Gareth laid down his guitar, and signaled to the rest of Hunter’s Moon that they could take a break. “You’ve earned your mead buzz, Hamish.”

“Too right. Next time you book us a fae wedding gig, give us more than two moments’ notice, eh, mate?” He rose from behind a row of toms. “I’m fair parched. What kind of tucker do you suppose they lay out for a royal splicing, eh?”

As the band packed away their instruments, the spectral music that filled the glade at the Queen’s command swelled to fill the silence. It was more than a fanfare this time—almost like an entire orchestra. And it seemed to be coming from . . . Gareth burst into laughter.

“What?” Tiff asked. “Now that you’re finally at the point of enjoying jokes, you could at least share them with us.”

“Ever wonder where the music came from when we weren’t playing?” He pointed at the trees surrounding the glade. Peering through the leaves were a host of small, nearly transparent fae, all of them holding tiny instruments. “They’ve always been invisible before.” Thanks to Niall’s insistence, they weren’t any longer.

“Figured it was just fae elevator music.” Hamish tilted his head as he grinned up at the little musicians. “Not bad, are they? They could use an update in their set list though. Maybe I’ll have a word.”

He wandered off toward a nearby linden tree and peered up, apparently catching the attention of a rather surly looking lavender fae playing a sackbut. Whatever he said deepened its frown, and it blatted a discordant note directly in Hamish’s face, which caused his ears to shift immediately to kangaroo form. Hamish gaped for a moment, then burst out laughing, twitching his ears once before shifting them back to human.

It was tough to smirk with a sackbut at your lips, but the lavender fae managed it before dismissing Hamish completely to return to its tune. The tempo, however, picked up significantly.

Gareth hopped down from the dais. The glade had expanded exponentially to hold everyone at the handfasting ceilidh, which appeared to be all the land-based fae, Seelie and Unseelie both. The result was a bit . . . startling. Gareth had never seen a trow dance before. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see it again, but he had to give them credit for enthusiasm, if not for grace.

In a way, they reminded him of David, who couldn’t dance to save his life. Although he did that once—and started the chain of events that saved us all. Alun’s redemption. My reconciliation with Alun. Mal’s journey with Bryce, which led me back to Niall at last. As far as Gareth was concerned, David was the finest dancer in any world.

Now, David was swaying in the center of the glade, locked safely in Alun’s arms so he couldn’t damage himself or others with his flailing. The look on Alun’s face . . . Goddess, Gareth couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen his staid, dutiful eldest brother so at peace.

He searched the crowd for Niall, and spotted him at the far side of the glade, standing next to Mal, laughing with a brownie in a leather apron. Mal had bauchan young on either shoulder and one perched on top of his head, clinging to his hair. Only days ago, Gareth’s first instinct at that sight would have been to charge, dislodging and scattering the Unseelie. But we no longer have Unseelie—or Seelie either. We’re all simply fae.

Bryce was standing next to them, in earnest conversation with a trio of dryads, who were regarding him, big-eyed, with something between terror, respect, and outright adoration. They’d probably never seen a druid this close before. As another repercussion of the Convergence and the odd alliances it bred, a druid—this particular druid—was welcome in Faerie, and the fae had begun a cautious exploration of what that meant.

Regardless of the rocky beginning of his relationship with Bryce, Gareth trusted him to have the best interests of Faerie at heart. He was a good man—one who deserved Mal.

Gareth skirted the trees, dodged the enthusiastic revelers until he reached Niall and Mal. “Hey.”

Niall grinned at him and pulled him in for a kiss. “Hey yourself. Have you met Peadar?” He put a hand on the brownie’s shoulder. “He’s one of my best friends.”

Peadar ducked his head. “Give over, Highness, do. I did no more than my duty.”

“Bugger that. You went far beyond, and I don’t forget.”

Gareth extended a hand. “Thank you. For watching out for him.” Peadar blinked up at Gareth with the same expression the dryads were still training on Bryce, taking Gareth’s hand gingerly. But when he would have bent forward to kiss it, Gareth altered his grip and shook instead. “You owe me nothing more than friendship, Peadar. But I’d be grateful if you granted me that.”

Peadar bobbed his head. “With pleasure, Bard. You saved our lives.”

“No. We saved ourselves—and each other. Exactly as it should be.”

Peadar bowed and scurried away. Mal chuckled, causing the young bauchan using him as a perch to squeal. “I think you intimidate him, brother.”

Gareth sighed. “I suppose it’s inevitable. But I hope it won’t last.”

Mal surveyed the crowd. Although many species of fae were dancing simultaneously in the circle, not many of them could be said to be dancing together. “I expect we’ll return to some form of our old contentious ways before long. We’re fae, after all.” He glanced at Bryce, who was apparently reading the palm of one of the dryads. “Well, most of us are.”

“I never told you what Bryce did while you were trapped in here.”

“Caused a stir, I reckon. He’s not one to sit idly by, my bloke.”

“He never stopped trying to find a way to get to you. To rescue you and Alun and Faerie.” Gareth glanced sidelong at Mal. “To make me see beyond my own nose.”

Mal snorted. “Aye, well, you, me, and Alun—can’t say our noses are so small. Sometimes we all need help to see past them.”

“He . . . he has a bigger heart and a bigger vision than I do.”

“Nah. It’s just his job. He’s a druid.”

“Don’t discount it. He loves you.”

Mal grinned. “I know. Believe me, I know.” He sauntered over and dropped a kiss on Bryce’s neck. Bryce glanced up, and the look that passed between them made Gareth’s breath catch.

“Remarkable, eh?” Niall wrapped his arm around Gareth’s waist. “All the devotion on display tonight. Eamon and Caitrìona—”

“Don’t you mean the King and Queen?”

Niall’s lips quirked in that familiar sly smile. “Nah. I think we’ve earned the right to call them by name—at least in private.” He nodded at where the two of them were sitting together near the dais, apparently with eyes only for each other. “I think they need a bit of privacy themselves, and speaking of that . . .” Niall let go of Gareth’s waist and held out his hand instead. “Come for a walk with me?”

“Of course.” Gareth let Niall lead him into the trees behind the dais. In the old days, this would have been Niall’s ploy to get Gareth alone for a bit of lovemaking, but his expression was entirely too somber for that.

They arrived at a small clearing next to a chiming brook. Peadar was there, holding something wrapped in a linen cloth. He handed it to Niall and sped off into the underbrush.

Niall studied the bundle for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Herne brought this to Eamon while you and the band were playing.” He unfolded the cloth to display the horn, its leather strap coiled neatly around the base.

“Herne. He was here?”

Niall nodded. “He said—he said that it’s done.”

“The three of them are gone then. Rodric, Fionbarr, and—

“My father.”

Gareth gripped Niall’s arms. “I know you didn’t see eye to eye with him. I know he’s done terrible things, but he was still your father. You must feel—”

Niall huffed out a laugh. “Will you think I’m mad if I say that no matter how much I hated him for what he did to Eamon, to you, to me, that I still craved his affection?”

“Not at all. I never had a father to speak of—although I heard that the fae who spawned us at Arawn’s orders was a fellow who’d been cuckolded. I’ve always wondered if that’s why the three of us have never been interested in female companionship. When he created us, he made bloody damned sure we’d never be a threat to him.”

As Gareth had hoped, Niall laughed. “I expect Tiarnach wished he’d had as much control over his own sons. He certainly never acted as if he was pleased with us, and Eamon did his best to please.”

“You didn’t?”

Again that self-deprecating smile. “I did my best to piss him well off. It was the only attention I ever got from him. Although considering events, perhaps I should have been content with being neglected instead.”

Niall tucked the linen around the horn again and laid it in a stony recess next to the brook. The half-dozen symbols carved above the opening marked it as a mini-portal, Faerie’s version of express delivery. Sure enough, a moment later, the horn vanished. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He stared at the empty spot for a moment, then sighed again. “I . . . I have to leave.”

“Are you—” Gareth’s voice cracked. “You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

Niall cupped Gareth’s jaw. “No. Never. But I can’t be nothing more than your . . .” Niall’s gaze lost focus for an instant, in a way Gareth was coming to recognize. “. . . your groupie.”

“Did the ethera feed you that word?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“It’s your doing that they’re able to return to Faerie. Just like you demanded recognition—literally—for the musicians. You’ve done good things.”

“Ah well. The ethera have done their bit for me. Seemed fitting I’d give something back.” He smiled wryly. “And I’ve always had a soft spot for musicians.”

“You could do more of the same. Your brother is the king. Surely he’d grant you a position at court.”

“An offer born of obligation rather than suitability? What a disaster that would be.” He stroked down Gareth’s arms and laced their fingers together, his gaze on their linked hands. “I can’t be your true partner if I don’t have my own purpose. That’s why the fae have dwindled so over the years—we have no context, no place, in the Outer World anymore.”

Gareth’s fingers tightened around Niall’s. “After all this time, I don’t want to be without you again.”

“Nor I without you. But think about it, love. You have the band, a career, a life that you’ve built. As for me, during the past two hundred years, I’ve done nothing but haul scrap metal around the underworld and work giant bellows in between getting flogged to within an inch of my life. What can I offer you?”

“You don’t need to offer me anything but yourself. We don’t need the money—”

“It’s not that. I’m not good with idleness. Call it my Unseelie nature, but when I get bored, I cause trouble.”

Gareth nudged Niall’s jaw with his knuckles in an attempt to lighten the mood, although he still couldn’t quite catch his breath. “You’re a Bad Boy. Tiff called it the minute she met you.”

“Aye, well, I can’t deny it. But I’m trying to be better. I’ve been talking to Eamon about an idea I’ve had. Remember how you wanted to pull me out of Faerie because of Fionbarr’s rules about all fae and only fae being present during the Convergence?”

“Hard to forget, considering.”

“Seems Fionbarr was full of shite. He only wanted all fae inside for the Convergence so he could draw on their energy in an emergency—oh, and because his spell would blow out the walls between the worlds and he placed more value on fae lives than he did on humans. But just because a fae wasn’t inside Faerie when the spheres converged doesn’t mean they died.”

“So that means—”

Niall nodded. “They could still be out there. The Disappeared—Cornish, Manx, Bretons. All the other Celtic fae who’ve vanished over the years.”

Gareth’s breath steadied, his grin growing despite Niall’s solemn expression. “You want to bring them home.”

“At least let them know they’d be welcome should they return.” Niall frowned. “Wait—how do you know about that? And what’s so damned funny?”

Gareth snaked his arms around Niall’s neck, and thank the Goddess, Niall didn’t pull away. “You’re not the only one who’s been planning a quest.”

Niall snorted. “It’s not a quest. I’m not one of Arthur’s bloody knights.”

“Of course you’re not. They were a bunch of bloodthirsty arseholes, except for the ones who were insufferable prigs. You’re much better. But it’s still a quest.”

“Fine. It’s a quest. But that still doesn’t tell me why you know about it.”

“Because Alun and Bryce broached the same subject. Their Majesties have approved a campaign to locate the Disappeared, find out why they left, and if they’re willing, bring them home.”

Niall’s face took on the yearning look he sometimes wore when Gareth nattered on about the band or music. He’s never had a rewarding occupation, something to make him feel worthwhile. “It’s a go then? I can do it?”

“Yes. With any means necessary, you’re to remove the impediments to their repatriation. Make sure they know they have a choice now, a real choice.”

“‘Any means,’ eh? That’s a dangerous mandate, considering my track record.”

Gareth pressed a kiss on Niall’s smiling mouth. “They count on me to keep you in check, I think. You can’t get too wild and reckless if you know that should something happen to you again . . .” Gareth locked gazes with Niall, willing him to understand. “Well, I’m not sure I’d survive it.”

“Ah shite, Gareth. Way to put pressure on a bloke.”

“I don’t mean to. Or not much. But we’ve wasted so much time, Niall. Isn’t it our turn now? To be happy? To stage our own convergence?”

“You more than anyone know that the worlds aren’t always fair, but I’d say we’ve both paid a fair chunk of dues.” Niall stroked Gareth’s cheek with a fingertip. “We’ve earned our happiness. We’ll make our home in the Outer World. You’ll have the band, and I’ll take on this bloody ‘quest’ so I won’t be underfoot.”

“Don’t lie. You don’t think it’s a ‘bloody’ quest at all. You love the idea.”

“I do. But not nearly as much as I love you.” Niall threaded his fingers through Gareth’s hair and dove in for a kiss that rivaled the heat of the Abyss. When Gareth pulled back, they were both panting, grinding against one another, Gareth with a double handful of Niall’s ass.

“I should tell you,” Gareth said, voice hoarse with desire.

“The only thing you need to tell me is where we can be alone.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank the Goddess. Now—”

“But the quest. There’s a catch.”

Niall rolled his eyes, then ducked down to press his mouth to Gareth’s throat. “Of course there is. What?”

“You’re not the only one who needs a new job. I’m afraid you’ll have a co-quester: my brother, Mal.”

Niall laughed, his lips vibrating against Gareth’s skin. “Their Majesties are going to trust the two of us on the loose with royal command to do whatever it takes?”

“I’ll warn you—there’s serious book being made on whether the two of you can accomplish anything without running afoul of the laws, here and in the Outer World both. Or for that matter, killing each other and leaving both Bryce and me to waste away in mourning.”

“Is that so, love?” Niall kissed his way up Gareth’s neck until he could gaze at Gareth, grinning wickedly. “Care to place a little wager on that?”

Gareth returned the grin, snugging Niall’s groin more firmly against his own. “I would never bet against a Bad Boy. Not one with your reputation.”

“Wise man.” Niall’s grin faded into a tender smile. “But if you want a sure thing, here’s a tip: the smart money’s on happily ever after. For both of us.”