The FAERIE QUEEN
Copyright 2014 © Karen Hamilton
All Rights Reserved.
Cover design by Kiki Hamilton
Map by Virginia Allyn
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
Fair Wind Books
First Printed in the United States of America
First Edition:
ISBN: 1484936213
ISBN 13: 9781484936214
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013909128
For anyone who has a dream — always believe!
Also by Kiki Hamilton
Fantasy
THE FAERIE RING
Book One of The Faerie Ring Series
THE TORN WING
Book Two of The Faerie Ring Series
THE SEVEN YEAR KING
Book Three of The Faerie Ring Series
Contemporary
THE LAST DANCE
Key to Pronunciation and Meaning of
Irish Words
(With thanks to irishgaelictranslator.com and Irish Language Forum)
An fáinne sí (un FAWN-yeh shee)
The faerie ring
Na síochána, aontaímid (nuh SHEE-uh-khaw-nuh, EEN-tee-mij)
For the sake of peace, we agree
Grá do dhuine básmhar (Graw duh GGWIN-yeh BAWSS-wur)
Love for a mortal person
Óinseach (OWN-shukh)
Fool/idiot (for a female)
Nimh Álainn (niv AW-lin)
Beautiful Poison
Tánaiste (Tawn-ISH-tah)
Second in command
Cloch na Teamhrach (klukh nuh TYARR-uh)
Stone of Tara
Corn na bhFuíoll (KOR-un nuh WEE-ull)
Cup of Plenty
Samhain (Sow WEEN)
Festival marking the beginning of Winter, usually celebrated on October 31st
Am Bratach Sith
The Faerie Flag
The FAERIE QUEEN
Dear Reader,
The story told within THE FAERIE RING series is a combination of fact and fiction. Known as ‘historical fantasy’, I like to think of the books as a ‘what if….’ kind of story.
Much of book one, THE FAERIE RING, is grounded in reality: Queen Victoria and Princes Leopold and Arthur were real historical figures. In fact, the story was set in the year 1871 because that was the year Prince Leopold was eighteen years old.
Many of the places referenced in the series: Charing Cross Station, King’s Cross Station, The World’s End Pub, St. James Park, the Birdkeeper’s Cottage, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, and the Great Ormond Street Hospital, are real and can be visited today—should you be lucky enough to find yourself in London.
Both book two, THE TORN WING, and book three, THE SEVEN YEAR KING, take you to other parts of England, including Glastonbury Tor and The Wychwood Forest, which are both real and have legends that associate them with faeries, and in the case of the Wychwood, tales of hobgoblins, witches and other creatures abound.
The British Isles are rich with faerie lore and there are many artifacts that exist today that are said to be associated with the fey. Introduced in THE TORN WING, the Hill of Tara exists in Ireland, the London Stone is displayed on Cannon Street in London and in THE SEVEN YEAR KING you’ll learn of the Luck of Edenhall – real and currently on display in the Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington.
The Author’s Note at the end of the book contains additional information you might find interesting, regarding some of the people, places and things mentioned in THE FAERIE QUEEN, though to avoid any spoilers, perhaps best read after you finish the book.
Now—on with the final chapters of Tiki’s story…
Chapter One
Palace of Mirrors, The Otherworld
“We found this in her rooms, Majesty.” A humpbacked guard, his massive shoulders twisted to one side, stood before the UnSeelie king with a piece of fabric dangling from his claw-tipped fingers. “The Seelie Queen left it behind when she departed for winter.”
“Give me that.” Donegal snatched the pale yellow silk from the man and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. His scarred face, one side melted like candle wax, twisted with distaste. “I can smell the stench of her—like summer flowers.” He tossed the delicate chemise to the floor as if the fabric had burned him. “Bring me Bearach’s hounds and do it now.”
BARELY TEN MINUTES had passed before the guard returned leading two monstrous black hounds, held by thick chains tied to spiked collars. The animals slinked along beside the man in an effortless gait, their heads low between massive shoulders. They glanced from side to side, red eyes measuring the occupants of the room, as if deciding who would be their next meal.
The guard yanked the hounds to a stop before Donegal, who sat on a golden throne in the shape of a dragon. A low growl issued from the throat of the first dog as the guard jerked her chain.
“Sit,” he commanded.
After a long moment, the animal lowered her haunches, but remained crouched and ready to spring.
“This is Cana and Bruk, Majesty, said to be the fiercest of Bearach’s hellhounds.”
Donegal pushed himself from the throne, his black garments shifting like ripples of dark water. “I recognize this one—” he pointed— “by the scar above her eye. Bearach often had the beast with him before he died.” The Winter King snapped his fingers and pointed at the dress, still resting on the marble floor. A guard scrambled to pick up the silky material and handed it to the king, keeping a cautious distance from the fanged jaws of the dogs.
The UnSeelie king took the fabric and held it out. The female lifted her nose and sniffed the air then was on her feet, curiously smelling the garment. The other dog followed, nudging his way closer to smell the fabric as well.
Donegal took a hurried step back, keeping his arm outstretched so the dogs could gather the scent. “On my signal,” he said to the guard, “I want you to release them.” He leaned forward and stared into the female hellhound’s blood-red eyes. “Fetch,” he said firmly before his voice turned venomous. “Kill.” He nodded to the guard, who unhooked the leashes and took several quick steps away from the giant dogs.
Cana’s eyes regarded Donegal with a baleful, intelligent expression, then as one, both hounds turned and ran, silently slipping through the Great Hall like shadows blown across the face of the moon.
Chapter Two
Number Six, Grosvenor Square, London
November 4th, 1872
“IT APPEARS YOU’RE leaving.”
The voice woke Tiki. There were so many things on her mind it had been difficult to sleep lately and when she did drift off, even the most minute sounds woke her. At first, she thought Larkin’s voice was part of her dream, but then the faerie spoke again.
“Before you go there are matters to be discussed.”
Tiki jerked upright, suddenly wide awake. “Larkin, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Exactly,” the faerie said. “That’s why I’ve come now. I knew we could be alone. It’s time we talked about Clara.”
Tiki’s stomach clenched as she leaned over and lit a bedside candle. She squinted through the shadows at the nebulous form of the faerie sitting at the end of her bed. “What about Clara?”
“You need to know the truth.” Larkin’s eyes glittered in the half-light of the wavering flame. “Clara is my daughter. Surely, you�
��ve noticed the resemblance?”
It was as if Tiki’s body had turned to ice. She couldn’t have heard the faerie correctly.
Larkin laughed, the sound like wind chimes, and a slow smirk twisted her lips. “I would have thought you’d have figured it out by now. I’m quite sure William has known for the longest time.” She was swathed in a black drape that hid her striking blond hair, making her indistinct, barely illuminated by the dim shaft of moonlight that cut a narrow swath across Tiki’s bedroom.
“I don’t believe you,” Tiki cried.
“Yes, you do.” Larkin scoffed at her. “When have I ever lied to you? Do you think it was coincidence that Clara was directly in your path on Craven Street that day? Have you never wondered why you were the one who found her among the masses who inhabit London?” She stabbed her thumb into her chest. “It’s because I wanted you to find her. I, alone, knew who you were—what future awaited. I knew she would be safe with you, filthy little pickpocket that you were.”
Though her hands were shaking, a surge of anger made Tiki’s voice strong. “I don’t care if she’s your daughter or not— you gave her up and she belongs with me now.”
Larkin gave a derisive laugh, her gaze suddenly as cold and deadly as a well-honed dagger. “I loaned her to you for a purpose, but that is beside the point. Should I choose to take the child, I dare you to try and stop me.” The faerie’s voice changed to a conversational tone. “However, as with most things in life, guttersnipe, you do have a choice. If you relinquish the Seelie throne to me, I promise I will never bother the two of you again. You can go off with your mortal family and never have another worry about those in the Seelie Court.” She gave a delicate shrug. “It’s quite simple, really. But if you don’t, then it’s time for Clara to return to Faerie with me.” Larkin lifted her palms. “It’s up to you. Which do you choose: a child or a kingdom?”
Tiki shoved the bedcovers aside and jumped to her feet, fingers clenched into fists. “Don’t you dare give me an ultimatum—” she snapped. “You abandoned Clara and I’ve cared for her—I saved her life when she would have died from your neglect. I love her!”
Larkin’s eyes narrowed. “Love is for mortals and fools.”
Tiki took a threatening step toward Larkin. “You can’t take her just because you want to threaten me into doing your bidding. I won’t allow you to use a child to try and manipulate me.”
Larkin’s mood shifted again and she spoke through clenched teeth. “Someone has to take action against Donegal. The borders to the Plain of Sunlight are littered with dead Macanna, their bodies impaled on giant stakes for all to see. If you won’t lead the Seelie Court in this war, then I will— but what I won’t do is stand by and watch my people being slaughtered without a fight.”
Tiki blinked and the mercurial faerie was gone—replaced by a cool breeze that swirled around her bare feet, chilling her to the core. Had Larkin spoken the truth? Were the Macanna, those giant soldiers who had followed her father Finn when he left the Seelie Court, being murdered by the Winter King? Was Donegal that powerful now? And would Larkin take Clara as a bargaining chip to secure control of the Seelie throne from Tiki?
She raced for the door and yanked the wooden portal open. Her bare feet echoed against the wooden floors as she sprinted down the hall and up the stairs to the third floor. Larkin wouldn’t dare take Clara to Faerie. She wouldn’t dare. Yet, fear sank its claws into Tiki’s heart as she ran, for if anyone would have the nerve to take the child from her, it would be Larkin.
Tiki’s breath came in short gasps and her knees felt weak as she crested the stairs and plucked a small gas-lit hurricane lamp from a nearby table. A phlegmy cough rumbled in her chest as she approached Clara and Fiona’s bedroom and she coughed into the crook of her elbow to quiet the noise. She’d been fighting this cold for weeks now and each day felt a bit weaker—at a time when she didn’t dare be weak.
She gently pushed Clara’s bedroom door open, her eyes riveted on the small bed where the five-year old slept. Blond curls, lit by a shard of moonlight that streamed through a gap in the drapes, fanned across the pillow and Tiki’s shoulders sagged in relief. Clara was safe.
She tiptoed across the room and stared down at the precious face of the little girl she’d come to love so much. Dark lashes rested against cheeks the color of fresh cream. Her lips were parted as she breathed in the relaxed rhythm of deep sleep. A small, ragged pink dog was tucked under her chin and her small fingers clutched the worn animal close.
Tiki’s heart ached with a bittersweet longing as she reached out to smooth the blond curls. She’d found Clara buried in a pile of trash outside Charing Cross over a year ago and had nursed the child back from the brink of death more than once. In the process, she’d come to love the little girl like her own child. Larkin’s words echoed in her ears: ‘Clara is my daughter. Surely you’ve noticed the resemblance?’
Now that she was forced to face it—the resemblance between Larkin and Clara was apparent: the sun-kissed blond hair, the flawless skin, the enigmatic blue eyes—a combination that created a breathtaking, otherworldly beauty that was uncommon, even in a city as populated as London. Their laughs were similar—ringing out like the melodic sound of wind chimes—and probably most damning, Clara’s inexplicable ability to see those not from this world. The combination was enough to make Larkin’s revelation undeniable.
Tiki lifted one of Clara’s curls from the pillow, the strands twisting against her fingers. “I will never allow her to take you from me,” she whispered to the sleeping child, “ever.” But like a match to kindling, a wisp of fear had begun to burn deep in her gut.
“JOHNNY’S BEEN ILL all night,” Fiona said the next morning, holding a steaming cup of tea as she slid into a chair across from where Tiki sat at the brown wooden kitchen table. Dawn was breaking across London, though the sunrise only brought the watery light of winter—barely strong enough to breech the hidden nooks and crannies of the townhome. “He’s still very weak.”
Tiki frowned as a sense of warning quickened her pulse. “Is it flu?” Johnny had just regained consciousness in the last few days after an extended illness brought on by the attack of the deadly liche, an Otherworldly creature who sustained itself by consuming the hearts of his victims. The liche, who had been able to move between the mortal world and that of Faerie, had taken an unnatural liking to Fiona. Johnny had thwarted the creature’s efforts to snatch the sixteen year-old girl, but his bravery had nearly cost him his life.
Fiona shook her head, brushing a strand of wavy brown hair off her brow. “I don’t know for sure. He said he started to feel sick last night after he ate. It’s the first solid food he’s had since his return from—” she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder toward where Rieker’s housemaid, Mrs. Bosworth, stood kneading bread at the counter. Fiona lowered her voice—” well, you know. Maybe it has something to do with that.”
Tiki unsuccessfully tried to fight back a cough, her slender shoulders shaking. She hadn’t slept since Larkin’s nighttime visit. As a result of their conversation, she’d spent the remainder of the night sitting in a chair at the foot of Clara’s bed, keeping watch and worrying whether the faerie had told the truth about the deaths of the Seelie soldiers. Were Toran or any of the Macanna she knew among the dead? Had Donegal begun the final siege against the Seelie Court?
At dawn’s first light Tiki had gone in search of Rieker. She needed to tell him there would be a change in their plans to depart later that day for an extended trip to Scotland. But Rieker wasn’t at Grosvenor Square and she’d been forced to wait.
“We’re to leave mid-morning,” Tiki said to Fiona. “Do you think Johnny will be able to travel?” She was anxious for the group to be underway. It was a well-known fact that Donegal, King of the UnSeelie Court, wanted to claim the kingdom of Faerie for his own. To do that, he planned to eliminate the present Queen of the Seelie Court—who happened to be Tiki. As if that wasn’t enough, he personally blamed Tiki for
the horrific scarring that marred half of his face, a side effect of the liche’s death, to whom he had bound his own body to resurrect. Donegal would stop at nothing to make her pay.
As a result, they were leaving in the hope they could elude the Winter King before he took deadly action against Tiki or her family. What Tiki needed to tell Rieker, however, was that she had decided she would not be accompanying them to Scotland. She had a responsibility to the Macanna and the fey of the Seelie Court that couldn’t be left for someone else. She was the Queen—she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t help when they needed her most. Tiki ran her finger around the rim of her cup, confident that she’d made the right decision.
Fiona blew on her tea, diverting the spiral of steam rising like a miniature storm in Tiki’s direction. “I’ll help him pack. He’ll be ready to go.”
Tiki nodded. She’d seen the rage and determination in Donegal’s eyes. “I’ve got a bad feeling about what’s coming, Fi. The sooner we can go—the better for all of us.”
Chapter Three
It was only twenty minutes later that Tiki stood alone in Rieker’s study. Fiona had gone upstairs to check on Johnny and to roust Clara and eleven year-old Toots from their beds. At Tiki’s urging, Shamus, Fiona’s eighteen year-old cousin, had elected to stay behind and move to Rieker’s manor house outside of London with the rest of the staff while Rieker, Tiki and the others were away. Of the group remaining behind, Shamus was the only one who knew where they were really going and why.
The Faerie Queen (The Faerie Ring #4) Page 1
