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growled at her. “We will obey our king.”
    Bananach snapped her mouth again; she tapped her talon-tipped fingers on the surface of the table. “So the Dark King is unwilling to fight? To allow us to defend ourselves? To strengthen ourselves? Just wait until we get weaker still? There’s an… interesting plan.”
    She’s going to be true trouble this time.
    Another green-toothed fey added, “If we fight, maybe some of us might fade, but the rest…a war’s apt to be good fun, my king.”

    “No,” Irial said, glancing at Chela, Gabriel’s sometimes mate. “No war right now. I’ll not have any of you fade. That’s not an option. I will find a way.” He wished he could explain it to them in a way they’d understand. He couldn’t.
    “Chela, love? Would you?” Irial inclined his head toward a group of faeries who’d been smiling and agreeing with the green-toothed fey. Talk of disobeying him was intolerable, especially when mutiny was simmering in Bananach’s eyes again.
    Irial lit another cigarette and waited as Chela sauntered across the room. The knotwork hounds on her biceps snapped at each other as they ran around her arm at a blurring pace. A soft hum emanated from her, somewhere between a growl and a contented murmur. As she approached the table, she grabbed a chair from one of the thistle-fey, dumping him to the floor as she lifted it and settled amidst the grumbling faeries.
    Several other Hounds dispersed throughout the crowd. Gabriel had spoken, said that they’d support the Dark King: they’d either need to obey Gabriel or kill him. Had he allied with Bananach, a faery war would be unavoidable, but Gabriel had stood with Irial for as long as he’d held leadership of the Hounds.
    Irial resumed: “A mortal has chosen my symbol for her tattoo. She’ll be bound to me within days. Through her, I will be able to feed on mortals and faeries both; I’ll offset your own feeding until we have another option.”
    They didn’t react for a moment. Then they lifted theirvoices in a beautiful cacophony.
    He’d never funneled his nourishment out to them, but he’d never needed to, either. He could. The head of a court was tied to each faery who swore fealty to him. His strength gave them strength; it was simply the way of things. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would keep them alive until a better solution was in reach—one that wasn’t full-out war.
    He exhaled, watching the smoke writhe in the air, missing the dead queen, hating Keenan for defeating her, and wondering what it would take to entice Donia, the new Winter Queen, to become as ruthless as her predecessor. The alliance between Keenan and Donia had swung the balance too far toward a degree of peace that was detrimental to the Dark Court—but war wasn’t the answer either. The Dark Court couldn’t survive on violence alone, any more than terror or lust would be enough. Everything was about balance, and in a court where the darker emotions were sustenance, attending to that balance was essential.
    Another squabble in the middle of the room caught his attention. Gabriel’s growl shook the walls as he ground his boot into a Ly Erg’s face, leaving the fallen faery bloody enough that there’d be another stain on the floor. Obviously, the Ly Ergs weren’t being as cooperative as Gabriel would like. They enjoyed bloodshed too much, clustering to support Bananach every time she stirred mutiny.
    With a gleeful grin, Gabriel watched the Ly Erg crawlback to his table. Then Gabriel turned to Irial and bowed low enough that his face touched the floor, presumably to hide his grin as much as to show respect. He told Irial, “Once you collect your mortal, we’ll ride with you to help evoke fear and confusion in the mortals. The Hounds support the will of the Dark King. That won’t change.” Gabriel’s gaze didn’t drift to Bananach or the glaring faeries who had gone to her side already, but his message was clear enough.
    “Indeed.”