The Unseelie are stronger, less breakable. I’m glad I’m like them.
“I will speak with the sidhe-seer alone,” V’lane says.
“He will not,” Darroc growls at my side.
V’lane extends his hand when I don’t move. “Come, we must speak privately.”
“Why?”
“What subtle nuance of the word ‘private’ do you not understand?”
“Probably the same subtle nuance of the word ‘no’ you never understand. I’m not sifting anywhere with you.”
The god at his right gasps at my disrespect of his prince, but I see a small smile shape the corners of V’lane’s mouth.
“Consorting with Barrons has changed you. I think he will approve.”
The name is poison in my veins, from which I will die a slow death every minute I have to spend in this world without him. I’ll never be on the receiving end of one of those looks again. Never see that infamous mocking smile. Never have one of those wordless conversations in which we said so much more with our eyes than either of us ever was willing to say with our mouths. Jericho, Jericho, Jericho. How many times did I actually ever speak his name? Three? “Barrons is dead,” I say coolly.
The Seelie rustle, murmur disbelievingly.
V’lane’s eyes narrow. “He is not.”
“He is,” I say flatly. And I’m the queen bitch from hell that’s going to make them all pay. The thought makes me smile.
He searches my eyes a long moment, lingers on the curve of my lips. “I do not believe you,” he says finally.
“Darroc burned his body and scattered the ash. He’s dead.”
“How was he killed?” he demands.
“The spear.”
The soft murmurs swell and V’lane snarls, “I must have confirmation of this. Darroc, show yourself!”
My sides are suddenly icy. I am flanked by Unseelie Princes.
V’lane stiffens. The entire Seelie army goes still. And I think, Darroc may have just started a war.
How many hundreds of thousands of years ago did Seelie and Unseelie royalty last look each other in the face?
I hate looking at the Unseelie Princes. They mesmerize, they seduce, they obliterate. But there is something happening here that no human has ever seen. My curiosity is morbid and deep.
I position myself for a better view to see them both at once.
The Unseelie Prince stands beside me, stunningly naked. Of the four—who have been so aptly compared to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—I wonder which two remain. Pestilence, Famine, War? I hope I stand next to Death.
I want to walk with Death, bring it crashing down on this immortal, arrogant race.
The dark powerful body, capable of such soul-rending pleasure, is exquisite. I examine every inch with macabre fascination. Even hating the princes as I do, it … excites. It thrills. Which makes me hate it even more. It turned me inside out. I remember the kaleidoscopic tattoos rushing beneath its skin. I remember the black torque slithering around its neck. Its face has a savage beauty that obsesses even as it terrifies. Its lips are drawn back, baring sharp white teeth. And its eyes … oh, God, those eyes!
I force my gaze to V’lane. Then I widen my view to absorb them both, being careful to avoid the Unseelie Prince’s eyes.
Thesis and antithesis. Matter and antimatter.
They stand like statues, neither moving nor seeming to breathe. They study each other, assess, measure.
Prince of Consuming Night. Prince of Glorious Dawn.
The air between them is so charged that I could power all of Dublin if only I could figure out how to plug into it.
Black ice rushes forward from the Unseelie Prince’s feet, encompassing the cobblestones.
It is met halfway by a bed of brilliantly colored blossoms.
The ground shudders beneath my feet. There is a thunderous crack, and suddenly the cobbled pavement splits jaggedly between them, revealing a narrow, dark fissure.
“What are you doing, Darroc?” I demand.
“Tell him,” Darroc orders, and the prince opens his mouth to speak.
I clamp my hands to my ears to shut out the hellish sound.
V’lane uses language to communicate with me. All the Seelie have been using my language in my presence. I realize it has been a great concession.
The Unseelie Princes grant no concessions. Their language is a dark melody that the human ear was not made to hear. Once, I was forced to listen helplessly as they crooned to me, and it drove me mad.
By the time the Unseelie Prince stops speaking, V’lane is regarding me with an expression of faint astonishment.
Warily, I remove my hands from my ears but keep them close in case the UP decides to start “talking” again.
“He claims you killed Barrons, sidhe-seer. Why?”
It hasn’t escaped me that V’lane won’t use my name. I suspect that, if he did, those of his race would think him weak.
“Who cares? He’s dead. Gone. Out of both of our ways. It’s not like you didn’t want him dead, too.” I wonder if they really burned his body. I will never ask.
“And it was the spear that killed him?”
I nod. I have no idea, but it’s simplest to agree. The less time I spend thinking about Barrons, the better.
He looks from me to the prince at my side. “And after you killed Barrons, you decided your enemy was your friend?”
“A girl needs friends.” I’m bored. Tired of this posturing. I need to sleep. I need to be alone. “Look, V’lane, the Seelie are immortal, and the Unseelie are immortal. What are you going to do? Waste everyone’s time beating each other up all night? As far as I know, there’s only one weapon here tonight that kills Fae, and I’ve got it.”
“You do not.”
“You do,” Darroc corrects.
Just like that, my spear is heavy in my holster. I jerk a hard look his way. “About damned time.” I guess he finally feels the threat level has risen sufficiently. Or maybe he’s bored, too.
I slip my hand inside my jacket and close my fingers around the hilt. I love my spear. I’m going to keep it in the new world I create, even though it will be a world without Fae.
“You do not,” V’lane says.
“I thought you couldn’t see or hear him.”
“I smell the stench of him.”
My spear is gone.
My spear is there.