A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three)

by Jessica Cluess

  “Mmm, perhaps I will break a few of your less essential bones. I can always tell your father I’d no choice,” she snarled. But the shadows rose up behind her—Rook had moved. She dropped Fenswick as I warded a blade.

  “Stop now,” I ordered. In reply, Mab punted Fenswick across the floor while he howled. I heard the snap of bone and had no time to react as she threw herself at me.

  Rook’s shadows blinded her. She flailed in the darkness, and with one swift move I sliced the faerie queen’s head from her shoulders. The body collapsed to the floor in front of me, and the head rolled away into the corner. A head for a head, I thought, recalling Whitechurch. Mab had killed him in a similar fashion, and in a similar place. Hands trembling, I slid Porridge back in its sheath and picked up Fenswick, who mewled like a pained cat.

  “She broke my arm.” Fenswick clutched at the front of my gown.

  “Rook. I’m leaving,” I whispered. He touched my shoulder. I thought again of the spot in the forest where we’d left our friends, and we were spit back into the dim light of the glen.

  We were not alone.

  A ring of at least ten shadowy figures surrounded my group. The Familiars hissed at them, then turned to face us. Maria and Agnes stood in front of the men, hands out in case the Familiars charged.

  “Come now, my dears. Let these people pass,” Rook said, his voice soothing as he outstretched his hands to the creatures. The shadow Familiars turned to him like trained pets to a beloved owner. Shuddering, I glanced over at my friends. They’d carved most of the porter runes but hadn’t finished yet. Maria waved me closer as I inched toward them.

  “Go on ahead.” Rook’s voice was calm, and he kept his eyes on his “children.” “I’ll follow you.”

  “Not sure about the following bit, but I love the part where he told us to leave.” Mickelmas was sweating under Agrippa’s weight. “Let’s finish the blasted circle.”

  My body grew cold as drums began to sound all across the camp. They started deep in the heart of the hill, a steady tattoo. Someone had likely discovered Mab’s body and my disappearance. Our time had run out.

  Mickelmas let out a blistering string of curses as I rushed inside the unfinished circle.

  Everything happened at once.

  The shadow creatures rushed me; even Rook could not hold them back. There was no time to finish writing. We would have to make do with my petticoat.

  “Grab on!” I shouted, and my friends snatched my skirts. Mickelmas, Agrippa, and Maria touched me, and I kept Fenswick clutched to my chest. We were all nearly together. Aunt Agnes, who’d been working on the circle, ran to meet us.

  A shrieking Familiar grabbed my aunt and dragged her down. Agnes fought but was not strong enough. She looked up at me, showing the acceptance in her eyes. More Familiars swarmed toward us through the trees, bearing clubs and daggers. There was no time.

  I couldn’t save us all.

  “Henrietta!” My aunt shouted something I could not understand, though I caught the word pocket. My thoughts shattered as the darkness swept us away. Above the chaos, I could have sworn I heard my father’s outraged cry, until it, too, was gone.

  Where were we going? I forced myself not to think of Sorrow-Fell, or London, or Brimthorn. All I could think of was the wilderness of Scotland, a half-fanciful idea of a place I did not know. I could feel Maria and the others hanging off me, as though suspended above a bottomless cavern. I feared that if I did not choose a place soon, they might let go and be lost.

  I thought of Magnus and his charge against the barrier with his army.

  I thought of safety.

  We sprawled in a mass of arms and legs. I lay facedown in the snow, the sting returning me to myself. It was night, and so cold. Mickelmas swiped at his coat. Cursing, he shoved his hands into the snow, yelling nonsense words. At first I thought he’d gone mad, but then the snow began to roll up, as though by a giant, unseen hand. Crude walls were erected, a glittering roof smoothed on top. There was a doorway. In a matter of seconds, a house had formed out of snow and ice.

  I was dumb at the sight of it.

  “Don’t thank me, of course.” Getting to his feet, Mickelmas slung Agrippa’s arm over his shoulder and hobbled the pair of them indoors. “Gratitude’s far too much to expect around here.”

  Fenswick trotted after him, alongside Maria. She called at me to come inside.

  But I kept picturing my aunt’s face as I left her to whatever twisted fate my father could devise. I had seen the flayed hand he’d gifted her. What other, more horrible pain could he imagine?

  I began to shake, and not with the cold.

  “If you don’t mind, we could use some fire,” Mickelmas called, poking his head out the door. “Though the house might melt.”

  I went to help them, my heart numb.

  * * *

  —

  A FEW HOURS LATER, I KEPT watch while the others slept. I fashioned tongues of flame to hover above each of my friends as they rested, providing warmth that would not melt the walls. Agrippa lay bundled in his cloak; Mickelmas snored close beside him; Fenswick curled into a ball between them. I’d swaddled him round the middle with a strip from my dress, to help with his ribs. Maria was the only one to stay awake with me. She stared at the unmoving shape of her father, her left hand opening and closing.

  “ ‘Lady in the wood’?” I ventured.

  “She’s not taken over,” Maria replied.

  I pulled my cloak tighter about me and slid my hand down my skirt. Something crinkled, and I reached into the pocket and took out a letter. Of course. My aunt had said something about a pocket. I recognized her formal handwriting, opened it, and read.

  Dearest Nettie,

  I am not in the habit of presenting my emotions plainly. Forgive me. I am writing this to tell you the truth.

  First, you must know our family history in order to understand the full scope of your father’s war. It is true that Charles Blackwood sent your father to that netherworld—Mickelmas informed me of it, though we kept the secret from your mother. She was newly pregnant, and we feared what knowledge of your father’s fate would do to her. We should have been honest. I see that now.

  Soon after you were born, your mother went to London to petition the Order to look into the matter of William’s supposed drowning. Your mother had a courageous spirit, one of the things I admired—nay, loved—about her. Unfortunately, Lord Blackwood did not appreciate her meddling. So after she dared to name him as responsible, he had her committed to Lockskill Prison.

  You may be unaware, but under English law all magical matters—and citizens—are subject to the royal sorcerers’ Order. Though she’d been born without magic, as a magician’s wife your mother was counted as one of us. I believe Lord Blackwood cited female hysteria as her problem—easily believed, especially by those know-nothing London physicians. Thus he kept her in Lockskill, which has far more in common with a medieval inquisitor’s palace than an actual prison.

  I’m sorry, but I must tell you all. I brought you to see her once before she died in that hell. You were an infant, too young to know her or what fate had befallen her. I shall never forget. Helena’s hair had been shorn close to the scalp. There were horrid scars all along her head—it was clear they’d operated in some awful way. She could no longer speak, or move. Lord Blackwood ensured your mother’s silence.

  William might have shown mercy to a country that treated magicians as inferior. He might have forgiven them for driving our brother Henry, an active voice in the struggle to free our race, to despair and suicide. William might even have forgiven the Order for not caring what became of him all the long years he suffered in that hellish world.

  But he could never forgive what they did to your mother.

  The second thing that I wished to tell you is this: Howard came to our house in Dev
on straightaway after he’d let William back into the world. He told me that William would come soon to find his wife and child and that I should hide you. I took you to Brimthorn. I paid your tuition in full so that there would never be letters by which to trace you. I told you I did not love you, so that you would never write.

  I have always loved you, Nettie. Those few years spent raising you were the happiest of my life. I fear that, now you’ve finally come home to your father, I will be gone too soon to tell you. Because of course I will help you escape.

  Should I not survive, I wanted you to have the truth. Forgive the lies I told. Forgive your father, if you can, and forgive me.

  With love always,

  Aunt Agnes

  I could barely see the last lines through my tears.

  “Is it bad?” Maria whispered. I handed her the letter, put on my cloak, and left the house. The cold bit, but I barely felt it. It was as though I’d placed a shell around myself from a young age to protect me from the world. Now that I had the truth, my protective layer was ripped away. I stood raw and naked against the world.

  A glowing light appeared on the edge of the wood. Numbly, I watched a slow procession of creatures as they walked out of the forest. They were both human and decidedly not, with elongated limbs and hair that streamed stardust.

  At the head of the procession came a woman, her bare feet treading across the snow as if she did not feel the cold. Her footprints left behind shimmering outlines in the frost, and luminescent buds of flowers sprang up, only to wither and die without this godlike woman’s touch.

  When I blinked, the tall woman appeared before me.

  The world around me, and the dark of the night, disappeared as a beam of searing white light enveloped me. I fell to my knees, as if in worship of this goddess before me. Her neck was too long and slender, the hollow at her throat deep enough to hold an egg. Her face was oval, startling in its perfect symmetry. Her eyes were a shattering blue, and her long, terrifying fingers reached out to touch my face. She stopped inches from contact, and I knew that her touch would burn me through like a moth’s wing in a candle.

  She was light, in its most base and terrifying form. Her movements were imitations of human movements. She was not one of us and did not mind that at all. Mab at least had aped human behavior.

  I knew this was Titania, queen of the light Fae, and she was a thousandfold more beautiful and terrifying than her sister had been.

  “My sister met her end this evening.” Titania’s lilting voice cut my soul. “The blood spoke. The blood told me of the hand that had spilled it. Your hand, mortal child.”

  I could not panic. How could I, confronted by so much beauty? “Queen Mab attacked me.”

  “She had a hobgoblin in her clutches, child, not you.”

  “Anyone who attacks my friend attacks me.”

  Titania did not move. I got the sense that she would be comfortable not moving for centuries on end. It made me want to scream.

  “Custom demands that I seek your head in exchange for hers.” Titania blinked, just once. That action took nearly a minute to complete. “What have you to say in response?”

  “I am—”

  “Do not lie and call yourself the sorcerers’ prophecy. The true chosen one sits over in that house of ice and snow.” The faerie queen touched a hand to her moonlit gown. “You are, however, the Blackwood bride. And you have made the correct sacrifice.”

  My body chilled at her words. Lady Blackwood had ranted about the curse and a Blackwood bride, but I’d been certain it was part of her own warped imagination. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Hundreds of years ago, I laid a curse upon the Blackwood line, to be broken once they delivered my proper sacrifice.” A small, terrifying smile graced her mouth. “I have always despised my sister.”

  I blinked. “Do you mean that this Blackwood curse, as you call it, is gone because I killed Queen Mab?”

  “You humans have a terrible habit of needing the same questions answered several times. Yes.”

  “You might have told the Blackwoods this,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “But what amusement would I find in that? Far better to watch you stumble through your brief, mortal lives in confusion.”

  I wondered if I could burn Queen Titania as I had Mab. Then I decided not to push my luck.

  “What boon would you ask of me?” The queen smiled. “I shall give a gift of your choosing.”

  Despite the fact that I was almost numb with rage, I kept my head. “Bring your armies to the sorcerers’ cause in this war.”

  She answered immediately. “No. That is dull. Ask another.”

  “But that’s what I want!” It was like debating the wind on why it should not blow. “Besides, R’hlem wants to destroy England from roots to crown. He’ll destroy you with it,” I said. The faerie blinked again.

  “Death is change. I rather envy my sister, as she now undertakes a greater voyage than I imagine I ever shall.” Titania put a hand to my throat, and the touch was awful and splendid beyond anything I’d known. I could hear myself screaming, as though I were standing right beside my own body.

  Then she released me, and I felt emptied like a cup.

  “Perhaps, mortal child, I shall give you something else you might want.” She traced the tip of a finger through the air, and a glowing image appeared. It looked rather like an M, only with curling lines at the bottom and three slashes through the middle.

  The image disappeared, but I could see it behind my eyelids as I blinked. Indeed, I would never forget it; it felt branded into the fissures of my mind.

  “What is it?” I croaked.

  “As I’ve said. It is more fun to watch you stumble for the answer.”

  This woman was a beautiful nightmare.

  “Thank you,” I said slowly. “But I still request Your Majesty bring her armies to our side.”

  “Take my gift, or I will claim your head,” the queen answered.

  “Well, in that case, you’ve given me the loveliest warped M I have ever seen in my life,” I snapped.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled now, showing her teeth. They were the white of an exploding star. “I thank you for your service, Henrietta Howel.”

  The queen vanished. I found I was kneeling in the snow, and the cold rushed in over me like a wave. Warm. I needed to get warm.

  Thankfully, fire was my specialty.

  Heat washed over my skin, and my body relaxed.

  Then, dotted along the distant horizon, I caught the glimmer of torches and extinguished myself. Bloody hell, we’d been spotted. Had my fire alerted them? The persistent beat of drums met my ears and grew louder. They were coming closer.

  Maria raced up beside me.

  “R’hlem?” she whispered. Damn, we had to get out of here.

  Joining hands, we hurried for the house. Mickelmas stood in the doorway, blinking sleepily at the world and the attackers. His untied hair formed a brilliant white and gray cloud. Before he could speak, a group of riders stampeded out of the surrounding tree line, heading for us.

  We’d been surrounded.

  “Grab on to me!” I cried, but one of the riders blocked our path, trapping Mickelmas inside the house. Bother it; at least I could jump about now with my petticoat. I thought about the house, about safety, and vanished…only to pop up in the thick of the riders.

  Why couldn’t I master these blasted runes?

  “Whoa!” a man cried. His horse pawed the air. I let up a burst of fire, and the animal cantered away. Her rider cursed as he got his mount back under control. I readied myself for another fiery blow.

  “Henrietta?” The man wheeled his horse around.

  Magnus.

  I sat on a thin army cot with a blanket draped over my shoulders. The mug of broth in my hands t
ickled my throat as I drank. My luck could not have been better, and I vaguely wondered if Titania had aided us in some way. Perhaps she had known where to find our allies. We had made our house of snow a mere half mile from Magnus and his army. The torches in the distance had indeed been R’hlem’s men, but with the army’s help we’d got away before the Ancients could catch up.

  I’d been placed in this tent and told to wait for the captain to see me. Well, having drained my mug, I’d had quite enough of waiting. I wanted to know where the others were; we’d been separated upon arrival. I left my tent and walked into the yard. We’d arrived in darkness, so I hadn’t seen much of anything. Dawn was breaking, and before me I found a virtual city.

  Rows of clustered tents spread on every side of me. The white smoke of multiple cooking fires rose into the air. People carted food or carried bundles. Children’s gleeful voices rang out. I watched them as they raced through the snow, laughing.

  I hadn’t heard anything as wonderful as children’s laughter in so long.

  I set myself to walk up the hill to the largest tent—the captain’s, I’d been told. I expected to be stopped at the entrance but found it unguarded. Perhaps they were changing their post. I slipped inside.

  They’d laid rugs over the ground for added comfort. Near the center of the tent, a large table supported a map. Several red and blue painted figures were scattered about the sketch of England. A neatly made cot resided to the far left of the tent.

  Magnus’s voice halted me in my tracks. He stood beside the table with his back to me.

  “How wise,” he said. At first I thought he was speaking to me, until I heard a gurgling coo. He spoke to a bundle in his arms. “Yes, yes, very sound advice. Put the pants on the asparagus, and toy trains for everyone. Mmm, you’re an excellent leader.” The baby giggled as he swept her up over his head. “Wait a minute! Pants on the asparagus? Who put you in command? You’re a baby! You’re insane!”

  I laughed. Magnus brought Georgiana down to rest against his shoulder and faced me with a smile.