12. In Summer

St-John's Eve, the summer solstice celebration, is finally over. The sacrifice was successful enough for my enemies to overlook the dark circles under my eyes and the occasional twitch in my fingers. Elio isn't so easily fooled, though, and he peels himself off his frozen throne to join me in my dark corner.

The Hall of Eternity is an octagonal stone room with eight thrones, and the carpets that radiate out from the centerpiece of the room—the chalice—match the thrones they lead to. The black obsidian rock I'm sitting on frosts as my old friend nears it. "You look like death," he says.

The skin at the base of his neck is freckled with snowflakes, and exhaustion dims his ice-blue gaze.

"Right back at you," I crack.

Elio is the reaper king, after all. He knows a thing or two about death. We watch from the corner of our eyes as the monarchs filter out of the sacred hall and enter the Summer Court's ballroom through the large door behind the Queen of Summer's throne.

The guests are now free to enjoy the pleasures of the night, however forbidden they may be, but it's the one Fae holiday I've always abhorred, even before the curse. Light Fae love to play games, drink wine, and sex, sex, sex. It leaves all the hard work for us darklings, but it's not like I could find a lover here, anyway. The curse destroyed the part of me that could love, or even feel true attraction or desire.

Until Nell, my pesky inner voice chants.

"I wish you'd tell me what's going on," Elio says quietly enough for no one else to hear.

"I'm fine. How have you been?"

Nothing shuts up Elio Hades Lightbringer better than the prospect of talking about himself. The Winter King is drowning in secrets of his own, and neither of us have been in a sharing mood in decades.

The arch of his brow softens, and he shakes my question away like snowflakes on an ice dragon's back. "I saw you earlier. You could barely handle the sacrifice, and if I noticed, so did the others. If you're not in better shape for Morheim?—"

During Morheim, all Fae citizens follow the Shadow Court's custom of wearing masks to ward themselves against the nightmares that roam the realm more freely. At the end of the season, each kingdom offers a tribute so that we liberate the sun and continue to protect them. Every shadow hunter needs to bring their "A" game this year, or the magic I have left will dwindle, and we won't make it through winter.

"I'll be ready for Morheim."

Elio blinks a few times. "I hope so."

His gloomy words of encouragement unnerve me more than his earlier condescension.

I serve him a casual shrug, force my jaw loose, and add a trace of arrogance to my lips. "I have new seeds, and one of them is exceptional. It won't be long until she sprouts and when she does, I'll be good for ten seasons, at least."

"Your seeds take months to sprout."

With a dismissive wave, I laugh off his concerns. "Not this one."

My situation is even more critical than he believes, especially after the clusterfuck yesterday. If Nell had caught a clear view of our unexpected guest in the gardens last night… I might have had to give up on her altogether. Just the thought turns my stomach.

Elio rakes his nails across the frozen patch at his neck, his eyes fixed on the chalice. "Every single one of us is doomed."

Seth Devine condenses into solid form behind his mother's throne, clearly eavesdropping. "Elio…ever the optimist." He was born to two kingdoms and yet none, his powerful magic split between light and dark, two opposing forces. His ability to turn into mist or wind is not even his most annoying quality.

Elio stiffens from head to toe, and his nose wrinkles in disgust. "Get lost, dandelion fuzz."

A thundercloud sticks to Seth's shoulders as he closes the distance between us. "I'm looking forward to this year's pageant, Elio. Your discarded wanna-be brides are always so…receptive to my soothing words."

Being three of the most hated and misunderstood Fae in existence, you'd think we'd find common ground, but alas… Seth's misery only loves the company of naked women.

"Why are you here, Seth? Don't you have wine and women to tend to?" I drawl in a dispassionate tone.

The prince of nowhere at all strolls around the sacred hall, appraising the thrones like he's browsing for new furniture. He drags a finger over the top of Elio's seat and rubs his fingers together, checking for dust. "Morrigan's presence was felt in the sceawere. The others were whispering about it before you two arrived."

The wretched name scrapes my insides and makes little bows of my gut. "Certainly nowhere near the Shadowlands."

Seth gives me a wide smile that says, oh, you're such an idiot. "She wouldn't lurk too close to home, would she? The question you should really ask yourself is: why would she be on the move now. I'd love to discuss that with you." He offers Elio a wide, impish smile. "Privately."

Elio meets my gaze for the first time since his wife died, and the unblinking stare chills me to the bone. "If Morrigan is left unchecked, the others will demand more from you. You need all the magic you can get."

"Don't worry about Rye. If she's in Faerie, I'll find her." I grit my teeth, her pet name sour on my tongue.

"You better. I've got enough to deal with at the moment. I'd rather not pay you one final visit." Elio bares his teeth to Seth in lieu of goodbye and hustles to the reception with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his silver jacket.

I turn back to the annoyingly well-informed prince and offer him a fake, bemused smile. He's more powerful than me right now, but I can't let it show. If he knew, he'd probably kill me right here.

He licks his lips, clearly excited to spell out my troubles. "Morrigan crossed the sceawere from Demeter to the fringe of Storm's End and vanished through the frozen hills of Wintermere…"

I've always known Morrigan was hiding in the old world. It's the only realm where people don't allow mirrors into their homes, so I can't hunt for her there without some serious investment of time and power—more than I can spare. But Wintermere is a different story.

"Elio would have told me if Morrigan had been through Wintermere."

My gaze latches on to Elio's back, the Winter King now sipping on a flute of Feyfire wine. From his scowl, you'd think it was tepid water—and not the most potent aphrodisiac in existence.

Seth leans closer to my ear. "Are you so sure about that? I know you two used to be friends, but look again. Elio has become one of his lost souls, and you know as well as I do what mistakes a desperate king can make when he's backed against a wall. What better prey than a hopeless king for a woman that longs for a throne?"

I examine Elio again and find the blueish tint of his skin a little worrying indeed. "You think Morrigan turned her sights to Elio?"

"I'm saying you don't know who your friends are anymore. And that's a dangerous position to be in, cousin."

Cousinis a way for royal Fae to address their equals by power—not blood, and a wolfish smile quirks my mouth. "I bet you'd be my friend…for a price."

"Perhaps," he says with a matching grin.

But I'm not that stupid—or desperate. If Seth Devine is searching for trouble, he'll find it, and I won't be caught in the crossfire.

I can't afford to be patient anymore. I have to move Nell's training along.

Demeter's castlepales in comparison to the wonders of the new world. Its long hallways and textured tapestries lull me into a dream-like state, and the scents encrusted in the carpets remind me of a past long gone, when wine and laughter—and the occasional blood splatter—still governed the Shadow Court.

The princess' room beckons, tucked at the end of a long hallway past the guards and staircase. Just as I'm about to walk down the length of the corridor to meet her, a high-pitched greeting stops me.

"Hello," the girl proclaims from her slender teenage body.

Her limbs are still stuck in the midst of puberty, a few pimples partly hidden in her freckles.

A powdery blue aura pulses around her, half the strength of her sister's, but I smile. Both of Emmaline Darcy's daughters bear the shadow seed. How interesting.

"You're him, aren't you?" Nell's sister stares at my mask with guile, and I'm almost sure she can see the broken face behind it.

"Him?"

The teenager fluffs the bow at the front of her green dress like it constitutes a line of defense between us. "The Shadow King."

Isn't she clever?

I give her a shrug that's half denial, half acknowledgement. "Nice to meet you."

"Why do you wear a mask?" she asks.

"To hide my face."

Her suspicious frown deepens. "And why do you need to hide your face?"

I lower my voice, amused by her confidence. "Why do you think?"

"You won't change her, you know. She will change you."

"I think you're right." I bet her sister told her all she could remember about her time in Faerie, which is a problem. "How old are you, Cecelia?"

"Fifteen."

Only three years before she comes of age…I lick my lip. "I'll make you a deal."

The girl turns white as a sheet.

"If you promise to pretend not to know anything about me, the Shadow King, or Faerie, I will not erase your memories of me."

With a solemn nod, she clenches her knuckles around her flimsy green bow.

"But you have to promise not to berate your sister with questions and accept that she cannot share everything with you anymore."

She lifts her chin, the movement so like her sister that it loosens something deep inside me. "Why not?"

"Nice to meet you, Cecelia. See you again soon." I melt with the shadows, knowing better than to argue with a fifteen-year-old. If Cecelia Darcy is half as headstrong as her sister, she will not let me have the last word.

Their mother gave life to two seeds… One magic baby is a chance, but two is a pattern. Someone up their bloodline must have had Fae blood—though I can't fathom who.

The two princesses, along with all of Demeter's seeds, will strengthen my kingdom, which makes winning the bet even more vital. Once all the citizens of Demeter are connected to the sceawere, the magic in this realm will be ours for the taking.

Nell's bedroom holds no artifice, her religion preventing royal women from flaunting their riches. Hot embers crackle in the chimney, and I sit at the foot of her narrow bed. She's a means to an end, and yet…

The old me would have fallen hard for her. She's fierce and opinionated—not at all like I expected her to be. Despite my better judgment, her fresh, cinnamon-y scent fills places inside me I thought were dead forever.

In another life, I would have woken her with an impish kiss, eager to test the limits of her mortal body and hear her cries of pleasure. I would have taken her to see the wonders of my realm and watched her reaction to their beauty. Weaved her a perfect life and made all her dreams come true just to see her smile.

Oblivious to my presence, she sleeps. Her chest rises and falls, and just looking at her calms the storm in my heart. So beautiful. I would sell my blood, body, and soul to sleep soundly again, and even more to do so with her nestled in my arms.

I brush a white-blond strand of hair away from her eyes and wonder what she dreams about, but that's for her to know, and for Two to find out. The only thing I can do for her as I am now is spare her the nightmares.