The Faerie Queen (The Faerie Ring #4)

by Kiki Hamilton

  Donegal growled in pain but did not release his hold on her. Instead, he shook Tiki until her head felt like it might topple from her neck. He cupped his hand and blew into his curved fingers, pushing his burning palm toward her face.

  Tiki slapped his hand away as Donegal’s guards rushed at them.

  “GUARDS!” His shout echoed across the landscape like the rumble of thunder. “KILL HER!”

  “MACANNA!” Tiki yelled, praying the Seelie forces had come to the Tor as she had requested. “ATTACK!” She was reaching for the thunderclouds that hung low overhead when another shout echoed even more loudly.

  “STOP!”

  In a stormy burst of wind Larkin suddenly stood between the armed soldiers and where Donegal held Tiki. Nebulous and ethereal in the black garments she still wore she seemed to waver with the weather. Her arms were raised, as if she would physically stop the attack with her bare hands. “YOU WILL NOT HARM THE SEELIE QUEEN.”

  The guards slid to a stop, looking from Donegal to Larkin with indecision.

  “Larkin,” Donegal’s voice became deceptively soft. “You do not belong here now. Leave this matter to me or face the consequences.”

  Larkin faced him. “Don’t threaten me. I know your secret, Donegal—you don’t belong on the throne any more than I do.”

  Donegal’s face contorted with such rage Tiki feared his eyes might pop from his head. “LIAR!!! I AM THE WINTER KING—I AM MEANT TO RULE ALL OF FAERIE!!”

  “You’re not a king—the Cloch na Teamhrach did not cry out for you—you’re not even pure UnSeelie. I know the secret you’ve tried to keep all these years, Dongeal—you’ve got Seelie blood running in your veins. You’re a half-breed.”

  “LIAR!!!! YOU’RE LYING!!! KILL THEM BOTH!”

  In a burst of strength she didn’t know she had, Tiki jerked her arm free. As the contact broke between her and Donegal he darted away with blinding speed. She whirled, prepared to strike again and froze.

  Sullivan held Larkin from behind, one hand around her neck forcing her head back—the other clutching a curved iron dagger tight at her exposed throat. Donegal stood poised on one side while guards surrounded them with their spears pointed in Larkin’s direction. Sullivan glared at Tiki with hatred in his eyes. “One death for another.”

  “Now what will you do, Seelie Queen?” Donegal sneered. “Will you sacrifice the life of another to save your own?”

  “No—wait!” Tiki cried. “That was a dog that died—you can’t possibly mean to—”

  “Larkin is a SPY!” Donegal screamed. “A TRAITOR! A LIAR! I should have done this long ago!”

  Larkin’s lips barely moved but Tiki heard the faerie as if she’d shouted. “Save Clara.”

  Donegal waved his arm at Sullivan. “I’m done with Larkin. KILL HER!”

  Like drawing a bow across the strings of a fiddle, Sullivan pulled the blade across Larkin’s throat.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Larkin slumped in Sullivan’s meaty arms and her eyes went dark—like the light of the sun suddenly blocked behind a black cloud.

  For a second Tiki couldn’t move. Was it possible? Had that monster really killed Larkin?

  Even Donegal seemed stunned at what he had done and stared unmoving at Larkin’s still body.

  In the next moment chaos erupted around them—Macanna exploded from the forest and attacked the UnSeelie soldiers. Cries and shouts rent the air as blades flashed and blood spilled.

  As reality sank in, Tiki screamed until it was as if the very air shrieked with her pain and rage. She didn’t remember moving but found she stood over Larkin’s dead body, as if to protect her from further harm. She searched the crowd for Rieker or Dain, Toran or anyone who could help her—but she was alone.

  In her agony, Tiki reached for the skies and pulled the storm down on top of them. The wind howled and gusted like a wild animal, blowing the UnSeelie soldiers back from Larkin’s still body and encircling Tiki in a whirlwind. Fury like she’d never known filled her and Tiki struck—shooting a bolt of pure white light directly at Donegal.

  He moved at the last second, but only enough to dodge the full brunt of the attack. The shot spun him around and knocked him to his knees, black smoke rising from his thigh. It was from that position—as Tiki she drew back to strike again—that he disappeared.

  She aimed instead for Sullivan who swerved through the crowd of fighting soldiers, hiding among those in battle. Tiki caught sight of him and attacked. The bolt struck him on the shoulder as he dove behind a large column. With a cry of rage, she thrust her hands above her head and lightning forked the sky until it looked like the heavens would split into a million pieces. Thunder shook the ground making it difficult to stand. Screams of fear mingled with the cacophony of noise until the world was a swirl of chaos.

  As the soldiers battled around her Fial appeared and raced to where Tiki stood guarding Larkin’s dead body. He fell to his knees next to Larkin, pulling her onto his lap, his hands cupping her face.

  “Breanna,” he pleaded, “wake up. Bree—wake up, my love—I’m here.” He gave her a shake as if to wake her and her head fell back, revealing the terrible gash across her neck.

  Tears ran down Tiki’s face as she bent and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, as if just realizing she was there, the anguish on his face so raw, Tiki wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

  “What has he done?” Fial whispered. He looked back down at Larkin, limp in his arms. “What has my brother done?”

  He pulled Larkin to his chest, hugging her tight, one hand supporting her head as he rested his cheek against her golden hair. A low cry rose from his chest getting louder and louder until he tipped his head back and a howl of pure pain split the night. “BREANNNNNNAAAAA!”

  Her name echoed among the trees to the sky and carried on the wind until the entire world resonated with his torment. It was then that the skies opened up and sheets of rain began to fall as if the heavens cried with him.

  DONEGAL ARRIVED INSIDE the Great Hall. A wisp of smoke rising from the hole in his thigh as if the inside of his leg was on fire.

  “Bar the doors!” He cried to the few guards who remained within the hall as he limply toward the Dragon Throne. “Where are they?” he cried as Sullivan joined him. His tánaiste was also bleeding from his shoulder, his arm hanging limply at this side. Outside, the sounds of the fighting rang out.

  “There.” Sullivan pointed. Cruinn and Scáthach, along with six guards, stood in the shadows behind the Dragon Throne. “They’ve captured the Seelie Queen’s companions—just as we planned.”

  “You found them,” Donegal said as he drew close to the prisoners. Rieker, disguised as a Redcap, and Dain, still dressed as one of Donegal’s guards, stood on small, precariously balanced platforms, their arms cinched behind their backs with nooses tight around their necks. Should the platforms they stood upon be kicked free, or should they slip, they would hang before anyone could cut them down.

  “Aye, they were trying to cut through the ropes to free the girl, just as you knew they would” Cruinn said, “but we stopped them before they finished their work.” He motioned to the golden net that hung nearby, still weighted with Clara’s small body. “The mortal girl is still our prisoner—our bait.”

  Donegal drew near and peered into their faces. “Remove your glamours,” he snapped, “before I slice your throats to see what you really look like.” He grabbed a dagger from a sheath on Cruinn’s belt and pushed the point of the knife into the soft spot below Dain’s ear until blood dribbled down his neck. Then he turned to Rieker. “Do it now or your comrade dies.”

  Rieker only hesitated for a moment before whispering the words that would remove his glamour. Donegal took a step back as the vision of the Redcap melted away to be replaced with Rieker’s handsome features and strong, tall body. He sneered at the Winter King with no sign of fear.

  “As I suspected,” Donegal said softly. He turned to Dain and flicked his knife in
his direction. “Now you.”

  Dain didn’t move.

  “Not only will I kill him—” Donegal motioned to Rieker— “but I will kill the child as well and you can watch.”

  Dain’s glamour melted away to be replaced with his true features.

  “You,” Donegal spat. “I locked you in the White Tower as a spy for a reason. You should have died there or in the forest being hunted as the Seven Year King. If it weren’t for Larkin and that ridiculous excuse of a queen you would have been dead long ago.” His lips pulled back from his teeth, the whites of his eyes showing like a wild animal. “But it’s Larkin who is dead and she will never save you again.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Tiki’s last glimpse of Larkin was of the faerie in Fial’s arms. With her golden hair hanging long over the Jester’s arm she had looked like a princess—or a queen. Her head had been tucked against his shoulder like a sleeping child, hiding the ghastly wound to her neck, and at last, there in his arms, her exquisite face had been at peace.

  AMID THE CHAOS of the fighting, it was apparent the UnSeelie soldiers greatly outnumbered the Macanna. Tiki gaze swept the dead and wounded that littered the Night Garden.

  What had it been for?

  Donegal and Sullivan had both escaped and Larkin was dead. She could only pray that Rieker, Dain and Clara were still alive.

  “Majesty.” Fingers gripped her arm and Tiki whirled, prepared to strike. “You must leave the battlefield. Come with me.” Toran peered anxiously into her face. “Quickly, please. We are being defeated.”

  Tiki knew without looking further that he was right. “Brave Macanna,” she called out, her voice echoing over the Tor. “RETREAT!”

  As quickly as they had emerged from the forest, the Macanna melted away and disappeared.

  SHE PROMISED TORAN she would return to the Plain of Sunlight soon and transported amid his protests. She traveled to the stonecutter’s cottage on the slim chance that Rieker and Dain might be there with Clara but the room was empty and cold, a few dead leaves resting on the hearth. She only stayed long enough to collect the Cup and the Faerie Queen’s mirror before she transported to the one place she felt safe.

  TIKI HAD NO idea how long she sat huddled in the dark corner of the abandoned clockmaker’s shop in Charing Cross. She lit no candles. Time had ceased to exist. Wrapped in her cloak and shaking uncontrollably, she clutched her knees and leaned her head against the wall, wishing for sleep to take away a reality she didn’t know how to deal with anymore.

  She didn’t know where to find Rieker or Dain—didn’t know if they had escaped with Clara from the Palace of Mirrors or not. She didn’t dare visit Shamus, Fi, Toots and the Bosworth’s for fear she would be followed. Larkin was dead and Fial had disappeared. Even Johnny and Toran were hiding somewhere in the Otherworld.

  She was utterly alone.

  TIKI DRIFTED IN and out of consciousness as the tears seemed to flow without end. She was drowning in a terrible grief that pulled her down until it was as if she was trying to breathe underwater. Those last moments with Donegal and Larkin replayed over and over in her head—what could she have done differently? How could she have saved Larkin? But she hadn’t known Larkin was even in the Palace—hadn’t known she would step in and try to save her.

  Fial’s face haunted what little sleep Tiki did find and after the shaking and the tears stopped, the things he’d said began to reverberate in her head like the pounding of a kettle drum. To find the Jester was in love with Larkin wasn’t that much of a shock—the fact that Larkin had insisted on trying to save him had been immensely revealing— but in the end, when he’d called her Breanna—

  Tiki rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Even in death Larkin was an enigma. The only Breanna Tiki had ever heard mentioned was Lady Breanna of Connacht—Dain and William’s mother—

  A seed of doubt sprouted in her mind. Larkin had said that Breanna was murdered, but what if she hadn’t been? What if Breanna had simply ceased to exist as she was forced to assume a new persona—just as Fial had become Kieran and later the Jester—

  Tiki’s thoughts raced, one after the other. What was it Fial had said—that he and Larkin had sacrificed those they loved most—their children … Dain and William were Fial’s sons and Clara was Larkin’s daughter….what if….

  She imagined Dain’s handsome face, his blond hair and blue eyes—not like Fial’s at all, but exactly like Larkin’s—and Clara’s.

  Tiki’s breath caught in her throat. Larkin had never said who Clara’s father was—was it possible? Could it be Fial? Were William and Dain Clara’s brothers?

  The more Tiki considered the idea, the more it made perfect sense. Had Larkin hidden Clara in London for the same reason they’d split up and hidden the boys? For fear that Donegal would hunt them down and kill them for their mixed blood?

  What has my brother done?

  Fial’s anguished question played over and over in Tiki’s ears followed by Donegal’s voice:

  Now she taunts me and spies on my Court with my brother.

  Pieces of the puzzle began to slowly click into place. Breanna and Fial had fallen in love—a forbidden love because of their different heritages—and Fial’s family had tried to kill them because of it. Fial was a Winterbourne—an UnSeelie—Donegal’s brother. It had been the Winter King who had been hunting them. Larkin and Fial had been spies in what was, for them, the most dangerous place in the world. All for a promise made to Eridanus, Finn and Adasara. A promise that couldn’t be fulfilled without Tiki’s help.

  Tiki pushed herself to her feet and paced to the back of the small room. It was as if Larkin whispered in her ear:

  He has lived between two worlds and belonged to neither for most of his life—all for the sake of a promise made long ago. Those who have known his secrets and his sacrifice have been murdered one-by-one: Finn, Eridanus, Adasara—even Breanna—until only he and I remain.”

  And what was the promise? Tiki had asked.

  To stop the killing and reunite the courts as one. To live side by side with the mortals in peace. And most importantly—to create a future where one wasn’t labeled Seelie or UnSeelie, but simply as fey.

  Tiki stopped next to the makeshift table—a plank that sat upon an overturned fruit crate— and fingered the Luck of Edenhall. Her hand slid over to the mirror and raised the ornately framed glass. Her reflection looked back, thinner than she remembered, but just as striking and beautiful—just as powerful.

  Who are you? She had asked the mirror and Fial, on his sick bed, had answered: The Faerie Queen.

  “And so you are,” she whispered to her reflection.

  IT WAS LATE when she transported to Dunvegan Castle. She was dressed to blend with the shadows as she gazed around the now familiar courtyard, looking for any sign of Rory Campbell. A light shown from the caretaker’s apartments and some of the tension released from Tiki’s shoulders.

  She hurried toward the Faerie Tower, instinct guiding her in that direction. She was a faerie queen, surely she—if anyone—would be able to find a faerie treasure. Her feet made a light slapping sound on the stone steps as she climbed to the tower built for the lost wife of the MacLeod ancestor. She mentally recounted their conversation with Norman MacLeod. What clues had the man let slip while they spoke to him in London?

  The flag is safe and those within our Clan who need to know, are aware of its location—that’s all that matters. But I will tell you this—the silk lies within an iron chest below the sign of MacLeod and awaits our return. Am Bratach Sith is in a place protected by those who gave us the flag in the first place. Only those who know where to look could find our treasure.

  The cathedral within the Faerie Tower had seemed to be the perfect place to hide a faerie treasure—had they simply missed the hiding spot? Tiki pulled open the plank door and once again was struck by the serenity of the room. Moonlight shown through the large stained glass window at the far end of the hall, illuminating the room.
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  Tiki walked slowly to the offering table, running her hands along the long expanse of wood searching for any clues. She tried to unglamour the bowl once again with no success. She walked up and down the small rectangular room looking for what she had missed.

  Where was it? Was the flag hidden somewhere else in Dunvegan? But Rory had intimated they’d built the faerie tower specifically for this prize. The moon rose higher in the night sky as Tiki continued to search. Desperation began to churn in her stomach. She didn’t have time—Clara and Rieker and Dain were missing—they were waiting for her to save them, but she couldn’t do it without the Flag.

  Tiki stood at the offering table and searched once more for a clue. Anything. But there was nothing. With a growl of frustration she banged her fists on the table. “Where are you?” she shouted. But her plea was only met with silence. It was obvious the flag was hidden somewhere else in the castle.

  Tiki whirled around intending to stomp to the door and exit when she froze. The moonlight streaming through the window cast the design of the lead glass in clear silhouette on the stone floor before her. There in the middle was the crest and motto of the MacLeod Clan: a bull’s head between two flags and the words ‘Hold Fast’.

  Within an iron chest below the sign of MacLeod.

  If she hadn’t been standing in that spot at that exact moment, she would never have seen the shadows cast by the moon.

  Tiki rushed to the area where the motto shone upon the floor and fell to her knees. Slipping her fingers between the cracks of the stone she searched for any loose spot where she might find purchase. It only took a moment when her fingers found the cleverly hollowed out section where she could jiggle the stone enough to get a grip. With both hands she hefted the piece of flooring and set it next to where she kneeled.