no one else can feed on both faery and mortal. You are the key.” Irial wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t much, but small touches from such a strong faery fed her skin hunger more than a lot of touch from a weak faery or a mortal would.

Ani stayed still, grateful for even the scant contact.

Irial stroked her hair. “You let me keep my promises to stop the ink exchanges, to protect my king.… We do need you, pup.”

She looked up at him. “As long as Gabriel and Niall don’t find out, right?”

“For now.” Irial stepped away, his hands still on her shoulders, and then he unfolded her arms and took her hands in his as he repeated the same assurances he had the past few months. “Just for now. Once we figure out what’s in your blood, they’ll understand why we did this.”

She nodded.

He led her to the door. “Do you need anything else?”

All sorts of things no one will give me.

Ani said nothing. Instead, she hugged him, knowing from other rejections that his offer didn’t include the other things she needed. Irial—for all of his love for court and king, for all his protection for family and beloved—didn’t want to hear what she truly needed. He wouldn’t share his bed with her or force her father to let her run free with the Hounds.

“I need to go,” Ani murmured, and then she turned her back on him before she gave in to the temptation to beg. He gave her enough to keep her from starvation, but the former Dark King wouldn’t help her fully sate her hungers. She would have to find a few tastes here and there to silence the gnawing inside her.

Again.