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“You see the future. You know what I’m about to do.” Niall glanced at the warehouse door. “Will it work?”
“Niall—”
“Tell me. He’ll be here any minute. How do I make him give me what I want?” Niall’s abyss-guardians flashed into their semisolid state and patted his arms consolingly.
Mutely, Seth shook his head.
And then the Dark Man walked into the warehouse.
Death had entered the Dark Court’s center, and Niall bowed low to him as if a supplicant before a deity. “I ask a boon.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard what I seek.” Niall’s voice was barely more than a snarl, but it wasn’t offensive.
Yet.
Far Dorcha sighed. “You seek what they all seek when grief becomes madness.”
Undeterred, Niall offered, “I would trade my life for Irial’s. Another’s life. Anyone.”
“Listen to yourself,” Seth hissed. “This is not how you make a faery bargain, Brother.”
Neither of the faeries present looked at Seth.
Far Dorcha prompted, “Anyone?”
“Anyone.” Niall leaned forward in his throne. “There are those I’d gladly give you, but there are others I would mourn. . . . Tell me which faeries you would accept. We can make an exchange.”
Far Dorcha waved his hand, and a table and chairs of carved bone formed. One of the chairs slid out as the Dark Man approached it. The bone legs scraped across the cement floor.
“What about the girl? Leslie.”
“Leslie’s not of your domain. She’s mortal,” Niall protested. “You cannot . . . no.”
“Irial lent her his strength, let her leach bits of his immortality, bound her to the Dark Court with tears and blood. His essence is in her flesh.” Far Dorcha sat in the chair at the head of his bone-made table. He rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together in front of him. “These things are so, yet you say she is not mine? If I ask for her, would you bargain?”
Niall came to stand beside the other chair. It slid out for him, but he did not touch it.
“If I said I would trade her still-briefer-than-fey life for his, what would you say?” Far Dorcha watched Niall with cavernous eyes. “Would you sacrifice one love for another?”
“No, but you can have my life,” Niall proposed. “I would offer myself at the table.”
Far Dorcha stood, but his hand remained on the chair. “Are you sure? She has some of his immortality.”
“Not Leslie . . .” Niall’s words faded as the table vanished.
“Then we are done,” Far Dorcha said. “She would’ve done it if you asked, and the only trade I will take is one who is willing and one you will mourn.”
“There are numerous faeries in my court who would—”
“Not by choice.” Far Dorcha’s gaze darted to Seth, acknowledging him for the first time. “Would you offer him? Sorcha’s child.”
Niall scoffed. “He wouldn’t offer himself willingly.”
“And if he would? Would you mourn him?”
“You’re trying to distract me.” Niall’s mind grew clouded. “Tell me how to get Irial back. The court needs him.”
