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ness again. The fabric should twist around her skin; it should writhe like a living thing. It did neither.
“It’s not here.”
Beside her, Evan nodded. “That’s what I was trying to explain.”
“It can’t not be here.” Her hand sliced through the empty air. “Do they move? I mean, I haven’t been a faery for that long. In the past, did they move?”
“No.”
“That doesn’t work, Evan.” She turned to face him, and as she did so, she absently reached out to touch Sasha. The wolf had been growling as Donia grew increasingly agitated. He kept a watchful gaze around the cemetery as if seeking out whatever threat had unsettled his mistress.
“If I had an answer, I’d offer it to you.” Evan’s tone was uncommonly sharp.
Donia drew a calming breath and then exhaled a plume of frigid air. “I’m sorry. I know that.”
Her advisor nodded. His berry-red eyes were still widened, and his posture was as tense as she felt. For a winter faery—or for a rowan—it was akin to hand-wringing. Evan started walking, and as they began pacing through the cemetery, more of her faeries joined them. The lupine loped at the edges of the cemetery in a loose formation. Several Scrimshaw Sisters drifted alongside the lupine. Others of her court fanned out in scouting patterns, and still more faeries assumed the position of guards.
“What does it mean? Is Faerie gone?”
“We would know.” Evan stared at the air, as if to find a trail, a hint of something that made sense of the vanishing of the gate to Faerie. “We would. We’d have to know.”
“Do you think she . . . they . . . oh gods, Evan, if it vanished . . . the people and the faeries there. The deaths.” Donia lowered her voice until it was little more than a whisper. “It’s just the gate that’s gone. It has to be.”
“The Summer Queen’s beloved goes to Faerie. He would know something.” Evan motioned to the faeries who were looking, unsuccessfully, for some other gate to have appeared to replace the one that had vanished. “It is necessary to call on the Summer Court or try the Dark Court again. The boy will be with one of them.”
“And War? Could she have done this?” As her faeries mov
ed closer, Donia spotted a stranger among them. A tall, pale faery walked through the cemetery toward her. “Evan? Who is that?”
Evan stepped in front of her so suddenly that she had to put a hand on his back to steady herself. “Stay behind me.”
Scrimshaw Sisters fluttered toward Donia and encircled her. In barely more than a breath, the lupine were gathered around them. One particularly anxious Hawthorn hovered, her eyes flashing angry red.
“A wall of faeries between us, Donia?” The faery shook his head. “Surely, this is not how one greets old friends.”
“We’ve never met,” Donia said.
“Forgive me.” He bowed his head briefly. “I saw you in a memory. Icicles like knives tipped those dainty hands.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “You skewered the Summer Queen quite neatly.”
A wave of something like regret filled Donia at the thought of that day. “She healed.”
“Curiously, she healed better than one would expect.” The faery straightened to full height then. “I am Far
Dorcha.”
Donia hoped her expression didn’t betray the terror she was attempting to resist. I am Winter. I am at my strength. Unfortunately, every assurance she could think of was quashed when she realized that the faery before her was the Dark Man, wielder of true death. He mightn’t be a king, but the death-fey obeyed him without hesitation—in part, perhaps, because his touch could end their lives as well. Only Far Dorcha could kill any of the death-fey. It made for a degree of instant obedience that other regents couldn’t demand.
“You’ve not been fey but a blink.” He took another step toward her.
Evan extended a hand, but didn’t actually touch the Dark Man. “Keep your distance.”
“Evan.” Far Dorcha shook his head. “You’ve switched courts again, I see.”
Again?
“I serve the Winter Queen,” Evan said in a perfectly level voice. “I organize her guard, and I would lay down every life here for hers.”
Far Dorcha laughed, a horrible sound of claws scrabbling over metal floors. “And when they were all gone, I would still reach her . . . if that was my desire.”
