The Torn Wing (16 page)

Tiki spotted a man sitting on the elaborately carved Dragon Throne. He held a goblet of gold in one hand that matched the circlet of gold which sat upon his shoulder-length black hair. He had to be Donegal. Dressed in rich black garments which shimmered as he moved as though made of iridescent black silk, his eyes were dark and slitted, reminding Tiki of a snake. An aura of evil emanated from him like a putrefied scent. Two men fanned him with giant wings.

Larkin edged them closer and nodded in the king’s direction. “Those are O’Riagáin’s wings.”

Tiki stared in macabre fascination. The man looked utterly content being kept cool with the wings of the murdered Seelie king.

Donegal’s gaze paused on their group. His thick black eyebrows pulled down in a frown, his eyelids half-closed, like a predator evaluating its prey. His gaze flicked to Rieker, and then to Tiki.

Tiki took a step backward into the thick of the crowd. “He’s looking at us,” she whispered.

“You there.”

Tiki froze as the UnSeelie King’s gritty voice echoed around the room. Donegal was staring right at her. She clutched at Rieker’s sleeve. “He’s seen me.”

“Stay calm,” Rieker said, putting his hand over her fingers. “He doesn’t know who you are.”

Donegal raised his hand to stop the music and rose from his chair.

“You.” He pointed in Tiki’s direction. Whispers buzzed through the hall. “In the blue dress. Approach.”

“Now’s our chance,” Larkin whispered. “Just touch the stone that his throne stands upon.”

The crowd around Tiki and Rieker backed away, magically creating space where moments before there’d been none.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Rieker whispered in Tiki’s ear. He gripped her elbow and moved them toward Donegal. “Be careful. If it’s not possible to touch the stone, don’t try.”

“My lord.” Rieker bowed from the waist, pinching Tiki’s arm for her to do the same. From the corner of her eyes Tiki saw two guards moving through the crowd in their direction, brandishing iron-bladed spears. “We are honored by your presence.”

Tiki’s heart skipped in her chest like a stone over water. The guards grabbed Rieker’s arm and then hers. Rieker’s brown thatch of hair fell over his forehead shadowing his eyes as they were yanked forward, but a smile played upon his lips. “Don’t fight them,” he whispered out of the side of this mouth.

“Halt.” Donegal uttered when Tiki and Rieker were a few feet away. There was no way she could cover the distance and climb the steps to stand on the stone before the guards stopped her—most likely with a blade through her heart.

Donegal gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”

Tiki sucked in a quick breath. They’d never discussed the possibility that Donegal might question her. Was this a trap? Had Larkin deliberately put a glamour on her that would attract Donegal’s attention?

An eerie silence hovered in the room. In that instant of pure quiet, all the reasons she stood there flashed before Tiki’s eyes. She raised her head, suddenly more confident than she’d ever felt in her life.

“My name is Tara, sir.” Rieker’s hand tightened on her arm.

Donegal peered down at Tiki. “You dare say your name is Tara?” His black eyes stared at her. “That is a powerful name. Surely you must know you have to earn the right to claim such a name.”

Tiki’s mind raced. She hadn’t been sure how she would gain access to the throne to touch the Stone of Tara, but maybe the opportunity was just going to present itself—like a pocket, begging to be picked.

“I do,” she said in a firm voice. “In fact, I can prove my claim.” She was surprised to hear some of Larkin’s arrogance in her own voice. “May I approach?”

“Don’t—” Rieker reached a hand out to stop her, his voice urgent. Tiki motioned for him to be still.

Donegal swept her up and down, looking for any hidden weapons. “Tell me.”

Tiki shook her head. “I have to show you.”

The room was silent, everyone mesmerized by the contest being played out before them. Even Larkin remained silent. Tiki glanced over her shoulder but she couldn’t see the faerie among the crowd.

Finally, the dark king nodded. “Slowly.”

The guard followed Tiki, the sharp point of his spear pricked against her back. One shove would send it through her heart. She lifted the hem of her dress and climbed the steps one by one. In that instant, all the stories she’d been told as a child raced through her mind like voices from the grave. All the magic, the whispered innuendo from her mother suggesting there was something more, that she had a special connection; the shadows that had shifted on the edges of her vision, the faces there one minute, then gone the next—she remembered and pulled from them. She
was
the daughter of Finn MacLochlan. She
was
marked with
an fáinne sí.
She
would
save the Queen and Rieker and her family.

Tiki was one step away from the stone upon which the throne of the Faerie world sat. One step away from
Cloch na
Teamhrach—
the Stone of Tara. She
would
claim her place in the Otherworld.

She slowly lifted her left arm. The sleeve of her dress hung gracefully over her slender wrist, covering her birthmark. Donegal stared at her in cautious fascination.

Now was the moment.

She took a deep breath and stepped up onto the Tara Stone.

Silence.

The Stone didn’t roar.

“What is it?” Donegal snapped, his face twisted in an expression of annoyance. “Is there something up your sleeve?”

A terrible sinking sensation filled Tiki and she swayed, suddenly dizzy. She clutched at the arm of the throne to hold herself upright. Had it all been a lie? Had Larkin known all along?

“REMOVE YOUR HAND IMMEDIATELY!” Donegal roared, ready to explode. The guards jumped forward with their spears forcing Tiki to step back. “What is it you will show me?”

Tiki’s heart pounded like a kettle drum. She had risked everything to touch the stone and
Cloch na Teamhrach
had remained silent. Now what should she do? She couldn’t reveal her mark to Donegal—and she couldn’t walk away. She had put herself in an impossible situation.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“D
onegal!” The cry split the room. Every head turned toward the speaker. “You have something of mine that I want returned.”

Larkin sat perched on a gold platform shouldered by four large men, which elevated her to the same height as the Dragon Throne. They carried her through the room as the party-goers fell away to allow them passage.

She was dressed in a body-hugging gown of gold that glowed as if lit from within. Her blond hair hung in wild abandon reaching to her hips. She looked like a goddess descended from the sun.

Donegal’s head jerked up in surprise. The guard’s grip on Tiki’s arm weakened as he looked to see who dared confront the Winter King as an equal. Tiki chanced a quick look at Rieker. His head was bent as the colorfully-costumed court jester whispered in his ear.

A delighted smile creased Donegal’s face. “Ah, Larkin, my little dove, there you are. I’ve been expecting you.”

A buzz like a million bees filled the hall as servants and partygoers alike discussed this unusual turn of events. The story of Donegal’s imprisonment of Larkin had fed the rumor mills for months, only intensified by Larkin’s dramatic escape.

“It is always such a delight to parry with you, my dear,” Donegal said. “Like a chess match come to life.”

“Or perhaps a duel without swords,” Larkin said.

Donegal’s smile widened, though his black eyes remained cold. “A duel? To the death this time, I wonder?”

Larkin inclined her head. “Until there is a clear winner.”

The smile faded from the Winter king’s face. “There aren’t many brave enough, or foolish enough, to challenge me in my own palace.” He swept his hand out to encompass the room. “Tell me, which of my possessions would you want to take from me?”

“Just one,” Larkin responded coldly. “I want my wing back.”

A collective gasp rose and hovered in the room.

Donegal sat back against the throne, clearly surprised by her request. “Sad, I was hoping for a matched pair. Surely there are more valuable items for which you might wish to parley?”

“I am prepared to negotiate,” Larkin said.

Tiki marveled at the fearlessness in the blond faerie’s words. Just looking at Donegal made her shudder. To be imprisoned by him would be her worst nightmare. Why would Larkin take such a risk?

Donegal lips curved in a smile of pure enjoyment.

“Ah, Larkin, that’s what I find so entertaining about you. Always the challenge.” He tapped his ringed fingers on the gold arm of the chair. “So you want to negotiate for something you chose to leave behind. But with what, I wonder?”

“A trade.” Larkin’s words were firm. “I have information that you seek.”

Donegal threw his head back and laughed.

Tiki’s mind raced. How could she get to Rieker and escape? There were so many guards. Several had moved to stand in front of Rieker, their spears tilted to bar passage. Even if they somehow miraculously got clear of this room, how would they get back to London without Larkin?

The UnSeelie king’s laughter died away. His expression darkened like one of the thunderclouds that had plagued London lately. “Such a tempting offer from one so beautiful—yet you have deceived me in the past, Larkin.” His words became scathing. “Pretended to pledge your allegiance to my court when you really served Eridanus.” His voice rose. “Pretended to love me when you really loved a
mortal.”
His voice softened. “You will pay for that.”

Larkin’s feet hung over the edge of the platform, her legs crossed in a leisurely fashion, looking elegant and seductive. “What occurred in our past, Donegal, was nothing more than two adversaries battling for the ultimate prize: the crown of the Seelie Court.” Larkin put her hands on her slim hips. “Surely you didn’t just expect me to bow down to you? Where’s the fun in that?”

Donegal slowly stroked the black hair that grew to a point on his chin, oblivious to the silent crowd who watched him.

Tiki edged down a step, but the pointed pressure of the guard’s blade on her back stopped her.

Donegal lifted his hand toward Larkin. “Tell me then. What information do you have?” The dark king swept his arms wide to encompass the entire great room— “I’m already the ruler of both courts.”

“Beltane has not passed yet, Donegal. You’ve yet to claim the Dragon Throne during Summer.”

“Simply a matter of time.” He crossed his arms with an air of supreme confidence. “There is nothing I need from you any more, my lovely Larkin.”

Larkin’s golden gown glittered in the light like a thousand miniature suns. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Her voice rang out strong and clear. “Have you forgotten the ring of the truce?

A surge of anger filled Tiki. What was Larkin doing? She glanced at Rieker. His face was impassive. Another shocked buzz of conversation filled the hall as faeries craned their necks and shoved each other, trying to see both Larkin and Donegal.

“SILENCE.” Donegal’s roar quieted the crowd. His voice was deceptively mild when he spoke again. “You speak of the ring of the truce, Larkin. Is that what you offer me?”

“I know it’s your greatest desire to destroy the truce binding our world to peace with the mortals.”

“It
was
my greatest desire.” Donegal slowly stroked his beard. “Fate has smiled upon me, however, and shown me another way to achieve my goals.”

“Have you forgotten there are other secrets in the ring of
Éríu
?” Larkin’s words sounded like a taunt. Her lips curved in a mocking smile. “Powerful secrets, which I know how to release.”

“Do you threaten me, Larkin?”

“I offer you a trade. I know where the ring is kept now.”

“You forget that I am the king here and you shall do as
I
command. I don’t have to negotiate with you.” He stabbed a finger in Larkin’s direction. “
SEIZE HER.”

Donegal’s soldiers rushed to do the king’s bidding. The crowd swayed and shoved, trying to get out of harm’s way. Tiki could see Rieker struggling as he was pushed away from the throne by the guards, who seemed happy to use their spears as clubs. Screams and cries of help punctuated the air above the melee.

Sensing her chance, Tiki darted down the steps toward Rieker but before she could reach him, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her in the opposite direction. “This way,” a low voice whispered.

Tiki jerked around to find Sean’s scarred face inches from hers.

“I have to get to my friend,” Tiki said. She tried to tug her arm free, but his grip was too tight. “Rieker!” She stood on tiptoes, waving to get his attention as he fought the surging crowd.

“He knows how to get back,” Sean whispered harshly in her ear. “We need to get you out of here now.”

“He doesn’t,” Tiki cried, hopping up and down to get a better view. “Larkin brought us—we need her to return to London.”

Sean jerked painfully on Tiki’s wrist as he pulled her to a stop in the shadow of one of the great columns.