The Faerie Queen (The Faerie Ring #4)

by Kiki Hamilton

  “Leave him,” Larkin whispered as she continued down the steps.

  “Who goes there?”

  Larkin jerked to a stop and held her hand up in a signal to halt. She put a finger to her lips as she eased, ever so slowly, down the next few stairs. Not far ahead there was a sharp turn and she squatted down very low before she peered around the corner. Behind her, Rieker clutched the spear he’d taken from the fallen guard, the iron-tipped blade at the ready. Dain held two daggers in one hand and his whip in the other. His jaw was set in a grim expression of determination.

  “Declare yourself!” The voice was rough but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty evident in his words.

  Without turning, Larkin held up one finger—to indicate one guard. The faerie pointed to the right, then fanned two fingers toward the left. Rieker and Dain seemed to understand her sign language without any problem and moved to the left of her.

  At Larkin’s signal they both jumped down the remaining stairs and disappeared around the corner, yelling as they went. A split-second later, Larkin disappeared too. Tiki hurried down the steps and around the corner, her knife clutched in her hand, afraid to go with them and afraid to be left behind.

  The guard charged Rieker and Dain, his spear lowered with deadly intent. Too late, he realized there was a third threat coming at him from a different angle. He whirled to face Larkin and was skewered by three blades. The recognition of what had happened lit his face, only to fade and disappear like a snuffed candle. He’d barely hit the floor before Rieker, Dain and Larkin pulled their blades free. Blood spurted from his multiple wounds and began to gather around the man’s body.

  “Are you all right?” Rieker moved next to Tiki, his tall frame blocking the view of the dead man, his long fingers on her shoulder.

  “Yes.” Tiki swallowed, hoping to settle her queasy stomach. “I’ve seen as bad on the streets of London.” Fights weren’t uncommon, especially among the thieves who populated London’s underbelly. More than once she’d seen a knife fight end up with one of the participants dead. The image of MacGregor flickered before her eyes. A meaty fellow with shoulders like a bull under his worn jacket, she had always suspected the man had beaten Fiona’s mother to death. Tiki had seen him lay his hand to many of the women who worked as seamstresses for him, which oftentimes was worse than a knife fight.

  “Fial!” Larkin stood on tiptoes, peering through a small barred window in a stout wooden door. They hurried over to her.

  “Is he in there?”

  “Yes. I can see him in the corner.” She grabbed the dark handle and tugged on the door, but it was locked. She whirled and hurried to where the guard lay in a pool of blood. Larkin didn’t flinch as she patted the man’s jacket, her fingers turning bloody as she searched for the keys to open the door.

  It only took a moment before she pulled a ring with a large key from the man’s belt, the metal jangling with the movement. She hurried back to the door and slid the jagged teeth of the key into the keyhole. There was a loud thunk as the metal bolt relaxed its grip and Larkin pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. She hurried to the Jester’s side where he lay crumpled on the floor.

  Tiki took a deep breath and followed the others into the cell. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was hiding, waiting to slam the door shut and lock them in this dungeon for all eternity.

  “Fial.” Larkin leaned over and put her lips close to the man’s ear. She shook his arm. “Fial—can you hear me?”

  There was no response from the battered body.

  Tiki leaned over Larkin’s shoulder to get a better look at the Jester and a cold chill filled her. His face was bruised and bloody, both eyes swollen shut. What makeup he’d worn had long ago been rubbed or beaten off. Blood had run from his nose and mouth and dried in a thin crust, encircling his lips and leaving trails from both nostrils—as if he wore ghastly make-up for some kind of mad masquerade.

  Dain squatted down next to Larkin, taking the older man’s head in his hands. “Kieran,” Dain whispered, his voice filled with anguish. “Kieran—stay with us.”

  Rieker remained silent.

  “Is anything broken?” Larkin asked, sliding her hands over his arms and legs. “We’ve got to move him—one way or the other. Every second we stay here we are a second closer to being captured by Donegal.”

  Larkin snapped her fingers at Rieker and pointed. “Grab his ankles. Dain, you lift his shoulders. I’ll steady his head. Tara, hold onto me—now. We’re taking him back to the Plain of Sunlight.”

  They scrambled to do her bidding. Once they were in position Larkin whispered the words to transport them and the black walls of the dungeon faded from view.

  Chapter Thirty

  Three days had passed since they’d returned to the Plain of Sunlight with the Jester. He had yet to open his eyes. He rested in a private room and Larkin made sure someone was with him at all times, but his wounds were grave and those that tended to him whispered in low voices that he’d given up the will to live.

  Larkin checked on him several times every day, closing the door each time to visit in private. The rest of the time she and Dain were busy evaluating the troops and strategically planning for the war they seemed sure Donegal would bring to them. To Tiki’s dismay, Rieker had enthusiastically joined in, leaving her feeling displaced and useless. She knew nothing of war. The best place for her seemed to be hidden away with the Jester.

  ON THE FOURTH day Tiki sat in a chair next to his bed as the sun sank below the horizon. In her hands she held the Faerie Queen’s mirror. Upon her return to the Plain of Sunlight, she had retrieved the mirror from where she had hung it on the drawing room wall without mentioning her decision to reclaim the piece to Larkin. She had removed the camouflage and with growing familiarity, ran her fingers over the intricate designs of the frame, wondering at its origins—and its purpose.

  The age of the piece was evident in many ways—by the blue-green patina that clung to the ancient gold, by the archaic design that seemed to tell a story of timeless power, and especially by the enigmatic and mysterious glass of the mirror.

  She ran her fingers over the detailed shape at the bottom of the frame of a man’s head wearing a crown of ram’s horns, wondering, yet again, if the resemblance to Donegal was coincidental or intentional. Without meaning to, she tilted the mirror and the ever-changing swirl of color that filled its center—fire and water, earth and air, light and dark—shifted. A brilliant flash emitted from the mirror and then in the center, perfectly reflected, was Tiki’s face.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d seen her image in the mirror. When she’d removed the glamour disguising the glass she’d been startled to see her reflection—a beautiful stranger who stared back at her. After that she’d taken great care not to hold the mirror in front of her face, uneasy for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—define. But now, as she sat alone in the small room with the Jester asleep beside her, there was no one to see her, no one to judge what meaning the mirror might hold for her.

  She considered her reflection with an objective eye. Instead of the glamour she’d grown up knowing—that of an attractive girl who had been dirty and dressed like a boy for the last few years—she now gazed at her true self: raven-feather black hair hung around a face that one would not easily forget. Her skin was the finest porcelain, fragile and flawless, yet the contours of her face were sharp and vivid—as though evidence of an underlying strength. But it was her eyes that made her face so memorable—they were lit like the emerald glow of a newly unfurled leaf, translucent yet mesmerizing. She was beautiful, yes, but she looked confident in a way that could only be gained through power and wisdom.

  “Who are you?” Tiki whispered to her reflection, for she certainly didn’t feel the confidence that her appearance portrayed.

  “The Faerie Queen.”

  The voice was a rasp, like a rusted blade being drawn against aged metal. Tiki dropped the mirror to her
lap and glanced around, uncertain who had spoken, but the room was empty. Her gaze landed on Fial, unmoving in the bed. His eyes were closed. The swelling that had distorted his face had gone down significantly, now that he was receiving proper care, and he looked more like the man she had come to know as the Jester sans the decorative swirls of paint that had adorned his face.

  “Fial?” Tiki whispered softly. She leaned over him and smoothed a lock of dark hair from his brow, searching for any signs that he had regained consciousness. She took one of his hands in her own as she studied his face. “Can you open your eyes?”

  The man lay mutely, his chest rising and falling with his breathing, his mouth slightly open. There was no indication he was conscious of Tiki standing next to his bed—no indication he was conscious at all.

  “Fial?” Tiki said uncertainly. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

  “Has he moved?” Rieker spoke from the doorway.

  Tiki jumped and jerked her head to glance over her shoulder. “Rieker, you scared me. I didn’t hear you open the door.” She turned back to Fial. “I’m not sure—I think he spoke, yet I didn’t see him open his eyes and he hasn’t really gained consciousness. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  Rieker’s voice rose with hope. “What did he say?”

  Tiki hesitated. “I’m not sure.” She lifted the mirror and sank back down into the chair.

  Rieker pointed to the mirror as he pulled another chair close and sat down next to her. “Why is that here? I thought you left the mirror in Larkin’s chambers.”

  “I was curious about it.” She tried not to sound defensive. “There’s something mysterious about this mirror—I can’t quite figure it out.”

  Rieker’s gaze returned to their sleeping patient. “What do you make of everything Larkin has told us?” His expression hid whatever emotions he was feeling. “Do you believe her?”

  Tiki slid her hand into Rieker’s enjoying the warmth of his fingers and the fact that he was no longer glamoured to look like an UnSeelie. She studied his familiar features—the angle of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the quiet strength that emanated from him. “It has a ring of truth do it, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He let out a long sigh. “Yes, it does. I’m afraid my life is getting rather more complicated than less.”

  Tiki held up the mirror. “Look into this—what do you see?”

  Rieker gave her a questioning look before he grasped the mirror and held it up in front of his face. His gaze searched the glass as Tiki leaned over to see what was reflected. Instead of his image, the glass was shadowed, depicting what looked like mountains in a snow storm.

  “I see winter.” He shrugged and lowered the mirror. “So what. What do you see?”

  “I see myself.”

  As if in answer to Rieker’s question a gravelly voice spoke. “The Faerie Queen.”

  Tiki and Rieker both turned toward the bed. This time Fial’s eyes, black as a bottomless well, were open. His gaze circled the room once, then came back to them.

  “Where am I?”

  Tiki stood up and clasped his hand. “The Plain of Sunlight.” Rieker stood next to her.

  Fial’s gaze moved from Tiki to Rieker, where it lingered. “Larkin found me, then.” He spoke slowly as if each word was painful.

  “Yes,” Tiki nodded. “Dain and William helped find you, too.”

  “And Tiki,” Rieker added.

  The Jester exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. Tiki wondered if he’d fallen asleep when he spoke again.

  “That means we have arrived at the endgame.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “What do you mean, he’s gone?” The shocked disbelief in Donegal’s voice didn’t hide the fury behind his words and the guard delivering the message trembled where he kneeled before the Dragon Throne. He shook as if he could already feel the cool whisper of the blade against his neck.

  “The guards have been murdered and the prisoner is gone, my lord.”

  Donegal jumped to his feet with a roar of rage. “That is IMPOSSIBLE! Who could have known—” he stopped in mid-sentence. “Larkin—” he snarled— “and that miserable little wretch of a queen.” He thumped the gold staff he held against the stone floor in anger. “They think they can steal from the Winter King?” He looked around wildly, his gaze jumping from one face to another. “Where are Sullivan and Cruinn? Get me Scáthach!” His words were a roar that echoed around the Great Hall. “THE JESTER WILL BE THE LAST THING THOSE TWO EVER TAKE FROM ME.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Upon hearing of Fial’s awakening, Larkin rushed to his side and shooed everyone from the room. Several hours passed as she remained behind closed doors with him.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Tiki asked again, unable to hide her annoyance. “And why does it have to be in secret?” They sat in the antechamber of her rooms, Rieker stretched out on a couch, Dain standing with his arm braced against the fireplace and Tiki tucked into an overstuffed chair between the two. “It makes you wonder if she isn’t plotting with him to ensure their stories match up.”

  Rieker raised his eyebrows. “I thought you believed Larkin?”

  Tiki pushed herself from the chair and wrapped her arms around her waist. “One moment I do then the next I don’t know what I believe anymore. Living in this world is like standing on a shifting sea of sand.” She looked at Rieker. “I want to go home. I miss Clara and Toots and I’m worried about Fiona and I haven’t heard a word about Shamus or the Bosworth’s since we left.” She turned away to hide the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. “I’m not doing anything here—I’m not needed. Larkin insisted that I come and yet—”

  “She doesn’t want your help.” Dain turned from where he had been staring into the flames. He stood tall and straight, his sun-kissed locks brushed back from his handsome face. “She needs you and the power you hold, but she doesn’t want you here to threaten her own power.”

  “Yes. Exactly,” Tiki cried. “I don’t know what she thinks she needs from me—she does everything without me.”

  Rieker pushed himself into a sitting position. “We came back to save the Jester and we’ve done that.” He looked over at Tiki. “The Seelie Court and UnSeelie Court have been at war for centuries—who’s to say it won’t go on for another century?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s time to return to London and get on with our lives.”

  Tiki sucked her breath in with a small sob. “Could we?”

  Rieker shifted his gaze to his brother. “You’re welcome to come with us. You’ll always have a place in our home.”

  Dain stood silent, his eyes distant, his jaw set. “I appreciate your offer but I can’t go now. I’ve unfinished business with Kieran—I mean Fial.” A smile softened the hard cast of his expression. “I’m sure you do too, but perhaps not with the same urgency I feel.”

  “I have questions, certainly—but they can wait.” Rieker reached for Tiki’s hand. “Fial gave me up long ago and my allegiance is not to him, but to those who have cared for me these last few years.”

  “I understand,” Dain said softly.

  “You’ll visit us?” Tiki asked, coming to stand before Dain. “Often?”

  “Most certainly.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, but sadness shadowed his blue eyes as he took her hand. “Now that I’ve found you both, you’ll never be away from my thoughts for long.”

  TIKI AND RIEKER visited Johnny’s room before they departed. The young boy was sitting up in bed, juggling three small oranges for a pretty nurse when they entered.

  The young girl’s mouth sagged in surprise as she recognized Tiki. She dropped into a low curtsey and dipped her head. “Blessings and long life, Majesty.” She scooped up her skirts and hurried from the room, throwing a last look at the group over her shoulder.

  “Tiki!” Johnny cried when he spied her small form, the oranges falling to the bed, forgotten. He threw the covers aside and slid from t
he bed to run barefoot across the room and wrap his stick-thin arms around her. “I’ve been hoping to see you. Have you heard from Fiona? Is she well? And Clara and Toots? Are they still at the palace?” Before Tiki could answer, Johnny stuck his hand out towards Rieker. “And Mr. Rieker, it’s a pleasure to see you again, sir—though a bit of a surprise—” he motioned to the room— “given that we’re here and all.” A cough rumbled deep in his chest and his shoulders shook with the effort of clearing his throat.

  “Back in bed with you, right now,” Tiki said, turning Johnny around and marching him back to the bed. “I can see that you’re feeling much better, and certainly improving your juggling skills, but you’re not quite well enough to be running in circles now, are you?”

  Johnny crawled back in to bed, looking crestfallen. “But I am better and making progress every day. And I don’t feel sick to my stomach at all anymore.”

  “That is wonderful news,” Tiki said, perching on the side of the bed. “Keep resting and gaining strength and you’ll be up and about in no time.”

  “And then do you think Fiona can come visit me?”

  “It’s possible,” Tiki hedged, not wanting to dash the boy’s hopes while he was recovering. “We are off to see Fi right now so I will give her your best and tell her you’re just as incorrigible as ever.”

  “Incorrigible? Does that mean handsome and charming?” Johnny’s eyes sparkled and for a second, Tiki saw the persuasive young man she had first met in London.

  She pretended to tweak his nose, feeling lighter. “Something like that.”

  THEY ARRIVED IN London in the evening, in a shadowed park close to Westminster Abbey just as Big Ben tolled the eight o’clock hour.