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“With all due respect, they are the Hunt, my Queen.” Evan scowled at the increased growls outside the garden. “They are not the sort of fey we—”
“I am the Winter Queen.”
“As you wish.” He gestured to one of the Hawthorn Girls at the door to the garden.
In a fraction of a moment, Gabriel stood before her.
To greet him without aggression would be an affront, so she fixed the leader of the Hounds with a stare that would make most fey tremble. “I would not summon the Gabriel himself to ask what I would know. I asked only to summon a Hound.”
“The girl said you wanted a Hound. I am the Gabriel.” Gabriel bowed his head.
The other Hounds bowed in turn. They dressed differently from one another—running the gamut from biker to businessman—but the expression of each was the same predatory one. Sometimes it was a posture, a tilt of the head, a wide-legged stance. Sometimes it was a look, fathomless eyes, bared teeth. No matter the garb or the face, the Hounds always evoked terror in a way that defied categorization.
And Donia knew instinctively that being as direct as she could was the right tactic. She started, “Word has come to me that Bananach took one of your number. That there was a fight with her. . . .”
“My own flesh,” Gabriel snarled. “My daughter.”
Donia stilled. “Your daughter?”
The Hounds as one let out such a howl that even she wanted to run in terror.
“The Winter Court . . . I offer our sympathy.” She caught his gaze. “How is the king—”
“I cannot speak of the king’s . . . state,” Gabriel interrupted.
She held Gabriel’s gaze, ignoring the feel of her fey sidling into the garden. They weren’t a noisy lot, but they murmured among themselves as they came. Their soft voices and crackling footfalls tumbled together in the silence of the garden.
A thick snow began to fall as she sent her assurances to her faeries. Several rebellious lupine snapped their teeth audibly. They weren’t aware that the Hunt had been invited, and even if they had known, they’d spare little love for the insult of the Hounds standing in their territory.
Donia looked around, taking the opportunity to assess where her Hawthorn Girls were, noticing the lupine fey and one of the glaistigs who’d joined them. Each of her fey stood facing one of the bulky Hounds. The glaistig faced Gabriel with a look that announced to all and each that she’d claimed him if violence were allowed.
The Hunt’s baying made enough noise that Donia suspected her words would be unheard. Still, she lowered her voice. “Has Bananach injured the king?”
“I cannot answer that.” For a moment, Gabriel stared at Donia as if willing her to understand the things he could not speak. Finally, he said, “The Dark Court has exiled her.”
“Exiled War? For her action against your daughter?” Donia’s incredulity was great enough that she wasn’t sure how to process that detail. Bananach had been among the Dark Court from almost the beginning. Sure, she’d pursued her own goals, but for nearly all of forever, the raven-faery had been tied to the Dark Court just as her twin, Sorcha, was a part of the High Court. They were of a pair, balancing their urges to chaos and order in two courts that stood in opposition.
“No.” Gabriel flexed his hands, fisting and unfisting them as the glaistig, Lia, eased closer still. “Not just that. Things . . .” He broke off and held out his forearms.
“I can’t read them. I’m sorry,” she said. The language used for his orders wasn’t one she knew.
He growled in frustration. “Can’t speak things I would say. Told my king I sought aid. I do seek aid for—” He stopped, growled again. “Can’t say.”
Startled, Donia stood.
Behind her, Evan waited. At some small gesture of his, two of the Hawthorn Girls floated nearer and stood on either side of Donia.
She stepped forward, but Gabriel did not move, so she was all but touching him. Quietly, she said, “I will learn what I need to know.”
Gabriel’s words were a rough whisper: “I would owe you a great debt. The Hunt would owe much.”
His voice seemed to tremble in a most un-Houndlike way, adding to Donia’s increasing sense of alarm. Something is very wrong in the Dark Court. She briefly put her hand on the massive Hound’s upper arm. “I’ve been thinking of calling on the Dark Court.”
Relief flooded Gabriel’s expression. “The Hunt defends the Dark Court. I can no longer stand near the last king, but I will stand with the Dark King. . . . I would protect him from further . . . I would make him well.”
Make him well? The possibility of Bananach having struck Niall hadn’t occurred to Donia. As a member of the Dark Court, Bananach shouldn’t be able to injure Niall. No one else was truly safe from her, but faeries could not kill their regents. Does exile nullify that rule? Who else would be strong enough to injure Niall? Had Bananach found a strong solitary to do the deed for her?
“Niall lives?”
