Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown Book 2)

by Keri Arthur

  He grunted. It was not a happy sound. “Has Mo managed to transcribe what was written on the King’s Stone yet?”

  “She’s still waiting for Barney’s nephew to send through the adjusted images.”

  “Which should be by the morning,” Mo said as she placed a fresh cup of tea on the bedside table.

  I passed the comment on and then added, “I talked to Max this evening. He all but confirmed today’s attack was as much about grabbing the coronation ring as destroying Blackbirds.”

  “Then they failed in both aims.”

  “The ring wasn’t there?”

  “No, we moved it and a few other precious artifacts to safer locations when the museum theft happened.”

  Relief stirred. Max might believe the Blackbirds were past their prime, but at least they’d been one step ahead on this particular occasion. “Good. But I need you to grab it for me.”

  “I doubt that would ever be approved—”

  “Luc, the safest place for the ring right now is with the Lady of the Lake. Darkside won’t get it off her anytime soon.”

  “Why would Vivienne deign to safekeep the ring? She hasn’t gotten involved in the affairs of men or witches for decades.”

  “This is different.” I cast a questioning look at Mo, and she shook her head. No telling him about the crown, then, despite the fact he—and the Blackbirds—had a right to know. “It’s only a matter of time before they attack your other locations looking for the ring, Luc. It needs to be protected by the goddess who made the sword.”

  “I doubt any of us has the capacity to raise her—”

  “Mo’s interacted with Vivienne in the past,” I cut in. “And besides, we’ve nothing to lose by trying.”

  His doubt and disbelief seemed to vibrate all around me. “Look, all I can do is talk to the table and see what happens.”

  “And when is that likely to be, because there’s a bit of urgency here—”

  “We’re meeting in half an hour,” he said. “I presume that’s quick enough for even Mo.”

  I ignored the slight edge of sarcasm. “Given your headquarters is a ruin and the round table undoubtedly buried under a pile of rubble, where are you meeting?”

  “We’ve a choice of buildings nearby, and the round table is fine—it was one of the artifacts moved out under the cover of darkness. As I’ve said before, it’s irreplaceable.” He paused, murmuring something I couldn’t quite catch. The soft reply was also inaudible, but I recognized the voice—Ricker. “Sorry, duty calls, and I’ll have to go.”

  “The ring?”

  “I’ll ask. If there is consensus on its relocation, where do you want me to meet you?”

  “At Windermere Museum, tomorrow morning if you can.”

  “I’ll be there, with or without the ring.”

  “Just be careful, Luc. Darkside is ramping things up.”

  “I’d ask you to do the same, but we both know you’ll do what you want, regardless of what I say or think.” The warm amusement in his voice had my pulse doing a happy little dance. “Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He hung up. I shoved the phone on the table and picked up my tea. “So, what did Barney say?”

  “They’re making slow progress. Most of what they’ve transcribed so far appears to be admin stuff—payments, stock lists, etc.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Payments to who?”

  “They’re all coded, so it’s hard to say. He’s going to pass them on to preternatural for further investigation.” She reached for the remote and turned on the TV. “He’ll give me a call the minute he does find anything. In the meantime, what do you feel like watching?”

  “Something that doesn’t take much brain power.”

  We settled on an old episode of Escape to the Country. I finished my tea and then snuggled under the duvet. In no time at all, I was asleep.

  A soft beeping woke me many hours later. I opened one eye and looked around balefully before I realized what the sound was—the alarm on my phone. I swiped it off and then saw the time—it was barely 4:00 AM.

  “Fuck, Mo, why so early?”

  She chuckled softly—some might say evilly. “Because we need to get to Windermere before sunrise. Up, lazy bones.”

  I swore at her—which only made her chuckle again—then tossed off the duvet and shivered my way into my clothes. After pulling on my new boots, I dug the wrist sheath holding the black stone knife out of the backpack and strapped it on. I had no idea why I felt the need for additional protection, but I wasn’t about to gainsay it. I then strapped on Nex and Vita and stuffed everything else into the backpack. As we headed out, I grabbed the remains of the pie. Dessert for breakfast was perfectly acceptable at this ungodly hour of the morning.

  We climbed into the nondescript Focus I’d hired, and I drove out of Preston. There wasn’t much in the way of traffic on the M6, so we reached the turnoff in good time. From there, it took us another twenty minutes to reach Windermere. Dawn was just beginning to tickle the clouds with color, and a thick gray fog crawled through the empty streets, hiding the quaint old houses and giving the old town a decidedly spooky feel.

  Once we’d reached the Windermere Jetty and Museum, I pulled into the small parking lot and stopped. The minute I climbed out, a rush of awareness flowed around me, cocooning me in a blanket of warm caring.

  Luc was here.

  My gaze went to the darkness hovering close to the museum’s entrance. “How long have you been waiting, Luc?”

  He shook off the shadows and walked toward us, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s just as well Darkside hasn’t your skill at sensing our presence, or we’d be in deep trouble.”

  “I think it’s more you she can sense than Blackbirds in general.” Mo’s voice was dry. “It’s that whole connection of souls thing you don’t believe in. Did you get the ring?”

  “Surprisingly, yes.”

  “Excellent. This way, both of you.”

  She quickly set off, marching across a bridge that spanned the concrete water channel and then through the heavily treed park beyond.

  Luc fell in step beside me, his big, warm body protecting me from the slight chill rising off the dark water. “How long has it been since she talked to Vivienne? Does she really believe she’ll get a response?”

  I shrugged rather than outright lie. “It apparently depends on what sort of mood Vivienne is in.”

  Another smile tugged at his lips, though it was something I felt deep inside rather than actually saw. “It’s hard to imagine a goddess being ‘moody.’”

  I snorted. “Why? There’s countless tales of vengeful gods wreaking havoc on both human and witch populations.”

  “Yes, but I always thought them to be nothing more than tall tales meant to scare us into obedience.”

  “Some were,” Mo commented without looking back at us. “But some atrocities were very real and very understated. Not all the old gods were as benevolent as Vivienne—and even she had her moments. Now, quiet, both of you.”

  She stopped at the shoreline. The fog clung to the dark water, hiding the end of the jetty and the boats moored nearby. It felt as if we were in the middle of nowhere, despite the multiple houses that lay on the other side of this small inlet.

  Mo knelt and pressed her fingers into the gentle waves lapping the shore. They rose around her hand as if in welcome.

  “Lady of the Lake,” she said. “Heed my call, I beseech you.”

  Her voice was soft and yet filled with a power that echoed across the foggy stillness. The water remained still; no deeper power stirred in response.

  “Lady of the Lake,” she repeated. “Your presence and your help are requested. Please, heed my call.”

  The fog remained still and the night absent of any power beyond Mo’s. Maybe our goddess was in one of her moods.

  “Vivienne,” Mo said. “We really do need your help. Please, heed the call.”

  This time, the fog moved, sluggish
ly at first and then gaining traction and power as it rolled toward the shore and over us. It erased what little of the lake and museum had been visible and seemed to dull all external sounds. Even the gentle lapping of water against the shore was mute.

  “What is it you wish of me, Moscelyne?”

  The voice was softly feminine and yet full of power and force. An odd sort of thrill ran down my spine. To be in the presence of an ancient goddess once was amazing enough, but I’d now done it twice.

  I glanced at Luc. Though his expression was unreadable, his awe echoed around me as sharply as if it were my own.

  “I have a question and a favor to ask,” Mo said.

  “What is the question?”

  “The sword that was locked in the stone on King’s Island—was it the sword you gifted Aldred’s line or was it a substitute?”

  “I know nothing of a sword locked in stone,” Vivienne replied. “But Elysian will surface once the true heir has risen.”

  “Elysian?” I glanced at Mo. “The king’s sword has a name?”

  “All great swords do,” the goddess said before Mo could respond. “To keep them nameless would be to disrespect their power.”

  Maybe, but the Greeks had believed Elysium was the final resting place of the heroic and the virtuous, and that was ominous. “Swords aren’t sentient beings unless they’re held by Blackbirds and hold the soul of a dark witch.”

  Vivienne’s amusement spun around me. “It may not be sentient, Gwenhwyfar, but it does hold great danger to one who still fights to believe.”

  That she called me Gwenhwyfar was … unsettling. Mo might have already declared me the reborn soul of the first Witch King’s wife but hearing the name drop from Vivienne’s lips somehow felt like a death knell. “Gwenhwyfar was never meant to draw the—”

  “Gwenhwyfar’s fate has always been tied to the sword,” she cut in. “Destiny and blood has simply converged in the current timeline.”

  Mo’s gaze met mine, a warning clear in her gold-ringed eyes. I swallowed the rest of my questions on the matter and asked instead, “Then how do we find the real sword?”

  “When the true heir claims the coronation ring, Elysian will rise.”

  “Why does the ring make a difference?” Luc asked. Though the question was soft, it echoed through the confines of Vivienne’s white blanket. “Even in times when witches ruled, it was nothing more than a symbol of the crown.”

  “Those who know little of true history may consider it so, but it has always been a guide, one only the heir can use.” The fog stirred in agitation. “Who speaks?”

  “Luc Durant, Lady Goddess.”

  “Ah, the Blackbird.” A hint of amusement touched her voice. “It is good to see your order still serves the crown after all this time.”

  “Serving the crown was both our penance and our duty—”

  “Indeed, but there are few enough these days who believe in either.” Long fingers of fog moved around him, probing, judging. “You will face a familiar choice in coming days, Blackbird. Choose your path wisely, because this time, the fate of this world may ride on it.”

  “There is no choice when it comes to duty,” he replied evenly.

  She laughed softly. “Ah, the certainty of youth. Were we ever so foolish, Moscelyne?”

  “I dare say there are plenty who would say that I still am,” Mo replied, amusement evident.

  “And there are none who would say that of me, if only because most of my peers have fallen into the long sleep.” She sighed. “As to the identity of the sword locked in stone, I would suggest you stir the great enchanter.”

  “I feared that would be your answer.”

  “He can be challenging, even for one such as I,” Vivienne agreed. “But it is well past time he stirred again. What is the favor you wished, Moscelyne?”

  She half turned. “Luc, can you give Gwen the coronation ring?”

  He raised an eyebrow, but carefully pulled a worn and very plain leather pouch from the inside pocket of his jacket. I held out my hand. He opened the pouch, then carefully tipped it upside down. The gold ring that fell into my palm was absolutely glorious. A huge red ruby dominated its center; on its surface, a cross and a rose—the symbols of the Witch King—had been carved. At least twenty small diamonds surrounded the ruby, and even in the fog-clad darkness, they sparkled brilliantly.

  “It’s heavier than I expected,” I whispered. “It must be worth a fortune.”

  “Its monetary worth is nothing compared to its historical value to crown and country,” Luc said. “And that’s true now more than ever, given the goddess’s statement of its power.”

  I held it out to Mo. “Here you go.”

  She didn’t take it, and her expression held an odd mix of surprise and perhaps even doubt. She turned back to the lake. “The favor I would ask is that you accept this ring for safekeeping.”

  “That I can do,” she said. “Throw it to me.”

  “Gwen?”

  I stepped to the shore and, with all my might, threw the ring out across the water. Red light pulsed from the gem at its heart, but unlike the crown we’d given Vivienne for safekeeping not so long ago, that light didn’t cut a path through the fog.

  A hand as pale as ice, with nails that gleamed the color of fresh blood, rose from the dark water to catch it. Vivienne held the ring aloft for several seconds, as if studying it, and then pulled it back into the water.

  “This ring is not the true coronation ring,” she said, “And I suspect you know this well enough, Moscelyne.”

  “Impossible.” The word all but exploded from Luc. “We have guarded that ring since before Layton’s betrayal of the crown. It is the real thing—it can be nothing else, given it was taken from the Uhtric’s hand on his death.”

  “It may be the ring he wore on his death, but it is not the one that will call forth the sword. Your order has been deceived, young Blackbird.”

  “Well, fuck.” Luc thrust a hand through his hair and then added a hasty, “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “I have heard far worse from the mouths of men, trust me on that.” Vivienne’s amusement was evident. “Do you wish the ring returned or shall I keep it?”

  Mo hesitated. “I think it best returned. Aside from its value, we can use it as a lure.”

  To catch a hydra? I wondered, and ignored the swift rise of heartache.

  Bloodred flashed deep in the heart of the white. Mo caught the ring and handed it back to Luc. “Keep it safe.”

  “We have been,” he murmured. “For hundreds of years we’ve kept this damn thing safe, and all apparently for naught.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his arm; he glanced at me, his expression rueful. Once he’d tucked the ring back into his pocket, he caught my fingers and lightly squeezed them. He didn’t immediately release them, and for that I was glad. There was something very comforting in his touch, and I had a bad feeling I’d better enjoy it while I could.

  “I will no doubt see you again before this game plays out, Moscelyne,” Vivienne said. “In the meantime, walk warily. The dark forces gather exponentially, and as this nation’s last guardian, you will be in their sights.”

  “I know, but thank you.”

  And with that, Vivienne left. The thick white fog disappeared with her, leaving only murky wisps of gray stirring around the nearby trees and boat masts.

  “What did she mean when she said you were the last guardian?” I asked.

  “Nothing major.” Mo rose and wiped her fingers on her coat. “I’m the last surviving mage here in the UK, that’s all.”

  It was more than that, but it was pointless pressing. She’d tell me when she wanted me to know, not before. “Does that mean Mryddin is dead?”

  “No, but as she said, he is hard to wake. Perhaps ‘last active mage’ would have been a better choice of words.”

  “What are we going to do about the ring?” Luc said. “And if the one we held isn’t the original one, then does that mean t
he one stolen from the British Museum was?”

  “If it was, then it would be in Max’s hands and he’d know the truth of the sword in the stone.”

  “We don’t know the truth as yet,” I said. “Not with absolute certainty.”

  Mo patted my arm. “As Vivienne said, you cannot forever deny the truth, however much you might wish to.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling I’m missing some necessary information to fully understand that particular statement,” Luc said, frustration evident in both his voice and his expression.

  “You are,” Mo said equably. “But given it’s information you’re not yet equipped to deal with, let’s concentrate on setting a trap and waking the dead.”

  Luc scrubbed a hand across his face. “You are the most frustrating woman—”

  “Isn’t she just,” I muttered.

  He gave me a side eye. “Now there’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black, if ever I heard one. What’s the plan?”

  “First, we go somewhere for breakfast,” Mo said. “I cannot think on a stomach that has had nothing but banoffee pie for breakfast.”

  “Why on earth would any sane person even consider eating something like that for breakfast?”

  “Chocolate cake would have been better, I agree, but we had to make do with what we had.” She patted his arm. “Come along.”

  She headed off briskly. He shook his head, his expression bemused. “I take it she has got a plan, but isn’t willing to share it yet.”

  “She’s always got a plan,” I said. “And I daresay she’s already putting it into action.”

  A comment that proved utterly correct when she directed me back to the M6 and then on to Carlisle rather than home. Or at least, our temporary home. I glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure Luc was still behind us—briefly taking a moment to enjoy the sight of a well-built, leather-clad man on a glorious motorbike—and then said, “Where are we actually headed?”

  “To Mryddin’s Cave, of course. We need answers, and he might be the only one who can give them to us.”

  “Yes, but where is his cave? And is that its actual name?”

  “Yes, and it’s in Physgill, near Whithorn.”