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“No,” Seth drawled. “That was Bananach. I fought with you. You remember that, Niall. I know you do.”
“Murderer.” Niall stabbed the poker deep into the fire. “The Dark Court doesn’t tolerate betrayal. I don’t tolerate it.”
“Not going to be much of a court if you don’t get your head out of your ass, Niall.” Seth came to his feet. “Where’s Gabe? Where is everyone? Bananach is gathering forces, Niall. You need to do something.”
“I am about to,” Niall said.
“If you’re going to do what it looks like you are, that’s high on the crazy list.” Seth watched the tip of the poker heat up. “I’ll forgive a lot of shit, Niall, but you’re starting to tap into the unforgivable list here.”
The Dark King shook his head. “I’ve watched them blind Sighted mortals.”
“Not mortal.”
Niall lifted the poker and walked toward the cage. “I didn’t understand it, but Sorcha follows the old ways. Maybe she knows things. Does she, Seth? Does she know things I’m lacking?”
“She sees the future, so yeah.” Seth backed away from him. “You got to know that’s a bad idea. You offered me your court’s protection.”
“I did.” Niall stared at the hot iron tip. Then he lifted his gaze to Seth as he wrapped his hand around the metal.
“Stop!” Seth surged forward, arm extended through the bars of the cage, but he couldn’t reach Niall.
Niall didn’t reply. The sizzle and scent of burnt flesh were the only signs that the Dark King was, in fact, injuring himself.
“Stop!” Seth repeated.
“Fine.” Suddenly, Niall released the burning tip of the poker and shoved it toward Seth’s face.
With the faery speed he was extremely grateful for, Seth moved—but not fast enough. Searing pain rocked him back as the poker grazed his face. His eye was intact, but a burn across his temple left him in agony.
“Damn it, Niall.” Seth forced back the pain that threatened to make him vomit. “You can’t do shit like that.”
The Dark King’s voice was dull as he asked, “Why?”
“Because . . .” The voice behind them made both Niall and Seth turn. Standing in the shadows of the room was the only person in the world who might be able to reason with the Dark King since Irial’s death. The still-too-thin, soft-spoken mortal walked toward them. Her footsteps were sharp echoes on the cement floor.
“You are not this person,” Leslie said.
Niall dropped the poker to the warehouse floor.
She walked farther into the room; her posture and expression said she was perfectly at ease with the scene in front of her.
Leslie stepped in front of the cage. “Niall? You don’t really want to hurt yourself . . . or him.”
Niall no longer looked like the fiend he’d been about to become mere moments ago. He looked like a faery who needed things that no one there could give him. “Seth sees things. He knew and . . . He knew that Irial . . .”
“I heard what happened.” Leslie approached Niall with her hand outstretched. “Ash called me. Donia called me. . . . You sent for me. Do you remember that, Niall? You sent Hounds.”
Niall stared at Leslie with something between terror and hope. “I didn’t want to tell you.”
“I’m here.” Leslie looked over her shoulder to where a Hound stood in the open doorway. “I am here with my court. I am here with you . . . because you needed me. They need me to be here with you.”
The Hound said nothing even as his king looked at him, even as he saw the fire poker and the fact that Seth was caged. Seth didn’t think for an instant that the Hound would set him free, so he was unsurprised when the Hound merely nodded at him before he turned and left.
Leslie took Niall’s uninjured hand in hers. “Irial wouldn’t want you to hurt. You know that.”
“He died, Leslie. He’s gone. I’m so tired, and he’s gone.”
“I know. That means you need to take care of the court and of yourself now.” Leslie touched his face with her other hand. “Come rest with me.”
