The Seven Year King (The Faerie Ring #3) (38 page)

The Winter King roared in anger. At the same time, Tiki felt the vine wrapped around her wrist relax and she gave a might jerk, snapping the cord. She darted away as Donegal swung around to follow her movement.

“You won’t get away from me,” he growled as he flung his hand at her. A ball of flame shot across the room in her direction. Tiki dodged the fire and reached for the heavens again, as something heavier than anger filled her. She flexed her fingers and flung her hand in Donegal’s direction. A lightning bolt crackled through the room and struck the Winter King in the shoulder, knocking him to his knees.

“Be gone from here, Donegal,” Tiki barely recognized her own voice, “or we will both regret what I do next.”

“Majesty!” A voice called from the doorway as booted feet pounded toward Tiki’s room. “Is everything all right?”

From his knees, Donegal hissed at Tiki, his face twisted in rage. “You and I have only just begun.” Then he shimmered from sight.

Toran rushed into the room, a look of alarm on his face, his weapons held at the ready. Two more soldiers raced in behind him, their spears drawn. “The guards are
dead
and we heard shouting and … and…
thunder—”

“Thank you, Toran.” Tiki sank into a nearby chair, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her upright. “Thank you for being so diligent. I’m fine, now.” She put a shaking hand to her brow and rested her head, trying to steady her breathing. “Is Callan…?”

Toran and the Macanna hurriedly searched the room, the other two checking the adjoining chambers. Toran came to stop in front of her. “He died doing his job, Majesty. It’s how he would have wanted it.”

Tiki covered her face with her hands, fighting back sobs. Of all the times she’d wished the man would leave her alone, it had never occurred to her that he might die—for her. Only now, did she appreciate his sacrifice.

“He was very brave,” she sniffed.

“That he was, Majesty.” The Macanna guard stared at the floor with a furrowed brow. “Where did all this water come from?”

“What news have you on the Hunt?” Tiki asked, unwilling to discuss what had really just happened in her chambers. She had made a dangerous enemy tonight. Where Donegal had been her foe before—now he held a vendetta against her. The insult had become personal and Tiki knew with an innate surety that he wouldn’t rest until she was dead. She wondered at her ability to lure him close enough that she could fulfill her promise to the Elder Dryad.

Toran lifted his head. “There’s only an hour left until midnight and they’ve lit the bonfires. There’s been many sightings of the Seven Year King but no sacrifice has been delivered. Usually, it’s done in the first hour.”

Tiki’s spirits lifted with hope. Maybe their plan had worked.

Chapter Fifty-One

“W
ills!” Leo stared in amazement at his friend, who stood with his hair plastered to his head, every inch of his tall frame dripping water onto the steps of Buckingham Palace. “I’m so relieved to see you. Mamie has been in a knot over you for some reason.” He leaned through the doorway and scanned the area. “But for the love of God, man, what are you doing out on a night like this? It’s only suitable for witches and waterfowl out there.” Leo motioned him inward. “Come in, come in. Before you float away.”

“Leo.” There was a note in Rieker’s voice that made the young prince pause and turn back around. “I need your help.”

Leo frowned. “Of course. What is it?”

“I have a…a friend with me. I need to…” Rieker hesitated, searching for the right words. “Oh hell, I need to hide him until midnight. Can we go to the mews?”

“Hide him?” Leo glanced over his shoulder to check the position of the footman then stepped out onto the porch with Rieker and spoke in a low voice. “Why? What has he done?”

“He has escaped, Leo, that’s all. He’s done nothing wrong, except to have the courage to risk his life for a court and a queen in whom he believes.” Rieker leaned close and spoke in a low voice. “I’ve got to protect him until midnight, then a bit later, I’m going to ask you for another favor.”

Leo eyed Rieker. “And what will that be?”

“I need to leave him with you for a few days. Just long enough for Tara and I to get ourselves organized. He needs to stay hidden—become invisible, if you will. He’s gifted with horses—he can help in the stables if you’d like.”

Leo was silent for a long moment, searching Rieker’s face. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Rieker nodded. “Much more. Best if you don’t know all the details quite yet. You’re safer that way. He won’t be here long but I don’t dare leave him at Grosvenor Square.”

“Well bring him in now, then. Why wait until midnight? If he’s in the same shape as you, he’ll catch his death of cold by then.”

Rieker hesitated. “Thank you for your hospitality, Leo, but he can’t be seen until after midnight.” At Leo’s questioning glance, he shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

Leo waved his hand. “Fine. You know your way to the mews as well as I do. Do you want an escort?”

“No, better that we go on our own. We’ll stay out of sight.” Rieker grabbed Leo’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Thank you, Leo.”

“I’ll wait up for you. Perhaps you can tell me more after the bell has tolled the midnight hour. Come to the side entrance by the kitchens at two a.m. I can sneak you in easier there.” A smile creased Leo’s thin face. “I do love adventure.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

T
iki changed to a gown of shimmering gold. What the future held for her, or the world of Faerie, was unclear, but she was going to leave the Seelie Court with a powerful image to hold onto during these dark months. Where Donegal was dark—she would be light. She would replace the fear he inspired in the fey with hope for better days.

After Donegal’s departure she had found the card the Jester had given her on the floor, wet, but not ruined. She had dried the waxy surface and stared again at the images drawn there seeking answers—but there were none. She’d put the card inside the Cup of Plenty and taken those, along with a few other mementos back to Grosvenor Square.

She’d arrived in the darkness of the coach house, the familiar scent of horse hair, leather and hay a comforting welcome. How she longed to know if Dain and Rieker had truly escaped the Wild Hunt. She hurried through the quiet house, silently checking on the others who were tucked safely into bed.

Tiki imagined how Rieker must have felt, returning to Grosvenor Square after the death of his parents and two younger brothers and having to live here, alone. What had once been a place of love and security must have seemed like a prison to him. His tortured words came back to her now: ‘
Everywhere I looked, there were
memories of my family. Especially my younger brothers. They were everywhere around me, yet I was alone. So unbearably alone.’

A tear ran down Tiki’s cheek at the thought of losing her loved ones again. Losing her mother and father had been almost more than she could bear—if she lost Clara or Toots, Fiona or Shamus, Dain or Rieker—her mind wouldn’t go any further.

She’d hurried back downstairs toward Rieker’s study. She set the Cup of Plenty on one of the bookshelves, her fingers lingering on the colorful glass.

“You’ll be safe here,” she whispered, as she glamoured the cup to look like an ordinary green glass vase— “until I come back for you.”

THE LONG TRAIN of Tiki’s golden dress flowed behind her as she walked down the corridor in the Palace of Mirrors, the jewels and sequins embedded on the gown glittering in the torchlight. Nested upon her head was a small circlet of gold, thickly encrusted with jewels that glowed with a remarkable luminescence.

Toran and several other palace guards were in front of and behind her, escorting her to the Great Hall where she would accept the sacrifice. Her heart pounded like the roll of a kettle drum and Tiki clutched at her skirt as she walked.

“Dain and Rieker are safe,” she whispered to herself, a cough rumbling in her chest. “The Macanna are clever and cunning. They have escaped the UnSeelies tonight. All will be as we’ve planned. Dain and Rieker are safe…” she said the words over and over, as if by repeating the words she could somehow make them true.

They entered the Great Hall and Tiki came to a stop. For a second, she thought she was looking at her reflection in one of the enchanted mirrors, but then she realized it was Larkin, dressed in a gown very similar to hers.

The faerie came to stand before Tiki. They were like a mirror image of each other, except Larkin’s hair was the color of wild wheat and Tiki’s was raven-feather black.

“We’ve ten minutes until midnight,” Larkin said. “There has been no sacrifice provided as of yet.” She raised her eyebrows. “You do know you’ll have to pick a new Seven Year King if Donegal doesn’t provide the body.”

“Yes.” The same sense of betrayal that Tiki had felt previously at Larkin’s lack of action over Dain’s plight filled her mouth now with a bitter taste. She was anxious to be gone from the faerie. Perhaps now that the courts were in balance again for the moment, she would have a reprieve from Larkin’s incessant need to meddle in her life. “I’ve made provisions.”

A look of surprise flickered across Larkin’s exquisite face. “I see.”

Tiki kept her voice cold. “Is there some procedure I need to follow when they present the sacrifice or do I just accept the body?” She missed Rieker desperately. She was used to having him by her side to offer support and advice. More than once, she’d whispered a prayer that they would never be separated again.

“Once you accept the sacrifice you can speak if you’d like. After that, you must descend the throne and the UnSeelie King takes the seat.” Larkin gave an eloquent shrug. “In the past, the Seelies would return to the Plain of Sunlight until Beltane. This year, however, things will be different.”

“How’s that?”

“We will be at war, this year.” Larkin’s jaw was set. “One way or the other.”

Tiki thought of the threat Donegal had uttered from his knees in her chamber and knew Larkin spoke the truth.

“The Seelie fey will need a strong hand to guide them, to lift them up when they sink in defeat,” Larkin continued, “for there will be substantial losses at first. Donegal has amassed too great of an army to be easily overcome.”

The blare of trumpets sounded from outside and Tiki put her hands over her stomach, fearful she was going to be sick.

“That’s your cue.” Larkin held out an arm. “You’re needed on the throne.”

Without a word, Tiki clutched her skirt and marched toward the golden chair. The Great Hall was rapidly filling with an astounding array of fey. Members of both Courts jostled for the best position to see the offering. They were a mixture of beauty and beast, grace and awkwardness, magical and common—dressed in an assortment of finery and rags. Even the homeless faeries had ventured from their camp on the Tor to see the changing of the seasons.

Tiki’s steps faltered as she spied the golden table that had been positioned in front of the Dragon Throne. Clearly, it was an offering table—the place where the body would be presented. She took a deep, calming breath and continued toward the seat.

As she walked up the three steps to the throne, everyone in the Great Hall got down on bended knee. The deep voices of the Macanna started the chant.