The Torn Wing (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

A
guard, dressed in black and heavily armed with glittering knives and more than one sword, stared belligerently at Tiki. She dropped her eyes, fearful her bubbling stomach might come out her mouth. She focused instead on a court jester— dressed in a gaudy combination of colorful stripes and patterns— weaving his way through the crowd. His comical hat was festooned with a multitude of bells which created music as he bowed and danced in their direction. Wings arched from his back, spider-webbed with black lines, like a stained-glass window. They were adorned with sparkle and fluff as if a reflection of his brilliant wit.

“Remember to avoid the mirrors,” Larkin murmured under her breath as she led them deeper into the crowd.

“How can we avoid them?” Tiki whispered. “They’re everywhere.”

“On the other hand—” Larkin gazed back over her shoulder at Tiki— “perhaps a quick glance would do you good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Larkin raised her eyebrows. “I think you might find it intriguing to see what the mirrors reveal.”

Tiki jerked her head away, unsure of her response. Did she want to know what she would look like without the glamour Larkin swore she wore?

“Show us what Tiki needs to do and get us out of here,” Rieker said in a harsh whisper.

Larkin jerked to a stop. “William, you might find it interesting to know what the mirrors don’t reveal.”

“Really?” Rieker’s voice echoed with doubt. “And what might that be?”

Larkin waved her hand to encompass the room. “What the mirrors don’t reveal is the squalor hidden beyond the court. That beggar you saw in the Night Garden is just one of thousands. The realm is not what it used to be. Things started changing centuries ago when Donegal took power in the UnSeelie Court, but when Eridanus died, things deteriorated more rapidly.”

She walked through the crowd, head held high, as if she were born to Court. “Those who ‘have’, live in their world full of illusions, while those who do not, scrap and beg for the means to survive.” She glanced at Tiki from the corners of her eyes. “Not so unlike London.”

Tiki blinked in surprise. “You mean you have different classes here?”

“Just like any society.” Larkin’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “There is much of our world not reflected within these magical mirrors.”

“Ah, my lovely lady.” The court jester drew near and took Larkin’s hand. With a flourish he bent at the waist to make a show of kissing her fingers. Now that he was closer, Tiki could see the man had wrinkles around his eyes and appeared older than many of the others in the room. He reminded her of someone she’d seen dressed in a similarly gaudy outfit at a street fair in Brompton outside the Victoria and Albert Museum one time. She wondered now if he’d crossed over for a day of entertainment in the mortal world.

Painted-on rays of bright yellow arced out across his eyelids and cheeks, making his eyes appear to be miniature suns. “Beautiful bird, your return to court is welcomed by many—” his voice lowered— “but the wings of a dove are no match for the talons of a hawk.”

Tiki wondered if somehow the man could see through Larkin’s glamour.

Larkin studied the jester for a long moment. “Unless, Fool—” she leaned close to the man’s ear and Tiki strained to hear her words— “the dove has the heart of a fox.” Though the title she’d bestowed upon the man seemed an insult, her voice held no rancor, nor did the jester seem to take offense.

The man held a finger aloft. “But do those with the heart of a fox see through the illusions of the cunningly ambitious?”

Larkin flicked her wrist as if to brush a piece of lint from her sleeve. “Be gone with your puns and shrouded advice. I don’t wish to draw attention at this time.”

The jester’s eyes flicked to Tiki and then on to Rieker. Tiki could see curiosity burning there before he bowed to Larkin. “I await the moment to bask in the graciousness of your beauty, and that of your friend—” he nodded at Tiki— “another day.” He swept away, pulling three colorful balls from a pocket in his vest and began juggling to the amusement of another group of people.

Larkin leaned close to Tiki. “Your reflection in an enchanted mirror is not what I brought you here to see.” She pointed to the far end of the hallway. “There—at the end—do you see it?”

Tiki and Rieker squinted through the shadows to where Larkin pointed. Elevated above the throngs of people dancing, drinking and eating, was a platform against the far wall. Great steps led up to a massive slab of rock twelve inches thick. Centered on the rock was a huge golden throne in the shape of a dragon, its head turned to the side and roaring, spiked horns protruding from its snout and lining the back of its neck. Great golden wings were outstretched and the stout legs were crouched as if the beast meant to leap into the air at any second. The short front arms were thrust forward, like the outstretched talons of an eagle, above a seat that protruded from his belly.

Four guards, armed with bladed spears, surrounded the dragon and stood at attention on each side of the raised dais. Their faces were stern, given the party atmosphere that surrounded them.

“That seat?” Tiki asked.

Larkin’s voice was soft. “That ‘seat’, as you so casually refer to it, is the Dragon Throne—where those who rule Faerie sit. It stands on
Cloch na Teamhrach—
The Stone of Tara. You might note that even Finn’s name Ma
cLoch
lan references the
cloch
, or stone.” She wrapped her long fingers around Tiki’s wrist as she drew her near to whisper in her ear. “An inescapable destiny.” Tiki shivered as Larkin’s cool breath brushed her skin. “In just a few moments,
niece,
you will touch the stone and it will roar once again.”

“But the throne is so well-guarded,” Rieker said, his voice heavy with concern. “How will she get close enough to touch it?”

“We will find an opportunity,” Larkin said airily. Then softer, under her breath, “or we’ll create one.”

Someone bumped Tiki’s arm and she turned. Standing, not a foot away, was a young man. Tall and thin, his straight hair was raven-feather black and pulled behind his head to reveal a large scar that sliced from his ear to his chin, causing one side of his mouth to pucker. Two more scars slashed through his eyebrow and across his forehead, in a gruesome testament to some horrific battle, but it was the familiar blue eyes that made Tiki stare. He opened his mouth to speak when a shrill voice interrupted.

“Sean!” A dark-haired faerie threw her arms around the young man’s neck and locked her lips on his. It took him a minute before he got his hands on her shoulders and pushed away.

Tiki’s jaw dropped open as Rieker jerked around.
Sean?
Was this the faerie who had been providing information about the Otherworld to Rieker?

“Sorry, miss.” The young man said to the dark-haired girl as he held her shoulders, stopping her from throwing herself at him again. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

The girl was devastatingly beautiful: sloe-eyed, with cinnamon skin and lips the color of crushed cherries. She rested one hand on the young man’s hip and teased his chin with a strand of her hair. “I don’t think so. It’s been a long time, but not
that
long.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and slithered close, oblivious to the others around them.

“It’s me, Pashan.” She rubbed her hips against his and Tiki felt her cheeks flame. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten the times we’ve shared, have you, Sean?”

“Sean?” Tiki had not meant to speak out loud. She would swear those blue eyes were Dain’s.

The dark-haired faerie spun around to face Tiki. “And who are you?” She looked Tiki up and down. The expression on her face made it clear she didn’t consider Tiki any competition.

“Pashan.” Larkin’s voice was firm. “Leave us. Now.”

The dark-haired faerie opened her mouth to argue then thought better of it. She pressed her lips together and flounced away.

Rieker took a step toward Sean. “What are you doing
here
?” His shoulders were back and he seemed coiled to react.

“I need to tell you—” Sean started.

Larkin flicked her hand at the newcomer and interrupted. “Not now.” She slipped her hands through Tiki and Rieker’s arms and pulled them in the other direction. “We can talk later. There are more important things to attend to first.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“A
nother body has been found.” Arthur stood at the end of Leo’s bed, his face grim.

There was no answer for several heartbeats.

“And?” Leo said in a weak voice.

“Same as the others. Slit from neck to navel, as if by a claw— the heart removed.” Arthur rubbed his forehead with his hands. “That makes four now. The last one was the same night you were attacked.” He loosened his cravat. “Four murders, four missing hearts, not one bloody suspect.”

He paced to the door and back again. “He disappears like the mist in the night. No clues, no trail to follow. Not a single drop of blood outside the bodies.” Arthur stopped and propped his hands on his hips, his long tweed coat pushed behind him. “I think you’re the only one who has seen him and lived to tell about it.”

“I barely saw him,” Leo said in a whisper. “He was on me like a wild beast, all dark shadows and claws.” He tugged his purple robe tighter across the bony ribs of his chest. “He was there to kill me, too. I know it.”

Arthur propped himself on the end of Leo’s bed. “I have to agree. Mother is so well-protected—he can’t get to her, so I’m afraid he attacked you instead.” He sighed. “Mamie warned us.”

“The murderer is obviously not of this world,” Leo said in a weak voice, “nor is he fey.” Rain suddenly pelted the window, like fingers tapping to get in. “He must be some other kind of creature.”

“But what?” Arthur said. “And how do we stop him?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

D
ancers claimed the floor in the Great Hall of the Palace of Mirrors, twirling and weaving with wine-induced exuberance. The music of fiddles, flutes, horns and bagpipes filled the air, notes trembling like a million birds fluttering over-head.

Guards stood at attention beside each of the tall, black and gold fluted columns, surveying the crowd. Some clutched spears, others held spiked mauls, a few were outfitted with bows and arrows. All of them had daggers and sheathed knives hanging from their belts.

As Larkin led them through the room, Tiki dared a glance into one of the huge mirrors that filled the niches between the columns. But just as she passed, two dancers moved between her and the mirror, blocking her view. The musicians started playing a waltz and Larkin pulled them to a stop. The throne was still a distance away and the crowd was thicker at that end of the hall.

“We need to get closer to be ready when the opportunity presents itself,” Larkin said.

The music shifted and a new group of dancers claimed the floor as Larkin led them forward again. The sheen of satin, taffeta and exquisitely embroidered brocade reflected the torches that surrounded the raised dais, giving the impression the material was made of flame. The men’s trousers were straight legged, the color of bark, with colorful jackets and tails that flared behind them as they turned. Their boots flashed with gold buckles that matched the gold buttons and embroidery on their jackets. Bottles of blue faerie wine were handed about freely.