by Emma Newman
“Are you fucking joking?” Cathy yelled, and the gargoyle shoved Thomas aside with ease. “I’d rather eat my own intestines than give in to that festering shitbag, and if you and Max think I’m just going to give in because this is hard, then you can fuck off too. I’ll never go back to that bastard!”
“Right you are,” said the gargoyle, seeing the poppy petals close up tight and start glowing slightly. “My mistake, sorry, carry on.”
Thomas pushed him back through the Way that was still open to the bedroom. “Stay away!” he hissed, and then noticed the poppy. He followed the gargoyle into the bedroom. “What is that? What are you up to?”
“Lord Poppy and Lord Iris are going to help us slow the King down, to buy Cathy and her friend some time. If there’s a good moment to tell her, let her know. I doubt it will be long, though.”
Thomas nodded. “I will.”
“Oh,” the gargoyle said as it headed for the door. “You’d better not let your wife in there.”
“I wasn’t planning to; Cathy needs space. Why would you…” The gargoyle had already started to bound down the stairs before he finished the sentence.
“We have what you need,” Max said to Petra. “But I have a question. Why does Poppy think Cathy is capable of this?” He couldn’t imagine that Cathy would have bragged about her newfound skills to the Fae she so despised. Did Lucy already know about it, back at Lord Iron’s house?
Petra smiled. “He saw the potential to destroy anything that confines her written across her soul. It’s one of the things he loves most about her.”
The gargoyle arrived, the closed poppy in its jaws. Petra took it from him and smiled. “Thank you. I wish you both the very best.”
She went into the dining room and Max followed to see her step through a mirror mounted on the wall. Once she was through, he smashed it.
“What if Petra needs to come back?” asked the gargoyle.
“If she needs to come back, Cathy has already failed,” Max replied. “Now, let’s find the rest of the mirrors and smash them before anyone else comes to interfere.”
• • •
After the second tremor rippled through Exilium, Will sent for his uncle. He’d barely noticed the first, thinking that it was just the pressure he was under playing tricks on him. He’d hoped it was something to do with the fact that the other three crowns were still in want of a bearer, but when it happened again he knew it was Cathy. By the time he’d given his uncle a concise briefing on what Cathy was trying to do, a third tremor made them pause.
“There was a letter,” Uncle Vincent said. “Saying we should all stay at home. Everyone got one.”
“Take Sophia back to the nursery wing and stay in Mundanus,” Will told him. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Do you think Cathy can actually do this?”
Will didn’t want to admit his fear that she could. “I’m doing everything I can to stop her.” He sent for Sophia, embraced her, and watched them leave. At least Sophia would be safe. But what would happen to him if Cathy succeeded?
Pacing the throne room, Will considered his options. All the easy routes to Cathy’s tower had been cut off, but he knew any one of the Fae could break through there, now he knew where it was. The threat of hurting the governess had evidently not been enough. He’d hoped that Lord Iron would take the bait and come for him, falling into his carefully prepared trap. No magic, no metal, all of the things that would have been used to restrain and imprison him were in place. But no, Cathy had obviously gone ahead with her plan anyway.
He had to escalate faster than he wanted to and show Cathy it hadn’t been an empty threat. And if Rainer’s suffering wasn’t sufficient to bring Cathy in, her brother’s would be.
With a snap of his fingers, one of his faeries appeared. “Tell Lord Poppy to bring the woman to me,” he said. Moments after it had left, the doors opened and Lord Poppy strode in, dragging Rainer behind him. She was crying and looking back towards the door she’d been brought through.
Will sucked in air between his teeth, uncertain of whether he could do this. It was one thing to duel a man, but to mutilate a woman? What had he been thinking?
He knew the answer: he’d thought that Iron would come to rescue the hostage. Now it hadn’t gone to plan, Will wasn’t sure how to handle it.
Poppy threw Rainer forwards so she landed on her knees before the throne. “Your prisoner, your majesty.”
Will looked down at the top of Rainer’s head and the stubby patch of recently cut hair. “Do you have a knife, Poppy?”
Poppy’s smile was chilling as he drew a blade from his cane. “I do indeed, your majesty.” He offered it to Will with a bent head and then withdrew. It was light and not particularly well balanced, but it would do the job. If Will could bring himself to use it.
“Poppy, can you force a Way to the house Elizabeth went to?”
“Yes, your majesty, my favourite’s sister has recently returned from there. I can use her.”
“Do it. Summon Tom. If he doesn’t come, send Elizabeth to get him.”
Poppy bowed deeply. “At once, your majesty.” He spun round on his heel to leave.
“Wait,” Will said, and the Fae froze. “You’ll need to take something with you.” He rose from the throne and went down the steps.
At the sound of his movement, Rainer started sobbing. “Please, don’t do this! It won’t work! It will just make her hate you even more!”
“Your majesty, may I suggest I prepare the Way? It may take me longer than usual, as I’ll have to depend on my pet’s memory. As soon as I have succeeded, I will return to collect any…package you wish to send.”
Will didn’t trust Poppy, but he didn’t want an audience, either. Besides, Poppy had no choice but to obey him, and he could summon him back in an instant. He gave a curt nod and Poppy left the throne room.
His hand gripping the sword cane, Will stood in front of Rainer. He felt sick. It wasn’t the right thing to do; Cathy would never forgive him if he hurt this poor woman. But how else could he stop her? She was so single-minded. Had she not believed his threat? He looked at the cut on his hand. It stung with each movement. Perhaps he had to find another Queen. But as soon as he had the thought, he knew it was impossible. No one else would do. He and Cathy were married, regardless of his change of status. She belonged to him.
There was another tremor, this one more prolonged than before. It wasn’t simply what he felt through the floor, it was a deeper sense of instability. He reached up to touch the crown, feeling for one panicked moment that it wasn’t there anymore. He felt the hard oak leaves and breathed again. He had to stop her. One act of cruelty, to protect hundreds in the Nether. Cathy would forgive him. No Queen of Exilium would remain angry with the King.
Just one, swift cut. Just one and it would be done. Will ignored the sweat running down his collar, gripped the sword tighter, and grabbed Rainer’s wrist.
His fist closed around poppy petals and in the next blink there was no woman there at all, just a flurry of more petals settling into a heap at his feet. He crushed those in his hand as the sword disintegrated. Poppy had betrayed him? But how? He was the King! “Poppy!” he roared, his shout ringing off the windows. “You will come to me now!”
32
Tom sat on the floor of the tower bedroom beneath the painting, staring at the notes he’d made alongside Cathy’s. It didn’t help that as he tried to solve the problem of how to end the formula, he was constantly worrying about whether he should be in the room above with her. But they’d agreed it was best for him to make sure no one used the Way to get into that room.
He agreed with her shortlist of three closing concepts. They all seemed plausible. Too plausible to settle on one over the others, alas. He didn’t understand how they were written, which frustrated him, as these were composed of several other symbols put together—“sigils,” as Cathy had described them. If only the Sorceress had stuck to the pure Coptic alphabet througho
ut the formula. Then he could be more use.
“How’s it going up there?” Lucy’s voice was quiet, timid, almost. She’d come up the stairs so quietly he hadn’t noticed her arrival.
He put the notes down and got to his feet as she came over. “Quite well, I think.”
“Tom, can you…could you hold me?” She looked so lost and vulnerable. He opened his arms to her and she settled into an embrace, her head pressed against his heart. He closed his arms around her, resting a hand on her hair, thinking of how she’d carried him through the days after his father’s suicide. He couldn’t imagine how he would have coped without her. That was why, when she whispered the Sleep Charm as he’d expected, his heart broke.
He felt her go rigid with panic when the Charm had no effect. “I know it was you, Lucy,” he said softly. “You opened the Way so William could send Elizabeth through. We knew you’d try something else, so Cathy warded me against the Sleep Charm.” She’d done it in moments, just before going to the second forge, once he’d told her what the gargoyle had said.
Lucy stepped back away from him, breaking the embrace. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lips pale. “I had to.”
“You betrayed us.”
“Did you expect me to just stand back while she kills my family? How can you support this?”
“Lucy, I—” She darted forwards and kneed him in the groin, making him double over and gasp for breath. She reached over his back to slap the glass dome on the painting and light streamed into the room as the Way opened behind him.
When Lucy pushed past, Tom grabbed her just before she went through, spinning around with her momentum. She stamped back with her right foot, scraping his shin and making him bellow in pain. Through the Way he could see Cat and Sam returning from another forge, his sister so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t even see them. Sam frowned and then Tom was distracted as Lucy stamped on his left foot, making him cry out and fumble his grip on her.
She lurched forwards but there was no way he was going to let her get to Cat. Tom stretched with desperation, catching hold of Lucy’s hair and yanking it hard. She screamed and staggered back, giving him the opportunity to grab her in a tight bear hug and lift her into the air.
Through the Way he could see Cat and Sam staring in horror. Tom swung Lucy away from its threshold, crossing the bedroom in long strides as Lucy kicked and struggled like a wild animal. “Cathy! Don’t do it!” Lucy screamed. “You’re going to kill everyone!”
He had to get her away from them and give Cat the chance to continue uninterrupted. Gritting his teeth as Lucy bit his arm, he managed to get to the stairs, pressing his back against the wall and stepping down sideways so she didn’t make them fall. Lucy screamed in frustration, knocking her head back to hammer his chest with several blows that must have hurt her as much as him. He just had to keep calm, he told himself, as Lucy yelled at Cat again. Just keep calm, get her out of the tower, then fall apart.
The gargoyle was coming up from the room below and got out of their way, choosing instead to follow Tom down the second segment of the spiral staircase. Lucy had stopped yelling at Cat, instead unleashing a torrent of expletives at Tom as he manhandled her down to the bottom floor. He went outside, but then Lucy started calling up to Cat again in the hope her pleas would be heard through the broken window. Surely she knew it wouldn’t stop Cat? When Lucy screamed as loud as she could, as if he were murdering her, Tom realised her goal was to distract. Lucy probably thought that if Cat made an error, the Nether would be saved. This far into the process, Tom was certain it would only lead to disaster.
He adjusted his grip and threw her over his shoulder, as he had with Cat back in Manchester, but this time there was no doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing. As she clawed at his back he sprinted to the house, the gargoyle close behind him. Once they were all inside, he went to the dining room on the other side of the property, as far away from the tower as possible.
Max came to the doorway as Tom put Lucy down, the gargoyle hanging back. “You bastard,” she sobbed. “You stupid, stupid bastard. I’ll never forgive you for this.” She dropped into one of the dusty chairs, covered her face with her hands, and wept into them.
Tom looked down at her, his body aching but nothing hurting as much as his heart. “I don’t think we can come back from this,” he said quietly.
“You’re damn right!”
He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I think when this is all done, you should go back to your family.”
“That was always the plan!” she said, giving him a furious glare. “I don’t need your goddamn permission to leave your sorry ass!”
He clenched his teeth, breathing in deep enough to suck the urge to weep inwards. “Thank you for helping me after my father died,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I…I wish you well, Lucy.”
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” the gargoyle said. “Just until it’s all done.”
After a confirmation from Max, Tom left the room, feeling like he’d been keelhauled. He wanted to go and find a corner to huddle in, but Cat needed his help. He’d have to grieve for his marriage later.
• • •
The palace shook with another tremor, sending Will staggering. He clutched the crown, checking it was still there, certain it didn’t feel as heavy as it did before. He stared at the doors, expecting Poppy to enter and beg for forgiveness any moment, but they remained shut.
He snapped his fingers. “Bring me Poppy!” he said to the faerie which appeared and flitted nervously in front of him. It disappeared with a pop.
Will stormed towards the doors, but as he reached them, he saw green tendrils creeping through the gap beneath them, sprouting shoots that ended in poppies bursting into bloom. Enraged, he tore them away from the handles and flung the doors open, ripping the poppies apart.
Lord Poppy was at the far end of the corridor, legs rigid, heels scraping the floor as a cloud of sprites and oak-leaf-clad faeries pushed and pulled him towards Will. The Fae was obviously doing all he could to resist.
Will pointed to one of the royal faeries. “Give me a sword, now!” he shouted. The tiny creature abandoned Poppy and flew over, scattering a line of sparkling dust across Will’s outstretched hands that formed a glittering sword. This one was properly balanced, at least. “Come here, Poppy,” he said, adjusting his grip, ready to strike. “And explain why you have disobeyed your King.”
“I imagine you’re far more interested in how I did it,” Poppy said, still leaning back as far as he could as his boots scraped the stone. “Will it be upsetting to discover that your former patron showed me how? Not even he wants to support your rule.”
Will tightened his grip on the sword. “Iris, you will come to me too,” he hissed through his teeth.
“You never deserved my favourite,” Poppy said, now halfway to the throne room. “And you don’t deserve that crown. Soon my favourite will take it from you. And then what will you do, little man?”
“I’ll be glad I dealt with you whilst I still had the chance,” Will said, stepping out of the throne room just as Lord Iris entered the hallway behind Poppy.
Iris walked past Poppy, giving his resistance a disdainful glance before reaching Will. “Your majesty,” he said with a bow.
Standing in the corridor, sword in hand, suddenly felt undignified in the presence of his former patron. It was all spiralling out of control. He’d been so swept up in his rage at Poppy’s disobedience that he’d lost sight of the true problem. But what could he do? The crown felt light on him, but not, he feared, because he’d become accustomed to it or strong enough to bear it with ease. The tremors had been getting worse. With a quiver in his chest, Will caught a glimpse of his own defeat. “How do I stop Cathy?” he said to Iris.
“I think that is the wrong question to ask,” Iris replied. “Perhaps a better one would be ‘What should be my last act as King?’”
Will’s chest felt as if it were
about to burst, unable to contain the rage and panic boiling within. He’d finally got everything he’d wanted and now it was being taken from him. No. Almost everything. He looked past Iris to Poppy, who was trying to bat away the horde dragging him forwards, clinging onto his rebellion for every last moment that he could. Will looked down at the sword that he in turn was clinging to, felt the crown he was desperate to wear for every last moment he could. If the crown was taken and his rule was ended, who would he be then?
His last act? Was it inevitable? Was Cathy really going to win?
“I’d bind you to a promise, Lord Iris,” he said, forcing his voice to be level. “To protect me, regardless of whether I am a king, your servant, or a free man.”
“Stay your hand against Poppy, and I will promise to protect you.”
Will tossed the sword aside and gave a nod. The faeries and sprites abandoned their struggle and flew off. Poppy tidied his frock coat and adjusted his cuffs before coming to Iris’s side. “It was nothing personal, your majesty,” Poppy said with a mere incline of his head. “I am a slave to the needs of my favourite. She would have been so sad if her friend had been hurt.”
Will couldn’t be bothered to challenge the lie. Poppy had revelled in upsetting Cathy in the past. They simply didn’t want him to be King. He turned and went back to the dais, running through his dwindling options. Poppy’s rebellion had delayed him too much. There was no point in harming that woman now. “Poppy, return Miss Rainer to wherever you took her from. Restore her and offer my apologies. Worthless as they are.”
“I will,” Poppy said, and left.
Lord Iris came into the throne room, closing the doors behind him. “You know it’s inevitable,” he said. “You feel it too.”
Iris was right. Will did feel different. Less powerful, less assured of his own majesty. He looked at the Queen’s crown resting on the other throne, waiting for Cathy. It would never be worn again. “What was it like for mortals, before the worlds were split?”
Iris smiled. “Dangerous. Magical. There were so many more possibilities. The knowledgeable could do extraordinary things, even without the Fae. Witches were powerful. Blacksmiths were feared. Both were revered. It was very different.”
