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

by Keri Arthur

  He obviously agreed, because she made no further remonstrations and hung up.

  “What’s happened?” I immediately said.

  “The unexpected.” She paused. “It appears they’ve succeeded in transcribing a lot of the paperwork found at Karen Jacobs’s place.”

  “And?”

  “And they’ve got an address.”

  My heart began to beat a whole lot faster. “Whose address?”

  But I knew. It was the only possibility that explained the undercurrent of excitement in her voice.

  “Winter,” she said. “They’ve damn well found Winter.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Why on earth would Darkside have written his address down anywhere?” I said. “They haven’t been careless to date, so why start now?”

  “It could be a trap,” Luc commented. “It would certainly explain the haphazard manner in which that place was cleaned out.”

  “Barney is aware of the possibility,” Mo said. “He’s contacting the Manchester council and will arrange for the place to be monitored until we all get there. You coming with us, Luc, or following?”

  He hesitated. “With you. Darkside is well aware I ride a motorbike and might be on the lookout for it.”

  “You can’t leave it here,” I said. “It’ll be stolen or stripped for parts within hours.”

  “I’ll call in a tow-truck and pick it up from them later. And I’ll drive—I’m not as tired as either of you.”

  I didn’t bother arguing. While he made his call, I helped Mo move, then claimed the front seat. Luc climbed in, started the car, and drove off.

  As the headlights speared the night, highlighting distant buildings, he said, “If it is Winter’s address, he’ll no doubt have the place well secured.”

  “Barney’s no fool, even if I sometimes treat him as such.” Mo gave Luc the address and then added, “There’s a convenience store down the road—they’ll wait for us there.”

  “We’re going after Winter?” I said, a little surprised. “What about the ring?”

  “It’s safe enough for the moment. Winter has to be a priority, as it’s very obvious he’s a major player in this game.”

  “I take it by the ‘they’ll’ comment,” I said, with more than a little trepidation, “that Ginny and Mia will be with Barney?”

  “You didn’t think he was ever going to get out of that house without them, did you?”

  “Well, no, but I do keep hoping common sense will finally kick in.”

  Mo snorted. “When has either of them backed away from an adventure?”

  “This is all too deadly to be called a mere adventure.”

  “Perhaps, but they’ve always had your back, no matter what was happening, and that’s not about to change anytime soon.”

  “I know, but—”

  “In dark times, we all need people we can absolutely depend on and trust,” she cut in. “You’ll need those two before this is all over, trust me on that.”

  I looked around at her. “What have you seen? What else did Mryddin say?”

  “I’ve had no visions, if that’s what you’re worried about. As for Mryddin—he spent half the time admonishing me for both forgetting so much and for losing track of vital items even though he’s the one who failed to pass on vital information. He really is a cranky old bastard.”

  A smile twitched my lips, despite knowing she’d half avoided my question. “Did he say anything else useful? Or offer to help us?”

  “He’ll help, but it’s going to take him a while to dismantle all his protections. He’ll be there for the final battle, if necessary, but I’m not counting on him for support until then.”

  “I’m really hoping it doesn’t get to the final battle,” Luc said. “I’m not sure any of us are prepared for it.”

  “No one ever is,” Mo said. “Aldred certainly wasn’t, and that’s probably what cost him his life.”

  “I thought using Elysian killed him?” I said.

  “It did, because he wasn’t prepared for the cost. Because he battled the sword rather than becoming one with it. Remember that, when the time comes.”

  “Which,” Luc said, with a slight edge, “brings me back to something Vivienne said—what did she mean when she said Gwen’s fate was tied to the sword?”

  “Technically, she said Gwenhwyfar—”

  “No games, Mo,” he cut in. “I need to know what the hell is going on.”

  “But are you ready to actually hear it?” she bit back. “I don’t believe so.”

  “Tell me,” he said, that edge stronger.

  Mo sighed. “Fine. I don’t believe Max is the true heir. I believe Gwen is.”

  He didn’t immediately snort in disbelief, even if I felt the wave of it. “No woman has ever drawn the sword.”

  “Which doesn’t mean no woman ever will.”

  Luc flashed her a glance over his shoulder. “Max drew the replica—surely that’s proof of his claim, given only the true heir has ever drawn it.”

  “The sword reacted to Gwen, remember, and at a time when there were still other heirs alive.”

  “Reacting is not proof.”

  “True enough,” Mo said. “But you also have the words of the goddess herself—destiny and blood have converged in the current timeline.”

  He made a deep sound that sounded like a growl. “I cannot believe—”

  “Cannot?” Mo cut in. “Or will not?”

  His expression was an interesting mix of disbelief and anger. “Surely if the goddess had intended the sword to be borne by either sex, there would have been some indication of it before now.”

  Mo snorted. “That simply shows your ignorance when it comes to goddesses.”

  “We have a record of what she said when she gave the sword to Aldred. There was no mention of the sword being borne by a woman.”

  “There was no mention of it being borne only by men, either,” she said. “I was there, Luc. She decreed, ‘The sword can be raised in times of great darkness by those who bear Aquitaine blood and who hold the crown by right.’ She didn’t ever say it was restricted to the males of that line. That’s merely a presumption on the part of men who were never there, but nevertheless documented it.”

  He was silent for several moments. I had a suspicion it was at least partially caused by the realization just how old Mo actually was. “That’s why you asked me to give the coronation ring to Gwen, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I wanted to see if it reacted. When it didn’t, I suspected it was fake.”

  “Most people would think that a bit of a leap.”

  “Most people haven’t been alive as long as me. My memory might not be as good as it once was, but my hunches are rarely wrong.”

  “What made you suspect I was the heir?” I asked. “You never really said.”

  “The sword reacting to you was the beginning of it, but it was the deepening of your connection to Nex and Vita afterward that all but confirmed it.”

  I frowned. “Why? The fake sword isn’t connected to Elysian or the goddess—it wasn’t even created in the same forge.”

  But even as I said that, I remembered the storm-kissed energy that had risen when I’d crisped the Aranea sent to kill Gianna. It had felt very similar to the energy that had caressed my hand when I’d gripped the king’s sword. It might not be the real thing, but if it had been designed to echo Elysian’s powers, then its emissions would be similar. And while accessing the power of the daggers in a way no other De Montfort ever had might not be definitive proof to most, Mo—as she’d already noted—wasn’t most. She’d witnessed both Aldred and Uhtric using the sword and was very familiar with both what it could do and what its energy emissions felt like. She might not have been there when I’d touched the sword on King’s Island, but she’d certainly witnessed me using the deeper energies of the daggers multiple times now.

  “Fake or not, the sword in the stone remains a gateway to great power,” Mo said. “Maybe not enough to open
the main gate, but certainly plenty to cause mass destruction on this side of it.”

  “Perhaps even enough to destroy the protections around the queen and resurrect witch rule?” I asked.

  “Possibly.” Mo’s voice was grim.

  “So if Mryddin did foresee that Layton would cede the witch crown to human rule,” Luc said, voice again sharp, “why wouldn’t he at least warn those of us who were meant to protect both the crown and its artifacts?”

  “Because, as a general rule, mages do not interfere in the destiny of men. We guide where practical and join the battle when necessary, but we don’t usually alter the path fate has decreed.”

  Luc snorted. “And yet history is littered with examples of mages doing exactly that. Did not Mryddin disguise one king so that he could seduce the wife of an ally?”

  “Well, yes, but with good reason—the child borne of that union was Aldred’s ancestor.”

  “What happened to the seducer?” I asked.

  “He and his family were slaughtered. They were turbulent times.”

  “Then why didn’t Mryddin warn the king and ensure the safety of his family?” I reached into my pocket and drew out the remains of the Snickers. Thankfully, it tasted better the second time around.

  “Because to have done so would have ensured the continuation of a line destined for failure.”

  “That’s pretty cold,” Luc commented.

  “Yes, but sometimes such decisions are necessary when the country tears itself apart with war. That child not only brought peace to his people, but decades of stability.”

  Luc grunted. “All of which is interesting but doesn’t address the main question—the idea that Gwen is the heir.”

  “Does your disbelief stem from chauvinism, or the fact that it’s Gwen?”

  “Chauvinism is an inbuilt characteristic in Blackbirds. Sons are always prized more highly than daughters, as only sons can join the table.”

  His gaze met mine; fear stirred deep in the emerald depths. Not for himself or the battle that now loomed way too fast on the horizon. Rather, it came from the realization that my role in all this might be far greater than any of us initially thought.

  “We’re all aware of the toll war takes on men,” he continued, “and history tells how close Uhtric came to death when using Elysian. I don’t want either for you.”

  “I don’t want them for me either,” I replied softly. “But there may be no other option.”

  He cast a dark and broody look my way. “There’re always other options, Gwen, even in the bleakest of moments.”

  I reached out and gripped his thigh. His muscles jumped in response, and that connection between us stirred to life. The woman lying at his feet in that hecatomb no longer wore a red dress. Instead, she wore jeans, boots, and a brown mac. She also had pale skin and blonde hair.

  He was envisaging me dying. Envisaging me dead.

  I hoped, with all my heart, it was a vision born of fear rather than foresight.

  “Except there is no one else to draw the sword,” I said softly. “Not now.”

  Max and his cohorts had made damn sure of that.

  “Which brings me to another point, Mo.” He briefly placed his hand over mine and squeezed my fingers. The vision faded, but not the fear I sensed in him. “You said Mryddin designed the fake to echo Elysian’s reactions to heirs. Max subsequently drew it. To me that states he is the true heir.”

  “There have never been twins born in the king’s line before,” Mo stated. “It’s possible the hand that draws one will not draw the other. I actually suspect now that the writing on the King’s Stone will reveal something along those lines.”

  “Has Barney said whether his nephew has sharpened the images or not?” I asked.

  “No. I think he’s been so totally invested in transcribing the notes that he simply forgot about it. I’ll prompt him once we deal with Winter.”

  Dealing with one problem at a time was certainly the way to go right now—especially when the problems just kept getting bigger.

  We drove on through the night. The freeway was relatively quiet, which meant Luc was able to put his foot down more than was probably wise. Mo slept while we discussed random, inconsequential things like movies, food preferences, and places we’d one day like to travel. His list, I noted with some amusement, almost perfectly matched mine.

  Dawn was just starting to tint the clouds with rose hues by the time we pulled into Manchester. Luc followed the altogether too perky directions of the GPS, then turned the annoying device off as we crossed a red-brick bridge spanning a fairly wide canal.

  “That,” he said, pointing to a house on the left-hand corner of the crossroad ahead, “is our target.”

  It was a pretty basic red-brick two-up two-down end of terrace house in an area that looked … average. “I’m not exactly sure why, but I didn’t expect Winter to live in the middle of everyday suburbia.”

  “No.” There was an edge of sleepiness still evident in Mo’s voice. “I certainly had him pegged as a ‘lights and disco’ sort of guy.”

  “Disco?” Luc said with a half laugh. “That stopped being a thing decades ago.”

  “Really? That’s a shame. I was rather fond of the Bee Gees.”

  I briefly glanced around at her. “That sounds like you knew them.”

  “Met them backstage at the Nelson Mandela Birthday Tribute at the Wembley Stadium in eighty-eight. Nice young men they were.”

  “They were middle-aged by that time,” Luc said, voice dry. “That’s hardly young.”

  “Compared to me, they were practically in their infancy.” She paused. “There’s a ribbon of energy surrounding that house.”

  I swung back around and narrowed my gaze. After a moment, I saw it. It wasn’t just one ribbon, but multiple, and they all had a sickly, twisted look to them. “That’s Darkside magic.”

  “Yes, and I’m having difficulty reading its intent.”

  “I can’t even see the ribbon,” Luc said, frustration evident. “Is it a spell? Or something else?”

  “It seems a touch more organic than a spell. I suspect the only reason Gwen and I can see it is because we’re trained to read presence trails.”

  “Could the ribbon be a result of Winter’s energy field?” I said. “And if it is, then why didn’t we see or sense it earlier?”

  Like when we spotted him at the funeral parlor?

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “But there’s a minor ley line running through this area; maybe he’s tapped into it. It would explain its more organic appearance.”

  “Only earth witches can tap into ley lines,” I said. “And he certainly hasn’t the look or the feel of an earth witch.”

  “Which means nothing given he’s also half dark elf.” She paused for a second. “The ribbons skim the common wall but don’t fan protectively across the entire roofline, and there doesn’t appear to be any immediate protection around the two skylights. They might be our way in.”

  “They might also be a trap,” Luc said. “They’re aware you’re blackbirds, remember.”

  “Something I can hardly forget, given my grandson is working with them.”

  Mo’s reply was decidedly mild, but I nevertheless felt the flash of her annoyance. She hadn’t appreciated the comment, though I suspected it came more from her still smarting from Mryddin’s remonstrations than Luc’s gentle reminder.

  “Turn left into the side street and park a little up the road,” she added, “I need to study the energy a bit longer.”

  Luc stopped the car in front of the small house behind Winter’s. Cone-shaped pines lined the fence dividing the two, and while it lessened any chance of him spotting us from the two small top-floor windows, it also only left the end portion of the terrace fully visible.

  The dark ribbons continued to move in a slow, snakelike manner around the building. As Mo had said, there wasn’t any magic evident across the visible section of roof, and the skylight was conveniently open. Either
there were alarms up there we couldn’t see, or it was a trap, as Luc had already suggested.

  “Have you come across anything like this energy before?” I asked eventually.

  “No,” Mo said, absently, “but that’s not surprising. Uhtric’s lockdown gave the dark elves plenty of time to develop new spells and energy subversions.”

  “Did that also happen in Aldred’s time?”

  “Yes. But there were three of us active then, which made it quicker and easier to develop counters.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you called Gwendydd back.” Especially if Mryddin took his time to make an appearance.

  “I have spoken to her,” Mo said. “She has a few commitments she needs to look after first, but should be here within a week or so.”

  “A week or so might be too late,” Luc said. “Especially if Darkside decides to flood its people through the minor gates.”

  “They’ve tried that in the past. It didn’t work. Now, hush for a few minutes, you two—I need to concentrate.”

  The faint caress of her energy touched the air—a gentle but very careful probe that reached for the house. The dark ribbons reacted with alacrity, snapping back and forth like the angry snakes they resembled. Mo quickly withdrew the probe, then sent it skimming skyward, angling it over the unprotected section of the roof.

  “Interesting,” she murmured eventually. “I think we’d better go meet the others now.”

  “What did you see?” I asked, as Luc started the car then pulled away from the curb.

  “What seemed like nothing actually isn’t.”

  “Meaning there is a spell laying over the roof?” Luc asked.

  “Yes, but it’s little more than a general alarm. Given there’s no reason the ribbons couldn’t be employed to cover the entire building, it’s obviously a deliberate choice—especially given the open skylight is without any sort of protection.”

  “It’s a trap, then.”

  “Some form of, yes, and one I think we should spring.”

  My head snapped around. “Are you crazy? Why?”