Darkest Mercy

Darkest Mercy
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The fifth and final breathtaking instalment in the darkly seductive and best-selling WICKED LOVELY series, about the collision of mortal and faery worlds…The Summer King is missing; the Dark Court is bleeding; and a stranger walks the streets of Huntsdale, his presence signifying the deaths of powerful fey.Torn between his new queen and his old love, Keenan left Huntsdale to wander aimlessly but after centuries of leading his court it was not long before the reality of being Summer King became too pressing. Violence seemed more inevitable by the day and the Summer Court was not yet strong enough to face conflict, so Keenan made a dangerous deal with the water fey. It is a desperate bargain he makes to strengthen his court against the coming war. Aislinn tends the Summer Court, searching for her absent king and yearning for Seth. She knows she must be a powerful queen to hold her court together, while Bananach becomes more and more dangerous, and she is losing faeries to her. Donia longs for fiery passion even as she coolly readies the Winter Court for battle. Her court is still powerful, but she must remain focused on keeping them that way and not get distracted by Keenan when he shows up at her door again. The Dark Court is thrown into chaos when they are rocked by tragedy. And Seth, sworn brother of the Dark King and heir to the High Queen, is about to make a mistake that could cost his life.They all know what Bananach seeks – the raven-faery is the embodiment of war and discord. She and her growing number of allies want mutiny and murder. Love, despair and betrayal ignite the Faeries Courts, and in the final conflict, some will win… and some will lose everything. The thrilling conclusion to Melissa Marr’s bestselling Wicked Lovely series will leave readers breathless.

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To Anne Hoppe, for loving Donia even more than I do, for faery wings and temp tattoos, for putting the “good parts” at the end of the letter, for arguing and for not arguing, and for skipping your tea one Saturday morning to fall for these characters

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the author

Also by Melissa Marr

Copyright

About the Publisher

Prologue

Niall walked through the ruins of the tattoo shop. Shards of painted glass crunched under his boots. The floor was strewn with vials of ink, unopened needles, electric apparatus he couldn’t identify, and other things he’d rather not identify. The Dark King had known rage before, known grief; he’d felt helpless, felt unprepared; but he’d never before had all of those emotions converge on him at once.

He paused and lifted one of the mangled bits of metal and wire from the floor. He turned it over in his hand. Only a year ago, a tattoo machine—maybe this one—had bound Irial to the mortal who had brought the former Dark King and Niall together again after a millennium. Irial was the constant, the one faery that had been a part of Niall’s life— for better and worse—for more than a thousand years.

Niall stabbed his bloodied hand with the broken tattoo machine. His own blood welled up and mingled with the drying blood on his hands. His blood. Irial’s blood is on my hands because I couldn’t stop Bananach. Niall lifted the broken machine in his hand, but before he could stab himself a second time, a Hound grabbed his wrist.

“No.” The Hound, Gabriel’s mate, Chela, took the machine. “The stretcher is here, and—”

“Is he awake?”

Mutely, Chela shook her head and led him toward the living room, where Irial lay.

“He will heal,” Niall said, trying the words out, testing the Hound’s reaction to his opinion.

“I hope so,” she said, even as her doubt washed over him. Irial was motionless on the litter. The uneven rising and falling of his chest proved that he still lived, but the pinched look on his face made clear that he was suffering. His eyes were closed, and his taunting grin was absent.

The healer was finishing packing some sort of noxious-smelling plants against the wound, and Niall wasn’t sure whether it was worse to look at Irial or at the bloodied bandages on the floor.

The Hound, Gabriel’s second-in-command, lowered her voice. “The Hunt stands at your side, Niall. Gabriel has made that clear. We will fight at your side. We will not let Bananach near you.”

Niall came to stand beside Irial and asked the healer, “Well?”

“He’s as stable as can be expected.” The healer turned to face Niall. “We can make him comfortable while the poison takes him or we can end his suffer—”

“No!” Niall’s abyss-guardians flared to life in shared rage. “You will save him.”

“Bananach stabbed him with a knife carved of poison. He’s as good as d—” The rest of the words were lost under the Dark King’s roar of frustration.

Irial opened his eyes, grabbed Niall’s hand, and rasped, “Don’t kill the messenger, love.”

“Shut up, Irial,” Niall said, but he didn’t pull his hand away. With his free hand, he motioned for the waiting faeries to approach. “Be careful with him.”

Niall released Irial’s hand so that the faeries could lift the stretcher.

As they left the tattoo shop, Hounds fell into formation around Niall and the injured king, walking in front, flanking them, and following them.

The former Dark King’s eyes closed again; his chest did not appear to rise.

Niall reached out and put a hand on the injured faery’s chest. “Irial!”

“Still here.” Irial didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled a little.

“You’re an ass,” Niall said, but he kept his hand on Irial’s chest so that he could feel both pulse and breath.

“You too, Gancanagh,” Irial murmured.

Far too many miles away from Huntsdale, Keenan leaned against the damp cave wall. Outside, the desert sky glimmered with stars, but he wanted to be home, had wanted to be home since almost the moment he’d left. Soon. He’d needed to be away, needed to find answers, and until he did that he couldn’t go back. Being on his own was unheard of, but despite the challenges, he was certain he was doing the right thing. Of course, he’d been certain of a lot of things. Surety was not a trait he lacked, but it did not always lead to wise choices.

He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

“Is this what you freely choose, to risk winter’s chill?” Sunlight flickered under his skin, and he reveled in the hope that this time it would not end, that this time, this girl, was the one he’ d been seeking for so long.

She didn’t look away. “It’s what you want.”

“You understand that if you are not the one, you’ll carry the Winter Queen’s chill until the next mortal risks this? And you agree to warn her not to trust me?” He paused, and she nodded. “If she refuses me, you will tell the next girl and the next”—he moved closer—“and not until one accepts, will you be free of the cold.”



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