The Faerie Queen (The Faerie Ring #4)

by Kiki Hamilton

  Her breath caught in her throat. There, hidden in a small hole in the floor, rested an iron chest.

  Very carefully, Tiki lifted the chest free, the metal hot against her skin, as she set it next to her on the floor. Its surface was carved with the Celtic knot of the MacLeod clan. Ever so gently she lifted the lid of the small chest and laid it back flat against the floor. Inside the red velvet lined chest was a folded piece of delicate golden fabric with knots of red stitched into its surface.

  Her fingers trembled as she lifted the silk free. She’d found the Fourth Treasure—The Faerie Flag of Dunvegan.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Tiki went first to Charing Cross and retrieved the Cup of Plenty where she had glamoured it as a plain green vase. The Faerie Flag was neatly folded and tucked deep within her bodice, hidden beneath her clothes. The Ring of Ériu, hung from her neck. The Stone of Tara had cried out her name for all to hear. She had recovered the Four Treasures of Faerie. And now she was prepared to call upon whatever powers the Four Treasures might offer to a true-born queen to save her family and crush Donegal forever.

  She did not allow herself to waiver with worry. She needed to focus on how she was going to save them. With great care she laid out the still-furled Faerie Flag, the Cup of Plenty and the Ring of Ériu on the small makeshift table within their hideaway. For good measure, she added the Faerie Queen’s mirror to the mix and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  She rearranged their order and sat back, her gaze shifting from one to the other, unsure of what to expect but certain that something would happen.

  It didn’t.

  “Bloody hell.” She ground her teeth together as she tried stacking the Treasures on top of each other by putting the flag and the ring into the cup and then putting the cup on top of the mirror.

  Nothing.

  After searching for so long to locate the Four Treasures, it had never occurred to her that she wouldn’t know what to do with them once she found them.

  ONE HOUR STRETCHED painfully into another as she examined each piece, searching for answers, yet the Treasures yielded no secrets. She looked into the depths of the Ring where the fire still burned, albeit feebly, but no knowledge was conveyed. She lit a fire below the ring and tried to smoke a secret free—but nothing was revealed. She didn’t dare wave the Flag and possibly use its last bit of magic, but the silk alone appeared to only be a section of fabric. She gazed into the Faerie Queen’s mirror but her reflection stared back providing no answers.

  In desperation, Tiki picked up the small glass vase. She couldn’t continue to waste time here. She needed to be looking for Clara and Rieker and Dain. She turned the Cup this way and that, the candlelight reflecting off the colors.

  “The Luck of Edenhall,” she mused out loud. “As Corn na bhFuíoll, the Cup of Plenty, you are said to offer healing, inspiration, wisdom and sustenance. Johnny was healed by drinking from you. We received inspiration by looking into your depths. The starving fey need sustenance, which is why I think we smell food when they’re around you.”

  She turned the glass in her hands. “But I need wisdom.”

  Tiki stared at the fragile goblet. “As the true-born queen I ask you—how do I find the wisdom you might offer?” She slowly turned the vase, the greens and blues and browns of the glass glittering in the light. What did she need to do?

  Movement close to the rim caught her eye. She squinted at the space below the fragile twist of gold where lines of small scroll now swirled around the Cup. Tiki pulled the glass closer to read the script.

  “As the Stone of Tara represents Earth,” she whispered, “the Ring of Ériu represents Fire, the Faerie Flag represents Air and the Cup of Plenty represents Water. The Four Treasures embody the Four Elements—the essentials of Faerie life. As you command the Four Treasures—Earth, Air, Fire and Water are also yours to command.” There was a signature below the words—could those letters read Eridanus? Tiki’s heart skipped a beat. It was as if the past had whispered in her ear and Eridanus had spoken directly to her.

  BLACK THUNDERCLOUDS WERE still gathered in the distance at the top of the Tor when Tiki returned to the Plain of Sunlight. The bodies of the Seelie guards who had been impaled upon the stakes had been pulled down but what remained was utter devastation. She remembered the first time she’d visited the Plain with Larkin—it had been a sunlit meadow dotted with wildflowers. The soothing sounds of a river passing had been background music to the lilting songbirds who trilled and called to one another. The place had been the very essence of summer.

  ‘Look around,’ Larkin had said at the time. ‘Memorize this spot— because for now this is the safest place we’ve got. Make sure you can visualize it— you may need to find your way back on your own at some point.’

  A chill raised the flesh on Tiki’s arms. The faerie’s words seemed oddly prophetic now—though under no circumstances would Tiki have ever imagined that the meadow she had seen that day could ever look like this. Now the fields were burnt and dotted with charred stubs of tree trunks. No sounds were audible—even the gurgle of the nearby river couldn’t be heard. It was like some sort of ghastly graveyard.

  With a heavy heart, she slipped through the rock archway that led down into the Seelie headquarters unsure how many, if any, of the Macanna and Seelie soldiers had returned.

  “Majesty!”

  Tiki whirled to find Toran bowing before her. He raised his head revealing a terrible gash across his forehead and two hideous black eyes. Seemingly oblivious to his wounds, he clasped his hands in joy. “We didn’t know where to look for you—I didn’t know what had become of you! Please allow me to guard you from this moment forward.”

  “Toran,” Tiki gasped. “You’re wounded.”

  He ducked his head in embarrassment. “It’s nothing, your Grace, especially given what some have suffered.”

  Tiki nodded. “True, but I’m so pleased to find you, especially, are all right. Where are the Macanna? Are there any left?”

  “A few, but we’ve lost many.”

  Tiki bit the corner of her lip to fight back tears as she imagined those strong warriors she’d met with Larkin. It was hard to believe anything could stop them.

  “Some have returned here,” Toran continued. “Others hide in the Wychwood in small groups. Donegal’s troops are everywhere—searching for anything Seelie. They kill before they ask questions. We’ve all been waiting for your return to lead us against this great evil.”

  Tiki nodded. “And that is exactly what I plan to do. Send word—I want as many troops as we can gather. We are going to create an army who will win this war.”

  “An army?” Toran’s voice raised with hope. “How? Has Larkin found some new volunteers?”

  His words hit with an unexpected bite and for a moment Tiki couldn’t think of a reply. Instead, she motioned for Toran to follow her and continued on down toward the hall where the Macanna had gathered in the past. She straightened her shoulders as she spoke over her shoulder. “No, it’s my army. Get word to our generals—I want them here as soon as possible.”

  AS NEWS OF the queen’s return spread, more Seelie fey arrived at the Plain of Sunlight. Each day, as arrivals straggled into the stronghold, Tiki met with each newcomer and asked for word of Rieker and Dain, of the small blond girl who Donegal had captured, but no one had news. At the end of each day she went outside and walked a short distance over a small hill where she wouldn’t be seen and practiced.

  The first time she stood tall and held her arms out. “I speak to you, Air, as the breath and wind of all things living, to heed my command: breathe a chill onto the ground before me until the earth in that spot is coated in frost.”

  A gust of wind had ruffled through the leaves of nearby trees. When the breeze hit her, Tiki shivered at the intensity of the chill. In a blink the wind was gone, but the ground at her feet had turned to white and was crusted in ice.

  At night she cried herself to sleep, worrying about Clara and
Rieker, Dain and the others. In her heart she was certain that if they were free, they would have found her. Which could only mean one thing—Donegal had them.

  The next day she had practiced with fire. “I speak to you, Fire, as the element that can both create and destroy, to heed my command: burn these sticks at my feet until they are nothing but ash.” There was a pop and a flame began to crackle at the bottom of the small stack of tree limbs Tiki had propped together. As she’d watched, the flames hungrily consumed the wood, orange tongues shimmering and dancing before her.

  She thought of Larkin and Fial frequently. The questions that had always surrounded Larkin continued to swirl, even in death. The worst part—Tiki had the unsettling sense that she’d been horribly wrong about the faerie. She was coming to believe that Larkin had been forced to play her part so convincingly that no one would have ever guess at the truth of her identity or of those she loved. If Larkin was Breanna then she had made the ultimate sacrifice in letting others raise her children.

  The third day was the easiest when she commanded Water to fall from the sky and a rainstorm fell in a torrent around her.

  The remainder of the generals, MacKenzie, Burns, Connelly, Keegan and Finnegan arrived on the fourth day.

  “Have them gather in the hall,” Tiki told Toran. “I’ll join you shortly.” She hurried outside and moved quickly to the stand of trees that had been unaffected by the fires. She stood in the dappled shadows beneath their limbs and took a deep breath.

  “I speak to you, Earth, as the element that provides strength and life to all manner of plants and animals that live on and within you. I command that you bring to me an army of one.”

  At her words a breeze fluttered through the branches above, causing the leaves to chatter, as if speaking in a language all their own. A single leaf blew free from its anchor and drifted to the ground. The second the leaf touched the ground it transformed into a warrior. Bare-chested and dark-skinned, he wore leaf-patterned trousers. He was tall and thin, like the tree from which he had sprouted, with a sinewy strength that rippled in his muscles when he moved.

  He bowed. “My queen, I am yours to command.”

  Tiki exhaled slowly. She had found the Four Treasures and now she could command them.

  “Come with me.”

  TIKI STOOD ON the steps that led into the common room. Large and filled with plank tables, great wooden rounds of candles hung from the ceiling making the room as bright as a summer’s day. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever have imagined she might be standing here alone planning to lead these men and women in war. But that was exactly what she intended to do.

  “I will be brief.”

  The room went silent.

  “For those of you who don’t know me, I am Tara MacLochlan, Queen of the Seelie Court.I have been so named by Cloch na Teamhrach, The Stone of Tara, and I claim my rightful place to lead and rule. We are gathered here today to put an end to the tyranny of the UnSeelie King and the indiscriminate killing that is occurring in Donegal’s quest for power. He is not a true-born king, he has not been named by Cloch na Teamhrach and he will be tried and punished for the deaths he has caused.”

  Cheers went up in the room.

  “We have suffered losses and face an army that greatly outnumbers ours—but when the day comes and the battle begins, I promise you that we will have the strength to prevail. For now—work together to gather enough food in the forest so we can be prepared to attack and reclaim Faerie.”

  “Where’s Larkin?” A man called from the back. “She’s been our leader all the while you’ve been gone. We need her too.” Tiki pressed her lips together. Given all the times she had loathed Larkin so thoroughly that she had plotted to never see her again, Tiki was shocked at the sense of loss she felt at the faerie’s death. As happened so often now, memories of Larkin’s voice whispered in Tiki’s ear, ‘Ah, guttersnipe, you’ll come to love me one day.’ Tiki shook her head, trying to shake the voice away. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

  The crowd remained silent, watching her.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that—” Tiki swallowed and blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry to say that Larkin was murdered by Sullivan—one of the Donegal’s tánaistes.”

  A collective gasp filled the air, followed by cries of dismay. “Murdered?! No! It’s not true!” “It can’t be—nothing can hurt Larkin.”

  Tiki took a deep breath, hoping she could keep her tears from falling. “One more reason why we cannot let a madman like Donegal ruin our world any longer. Gather your strength—for we attack soon.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Fial stood alone on a windswept cliff overlooking the sea. In his hands he held a bag woven from grass that sagged from the weight of its contents. He stared out over the shifting water, watching the white caps frolic and chase each other until the clouds parted and a shaft of white light shone down and illuminated a patch of sea. He tipped the bag and the gusting breeze lifted the ashes, making them fly on the wind.

  “To our freedom, my love,” he whispered. The contents of the bag, which had moments before been heavy in his hands, were suddenly weightless as they spread in a thousand different directions and disappeared. “We will be together again soon.”

  IT STARTED AS a whisper—a rumour: Donegal hadn’t killed the Jester—the Fool had escaped from the Winter King.

  The whispers grew.

  The Jester had been seen near the zagishire—dressed in his colorful finery. He had awed a passerby with his magic, creating a bird of fire out of thin air and had only whispered one word: “Revolution.”

  The gossips said he had juggled seven deadly knives before the slaves in the kitchen without cutting himself or dropping a single blade. The only word he’d spoken: “Revolution.”

  The hobgoblins, forced to join the ranks of the UnSeelie soldiers, raised a cup to him and the Seelie Queen. “Revolution,” they whispered.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “The Jester is alive—” Donegal sat in the High Chamber surrounded by his generals— “and spreading discontent. The Seelie queen still lives. We can’t wait any longer. Larkin has been the driving force behind the Seelie Court since O’Riagáin’s death and perhaps before. Without her—” he slashed his hand through the air— “they are nothing. This new queen—Tara MacLochlan—will be easy to defeat. We hold her two most valued soldiers and the mortal child to whom she has some perverse attachment. In her attempt to save them she will fall into our trap and we will murder her. But in the meantime, we attack.”

  Sullivan leaned forward, his gaze intent upon his king. “Where should we start?”

  “I want the Jester found and now. He can’t be far because I hear the whispers that he has been sighted near the palace—performing magic and speaking of revolution.” Donegal spat on the ground. “He has always been a problem. This time when we catch him we will kill him on the spot, do you understand?”

  Cruinn, Sullivan and Scáthach nodded together.

  “I want his head on a platter as proof of his death. Whoever can bring me that prize will be well-rewarded.”

  There were murmurs of approval among the men.

  “Assign who you must to find the Fool. I want a second group to find the queen.” He pointed a clawed nail at each of them, one by one. “One of you will go with them and be in charge of her arrest. The rest will be sent on patrols—with the sole goal of eradicating any Seelie creature they happen upon. Send your men to the Plain of Sunlight to lie in wait—the queen will be gathering her troops there. Send them to the northern borders to enlist any Redcaps who haven’t joined us. If the hobgoblins resist—kill them. I am done playing games. This world is mine to rule and I will rule as I please!”

  SOLDIERS POURED FROM the barracks Donegal had built within the forest that bordered the Tor. They were a mix of fey—some rode, some walked, some slithered, but they all traveled with the same intent—to finish the battle and defeat the Seelie Court.

 
; Chapter Forty-Nine

  The moon had crested and began its downward descent, only occasionally shooting an arrow of light through the clouds that hovered over London. The knock sounded loud upon the wooden door of the cottage situated at the edge of the lake in St. James Park. The visitor cringed as the noise echoed in the stillness.

  “Macha.” She whispered to the closed door, as if her words would magically transport through the wood. She tapped again—ever so lightly. “Open up—it’s me.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder as she counted seven long heartbeats waiting for the door to open.

  Finally, the brass knob twisted and the door swung inward. A petite older woman with hair the color of fresh fallen snow peered around its edge.

  “A’ine,” the woman gasped, her crooked fingers covering her open mouth. “Have you done it?”

  “Yes. Fial’s magic has worked. Larkin is dead.”

  “Come in then and get out of sight.” Macha clutched at her visitor’s hand and pulled her into the cottage. She poked her head out and quickly gazed up and down the pathway before she ducked back inside and bolted the door.

  Chapter Fifty

  It had been a week since Larkin’s death. A week since Tiki had last seen Rieker, Dain and Clara. Those Macanna who had survived and returned to the Plain of Sunlight were battered and thin. Some were healing from wounds inflicted in the fight, but the generals had promised her that with rest and regular meals the bulk of them would soon be fit enough again to fight. And all of them wanted to fight.

  Tiki left the generals in charge of rebuilding the Macanna. She had other priorities. Before she could allow an attack on Donegal, she had to find Rieker, Dain and Clara. Larkin had told her that Donegal kept his prisoners in only three places: The Palace of Mirrors, the White Tower or the Plain of Starlight. The White Tower had been destroyed so that left only two places: the palace or the UnSeelie stronghold on the Plain of Starlight.