The Seven Year King (The Faerie Ring #3) (37 page)

“There!” A deep voice called. “I see him headed for the stables!” The crowd turned to gaze in the direction he pointed.

“No, that’s not him—he’s over there—by the statue of Danu.” The crowd wheeled around to look in another direction.

“Wait! I saw him hide behind that tree…” They shifted yet again as grumbling rose from the UnSeelies waiting to set chase.

Tiki permitted herself a small smile. It had begun. Just like the red garters in the Field of Boliauns, there would be a thousand Seven Year Kings in the Wychwood tonight for the UnSeelies to hunt. The Macanna had donned masks identical to that which Dain wore and they roamed the forest with the sole intent of leading the hunters astray. The difference was, they could remove their masks and blend with the hunters should the UnSeelies get too close.

She spoke in a whisper. “Be clever like a leprechaun, Dain.”

Chapter Fifty

T
iki hurried back inside the palace toward the Great Hall, only to exit down the long hallway where she and Dain had snuck out before. She counted down to the thirteenth doorway and paused, glancing up and down the corridor before letting herself out into the side garden.

She was alone among the trees and bushes with the reflected light of the snow making it easy to see across the tor. Tiki closed her eyes and imagined the thunderstorm that had drenched them outside the White Tower the previous day. She pictured the mistreatment that Rieker had suffered at the hands of the UnSeelie guard and let loose the tight clamp she held on her fear.

A familiar tingling began in her skin until power crackled down her arms right through the tips of her fingers. She reached for the heavens and imagined pulling the black clouds toward her, like a blanket, to cover the sky. She flicked her wrist and a bolt of lightning flashed overhead. With a silent roar, Tiki thrust her hands toward the ground and the skies overhead opened up with a barrage of icy hail.

Tiki opened her eyes. The night was dark and stormy, the wind whipping the trees as the torrent of hail made it almost impossible to see more than a few feet. Thunder rumbled overhead like an ominous drum roll. It would be difficult to track anything on a night like this. By the time the Wild Hunt started, there would be no footprints to follow, no easy sighting of their prey.

She slipped back inside the palace.

TIKI STOOD ALONE in her chambers, forcing herself to continue to gather the few possessions she had here in the Otherworld, in anticipation of her return to London. If she didn’t keep busy her only other choice was to stare helplessly out the window and wonder what was happening with Rieker and Dain. It was torture not to be with them—to be helping—but she and Rieker had decided he and Dain could travel faster and more inconspicuously without her.

THE HUNT HAD been going on for over two hours, with no sign of victory on the part of the UnSeelies. Each time shouts echoed up from below the palace, drifting in through the window open a crack, Tiki’s breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to gauge what was really happening. She glanced again at the ‘package’ resting on her bed. Wrapped in green fronds, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the contents.

She stopped in front of the wooden pedestal that held the Cup of Plenty. The colorful glass shone brightly in the firelight and seemed to wink at her with hidden promises. Tiki thought again of what Dain and Larkin had said of the Four Treasures. Were they real? Was it up to her to find the fourth treasure and reunite Faerie?

Tiki slid her hands into the pockets of her dress where her fingers collided with the card the Jester had given her. She pulled it out, a wave of curiosity washing over her.

The black backside of the card revealed nothing, and she carefully turned it over, not sure what to expect. A drawing, so intricate in its details as to appear to be a stained glass window, teased her eyes and she moved closer to the light to better examine the complex details.

Drawn against a black background was a circle with four sections that looked like the crosshead of a Celtic cross. The perimeter of the circle was an intricately drawn Celtic knot design in green. Across each of the cross bars was a different knot design in gold.

Tiki’s heart skipped as she peered closer, for the image in the center was very clearly a queen. With hair that was neither brown nor blond, she appeared to be etched from glass—her image fragile and timeless. The pattern on the inner circle around the image of the queen was eerily similar to
an fáinne sí
, the birthmark that twisted around her own wrist.

Had the Jester been trying to convey a message to her—or was this just a bit of wit with which to entertain himself during the ever-changing seasons?

Between the spokes of the cross, four pictures had been drawn. Appearing to be cut from tiny pieces of colorful glass, the first looked like a standing stone. In a flash of clarity, Tiki recognized the stone as the
Lia Fáil
, the coronation stone of the Kings of Tara. It was the stone from which the
Cloch na Teamhrach
,
the Stone of Tara, was said to have originated.

The second image was the Cup of Plenty.

The third image was of a golden ring capped by a fiery red stone that glowed as if lit from within. The Ring of
Ériu
.

Tiki turned the card like a wheel to peruse the fourth spoke of the circle. Would the card reveal the mysterious fourth treasure? But instead of an object, this section showed a castle made of golden bricks with a tall tower on one end. There was a lake in the forefront, which reflected the image of the castle like a mirror. But there was no object that could possibly be the fourth treasure.

Tiki’s brows knit in concentration. What was the message?

“So the Queen is preparing to depart.”

Tiki let out a small cry of surprise as she whipped around. She’d asked to be left alone in her chambers tonight. Who dared to intrude upon her privacy?

From the shadows of an adjoining room a dark figure moved toward her. He was dressed in black—silky fabric that rippled like water as he walked. The torchlight glinted off the gold circlet that sat upon his dark hair and a thrill of abject fear shot through Tiki. What was Donegal doing in her chambers? Hadn’t he gone on the Wild Hunt?

“I’ve been waiting for you.” His voice was mild, coated in deceit. He took slow, measured steps toward her. “I wanted to be alone with you when I revealed what you’ve done.”

“W..what do you mean,
‘what I’ve done?’”
Tiki stammered. “I’ve done nothing…”

Donegal raised his voice and spoke over her. “I wanted to be close enough to see the look in your eyes when you see what you’ve done TO ME.” He stepped into the light of the nearby torch and Tiki let out a cry of fright, covering her mouth with her hands.

Before her stood the Winter King, but he didn’t look as she remembered him. One side of his head had long, straight black hair as before, along with his normal features. But the other side—Tiki stared in horror—the other side of his face looked like it had melted. The skin was abnormally thin and smooth, stretched down over his eye, nose and half of his mouth. His lip was grotesquely enlarged on that side, forcing his mouth to sag open in a macabre fashion, and where his nose should have been, there was only a blob of melted skin. The hair on that side of his head was mostly gone—looking as if it had been singed off, leaving scarred tissue with ridges of melted skin.

Tiki backed away, trying not to stare at the horrible caricature before her, but afraid to take her gaze from the repulsive vision.

“Do you like what you see, pretty Queen?” He stepped toward her. “Because this—” he jerked a long finger up to point at the damaged side of his face— “is YOUR doing.”

“I didn’t…I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tiki looked around as she took another step back, her mind racing. What was the best way to flee? Should she scream? Would the guards get to her in time? Should she transport to the Great Hall or…

Donegal flicked his wrist and a thin, green vine-like whip flashed through the air and wrapped around her wrist. “I hope you’re not thinking of leaving me.” He tugged Tiki closer. “We’ve so much yet to talk about.”

“I demand that you release me.” Tiki tried to sound forceful, but panic and her illness made it hard to draw a deep breath. She jerked against the pull of the tether but her movement only seemed to tighten the cord.

An evil chuckle erupted through Donegal’s deformed lips and as he came closer Tiki could see his black eyes glittering like the eyes of a deadly snake.

“Without taking my revenge? I think not.”

“I didn’t do t..that to you,” Tiki cried.

“Who else could have been clever enough to kill the
liche?
” A note of anger crept into his voice. “That perfect killing machine was my defeat of that bloody truce—a sure way to control the throne through all the seasons.” His voice deepened with emotion. “I had to give up part of my body to raise the
liche
and when you burned him—you burned me.”

Tiki struggled against the pull of the vine. How could she get free from this madman? What was he planning to do to her? What could she do to him? She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “A risk you took when you raised such a creature.”

Donegal tilted his head. “Are you not afraid of what I’m going to do to
your
pretty face?”

“No, I’m not,” Tiki snapped. “You think by hurting me you’ll gain power?” She narrowed her eyes, a familiar surge pulsing through her, giving her strength. “You’re mistaken, Donegal—” she spat out his name in distaste. “The fear and intimidation by which you try to rule are going to start a revolution. Those fey out there—” Tiki thrust an arm toward the door— “the ones you’re starving, or forcing into servitude, or whose families you’ve kidnapped and tortured—they’re going to stand up to you. Hurting me is only the battle cry they need to fight.”

Donegal scoffed at her. “When we present you with the body of the Seven Year King tonight I’ll take the Dragon Throne and show you how a truly powerful king rules.”

Tiki bit her lip. She wanted to scream that she would never accept the casual brutality of killing someone as a sacrifice for an ancient tradition but she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

“For now, Donegal, you have the right to rule during the dark months of the year, but that doesn’t give you the right to threaten and starve those who aren’t your subjects. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Kings are above the law.” Donegal shouted. “We ARE the law.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door and his voice quieted. “And what do you mean,
‘for now’
?” He raised the one eyebrow on his face, the melted skin on the other side awkwardly pulling at the movement, giving her a look of mock-confusion. “Are you threatening me?” A low chuckle slid from his throat. “You remind me of Larkin. So pretty on the outside, but cold and fearless on the inside—even when you’re at my mercy.” He reached forward and stroked the side of her face. “Which makes you infinitely more interesting. Perhaps a worthy adversary, after all.”

Tiki shrank back, her skin crawling at his touch. The stench of decay emanated from him and she could see blackened teeth through his sagging lip. Revulsion turned her stomach and she clenched her teeth together to stop herself from gagging.

Donegal’s hand froze in mid-air at her reaction and an angry hiss escaped from his partially open mouth.

Tiki tried again. “Why are you here? You’re not permitted in these chambers until midnight, after the transfer has been made.” She wasn’t sure if what she said was true, but she needed to say something—
anything
—to make him leave. “If you don’t release me this instant, I will call my guards.”

“Your guards are dead. Even that devoted Macanna who followed you around like a puppy is no match for me. The look of surprise is forever frozen on his dead face.”

“No!” Tiki cried.

“I’m here to give you a taste of your own justice.” The Winter King curved his palm as though he held liquid and blew on his fingers until flames ignited in his cupped hand. “I want you to burn like I have.” He reached for her face with his fiery hand.

Fear shot through Tiki like an arrow and she reacted on instinct. In one smooth movement she reached for the ceiling then thrust her free hand toward the ball of flame, imagining a deluge of rain. In that instant, a torrent of water poured from above and extinguished the flames, drenching Donegal in the process.