Page 41 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

Keenan’s mouth opened and closed, silently trying to say words that did not come. So Aislinn figured she’d get to the current concern while he was dumb-founded.

“Irial had a second child with Thelma, Keenan. A son.” Aislinn crossed her arms. The mere thought of Urian angered her, and she had to focus. “My great-uncle. Urian came to my door, fueled by rage, insisting that he was the heir tomythrone.”

Keenan’s mouth closed. Whatever else he was, he was also practiced in hiding his emotions. He watched her from behind emotionless eyes—and after so many dealings with the Dark Court, she found that she hated it. There was no guessing with Irial, and she rather liked that.

I am, after all, Summer, which isn’t known for subtlety.

“Urian stabbed Tavish. Well, he aimed for Siobhan, but . . .” She looked away. Rage wasn’t useful in this moment, but she was having difficulty quieting the feeling. Urian had threatened what was hers, people who were hers to protect and guide. Family or not, he would suffer for such arrogance.

“Are they uninjured?” Keenan asked carefully.

Aislinn nodded, swallowed hard against the remembered fear, and assured him, “They are fine now. Together, in fact, romantically. I healed Tavish . . . and you know how sunlight is.” She shrugged, unable to forget that he had taught her that detail.

“Feeling drunk and forgetting his propriety for a moment,” Keenan surmised with a light chuckle.

“And Niall? How did the Dark respond to—”

“I cannot speak for another court,” she interrupted. “I can only share what was related to me, not to those things beyond my involvement. I will say that Irial and Niall both came to my home at my request. You could speak to Niall. Ask him. Tell him you know of my, err, great-grandfather’s relationship with Thelma and of his tie to me.”

This time, it was Keenan who sighed. The current Dark King had more than a few points of contention with the former Summer King. Near-eternal lives, secrets, and deceits made for complicated relationships.

Unfortunately, Aislinn was already discovering that reality as she sat with her almost-an-ex. They weren’treallyex-lovers, as they never crossed that line for real, but they were more than friends. It, thankfully, wasn’t as complicated as the relationship between Keenan and the Dark King who had stolen Keenan’s intended lover—her great-grandmother.

She paused as the weirdness hit her.

“Sort of creepy that you wanted to romance my great-gram,andmy mother,and me . . .”she murmured.

He had the grace to look a little sheepish, but then he asked, “Are there things you wouldn’t do for your court, Aislinn?”

“Not that I’ve discovered.”

For several moments, Keenan and Aislinn sat together, watching faeries and mortals pass. The only hint of the Winter Court consort’s upset was the growing stretch of ice from under his feet. He said nothing more, simply waited.

Aislinn, in a blink, melted the sheet of ice that was stretching toward the street where cars would be in danger if it were to reach under their tires. Icy patches were no longer common year-round, not since the Winter and Summer courts were again balanced.

“And is there more I ought to know of your great-uncle?” Keenan finally asked.

“Urian is angry.” Aislinn stood, seeing Tavish approaching. She paused, met Keenan’s gaze and added, “But then again, so am I. I’ll handle it—or the Dark will if Urian challenges them. I cannot imagine Niall dealing with that any better than I did.”

“I suppose it depends on Irial’s involvement,” Keenan mused. “Even apart, they were never truly able to let go. If this is Irial’s son . . .”

“Urian is filled with rage, Keenan. He’s not sending handmade Father’s Day cards or anything.”

Keenan paused, as if deciding what secrets he would share. Then he said, “When Niall was injured, Irial would slip into whatever home we had then, heal Niall, and vanish. Niall never knew.”

Aislinn stared.

“Niall was never truly Summer Court. I couldn’t . . . sunlight was not what he needed, so Irial came. Every. Time.” Keenan shook his head, as if it was confusing. “He’s a monster, but Irial would do anything for love. He made a mistake with Niall long before I was born, but he spent literal centuries making repairs.”

“Irial isn’t the Dark King,” Aislinn said. “And neither Niall nor I have that same trait. Urian made a mistake challenging me.”

Then she turned and walked away. Some inkling of mistrust made her unwilling to mention the Wild Hunt—or perhaps that was simply politics. Why mention things before it was time?

Perhaps, Aislinn admitted to herself as she walked away to join Seth,I simply don’t want to admit that I am the queen, the regent, the creature so vicious that they have chosen to leave the Dark Court for me.

After a childhood of knowing that the creatures most deadly of all the fey were those that dwelled in the Dark Court, what was she to do with knowing that the blood of the Dark Court was hers? What did it mean that she was party to the death of not one but two ancient faeries? She held the last Winter Queen as Keenan killed her, and she entombed Bananach, the embodiment of War, in boiling earth and vine as Niall stabbed her.

Perhaps, Aislinn admitted,the Wild Hunt sees me more truly than most do.

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