The Torn Wing (2 page)

Sionnach inclined his head at the guard’s assessment. “Well said, Olcán. You’ve heard the rumblings, too?”

“That the UnSeelies are threatening war?” His pointed features twisted in a contemptuous smirk. “They’re always threatening something. I’ll be glad when the Beltane celebration is over in a few weeks and our court returns to the Palace of Mirrors. The UnSeelies can slink back to the darkness and shadows where they belong.”

Sionnach inclined his head again. “May we all be so lucky to find ourselves in the place where we belong.” He motioned with the tray toward the door. “Gentlemen, may I pass?”

After searching the killer for hidden weapons, Olcán tugged open one of the great doors and allowed entry into the royal chamber.

Once the door closed behind him Sionnach’s movements were swift and sure. He didn’t speak as he approached, but pretended to trip just as he reached the royal bed where the king lay reclining. The cold liquid in the chalice drenched the king’s face and chest, causing him to jerk upright sputtering and gasping in surprise.

Faster than the eye could track, Sionnach yanked out a razor thin length of wire that had been coiled in the heel of his boot and wrapped it around the king’s neck. In a matter of seconds, the Seelie king was dead.

Sionnach’s lips twisted in a cold smile. Donegal, king of the Winter Court, would be pleased with his success tonight, for the UnSeelie king planned to claim both the Summer and Winter thrones in an attempt to rule all of Faerie.

But Donegal’s plans didn’t stop there. The UnSeelie king had promised Sionnach his freedom in exchange for two deaths. The first was that of the Seelie king—now accomplished. The second was Queen Victoria, for Winter planned to claim a third throne: England.

The killer straightened and left the dead king prone on his opulent bed. London was the perfect hunting ground for someone with his desires and abilities.

He licked his lips in anticipation.

Chapter Two

London, April 1872

T
he scream of the wind drew Tiki onto the porch of Number Six Grosvenor Square. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter as the gale shrieked around the corner of the building like the eerie cry of a dying beast. A storm was blowing in with alarming speed—it was as if the air crackled with dark magic.

Overhead, the afternoon sky was growing as black as the coal dust that often coated the City; Shadows loitered beneath trees and crept into corners like living beasts—hunched and watching. A strong gust yanked the hem of Tiki’s forest green dress and threads of her long dark hair danced on the wind as if unseen fingers played with the strands. Unnerved, she pushed her hair out of her face and stepped back where she wouldn’t be so exposed. Her imagination painted threatening, otherworldly faces in the clouds above London’s myriad rows of smokestacks.

“Teek, why are you out here in this weather?” Fiona’s voice was laced with worry as she joined Tiki on the porch. The fifteen year-old shivered and tugged the worn blue shawl tighter around her bony shoulders. Though food was plentiful now, their years of struggling to survive on the streets of London, not only for themselves, but also for the younger ones, Toots and Clara, were still evident in their wafer-thin silhouettes.

Tiki’s brow furrowed as she glanced down the empty street. “Toots went out to play stickball with some friends. I hope he has enough sense to come in out of this weather.”

Fiona gave a dry laugh. “He’s ten. He’s got no sense at all.” Her brown hair, which in the past had been sawed off in uneven chunks and kept short as a boy’s, was growing out in soft waves, framing her angular face. “This storm’s a nasty bit, isn’t it?”

“Can you feel it too, Fi?” Tiki shifted to stand closer to the other girl. Though only a year separated their ages, at sixteen, Tiki often felt older than Fiona—a result, she assumed, of her broader education from a middle-class upbringing. But she and Fiona had been through much together over the last two years, trying to survive by picking pockets and nicking food when they could. As a result, they shared a bond closer than most.

Fiona nodded. “It’s like before, when you took the ring.” She folded her arms tight across her chest and looked warily up and down the street. Though her education had not been derived from books, her street smarts were every bit as valuable. “Like we’re being watched.”

“Exactly,” Tiki said. Nothing had been the same since she’d stolen the Queen’s ring last December, which she’d later learned held an ancient truce between the world of Faerie and the British royals. That simple theft had unleashed a waterfall of events that had put London on the brink of war with the Otherworld. The ring was safely guarded once again, but an ever-present fear squeezed Tiki’s heart as she waited each day for whatever was to come next. For
something
was very surely coming.

She watched the black thunderclouds boil across the sky, like the bubbling contents of an evil witch’s cauldron. The skin at the back of her neck tightened in alarm. “I
hate
faeries,” she said in a low voice.

Fiona crossed her arms and chewed on her thumb, a habit she’d developed whiling away the time in railway stations looking for pockets to pick. “Do you think it’s Lark—”

“Don’t even say her name, Fi.” Tiki cut her off. “She’s been captured. We don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“Shamus says she’s too clever to stay a prisoner for long.”

“I know what Shamus thinks,” Tiki replied, trying not to snap. As tall and gaunt as a sapling birch tree, seventeen year-old Shamus was Fiona’s cousin. His white-blond hair was a startling contrast to the brown of Fiona’s short locks, as much as his quiet nature was to Fiona’s chattiness. It had been Shamus and Fiona who’d helped Tiki survive when she’d run from her uncle’s house two years ago. “But there’s no reason for—” Tiki dropped her voice— “
Larkin
to pursue us any longer. The ring has been returned and is guarded. We don’t have anything she wants.”

“I hope you’re right, Teek.” Fiona stepped toward the door and gripped the brass knob. “Unless she just wants revenge.”

Thunder rattled in the distance with a series of guttural
booms
, like throaty laughter.

“She’s in a prison somewhere, Fi,” Tiki ground out in a low voice.

Against her will, an image of the faerie filled Tiki’s head. Larkin had often worn a glamour—a magical illusion to make her look human—with blond hair hanging in perfect ringlets framing an attractive face. But in her natural state, Larkin had an exquisite beauty that was compelling; A splendor as breathtaking and fierce as a summer storm. Skin like fresh cream gave the mistaken impression the faerie was more fragile than a porcelain doll, but her eyes—a vivid, turbulent blue-green—reminded Tiki of the bottles of poison in Mr. Lloyd’s apothecary shop in Leicester Square. “She can’t harm us anymore,” Tiki said. Beneath her breath she added, “I won’t let her.”

“If you say so.” Fiona cast a worried eye at the trees thrashing back and forth in the wind. “Don’t stay out here too long by yourself. It doesn’t feel safe.” The door banged shut behind her as she disappeared back into the warmth of the townhome.

Tiki scanned the street one more time for Toots. In the distance, a carriage clattered down the lane at an unusual clip. Shod hooves echoed against the cobblestones as the driver urged a faster pace. Their sides heaving, the black horses snorted white clouds into the cold air as they slowed in front of Number Six. The rigging of the elegant black coach creaked as the door swung open even before the iron-clad wheels had stopped rolling.

Rieker jumped to the street, his long coat swirling around his legs. Dressed in black, he blended with the shadows sifting into the City with the onset of the storm, making him look wild and dangerous. Tiki hurried down the steps toward him.

“You’ve returned early—are you all right?” she said. “What’s happened?”

Rieker grasped her hand, his fingers warm against her cold skin. His dark hair was brushed back from cheekbones that looked more pronounced than the last time she’d seen him, as if he’d not been getting enough to eat. He reached a long finger up and smoothed a windblown piece of hair from her face.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” She nodded.

He shot a worried glance toward the townhome. “The others?”

“Fine—” her fingers tightened on his— “we’re all fine. What’s happened?”

The tension around his mouth relaxed and he slid a muscled arm around Tiki’s shoulders. For a fleeting moment he pulled her tight against his chest and she inhaled deeply. Horses, expensive leather, the freshness of a summer breeze—his scent created a longing deep in her gut.

“I’ve news, but I’m afraid it’s not good.”

Tiki’s heart hammered inside her chest. It was as she had suspected—something
had
happened. She stepped back so she could see his face. A scar stretched along the line of his jaw, faded white by time. “Tell me.”

“Larkin has escaped.”

Tiki had an odd sensation of falling. “But how?” she whispered. “They clamped her wings with iron…”

Rieker shook his head, his jaw clenched in distaste. “She tore her own wing off.” He kept his arm around Tiki’s shoulders and steered her toward the townhome. “Gather what you need—Leo has requested our presence at Buckingham.”

Chapter Three

I
n less than an hour Tiki and Rieker were being ushered into Buckingham Palace. The opulence of the Palace was as overwhelming this time as the other few times Tiki had visited. Crystal chandeliers glittered from soaring ceilings. Gilt-framed pictures of dour-faced ancestors graced the walls, watching their passage with haughty regard. Rugs an inch thick rested on marble floors and hushed their footsteps as the doorman led them to the library where Prince Leopold waited.

“Ah, Wills, you’ve arrived.” Leo pushed himself out of a chair in front of the fire and came to greet them. At eighteen, he and Rieker were the same age and had been chums since childhood. “Miss Tara.” He gave her a beguiling smile, dimples appearing in each cheek. “Always a delight to see you.”

Tiki dipped into a curtsy and bowed her head to the prince. “And you sir,” she said with a shy smile.

“You look lovely,” he said, bending over her hand, “but then, you always do.” He did not release her hand, but instead led her toward the fire. “You remember my mother? Queen Victoria?”

At his words, Leo led her around the back of the chair opposite to where he’d had been sitting to face the occupant. Tiki gasped out loud. It was the Queen, in the flesh, sitting three feet in front of her. A small tiara of diamonds graced the sovereign’s dark hair and she wore a gown of black, still in mourning for the passing of her husband, Albert, over ten years earlier. Next to her chair a small black and white cocker spaniel rested her head on her paws, watching Tiki with thoughtful brown eyes.

Leo swept his arm toward Tiki. “Mother, may I present Mistress Tara Kathleen Dunbar.”

“Your Majesty.” Tiki bowed her head low as she dropped into a curtsy, her heart racing a million miles a minute. Had Rieker known the Queen was going to be here?

“You may rise, Miss Dunbar,” the Queen said in a rich voice.

“Your Majesty.” Rieker was next to Tiki now, also bowing to the Queen. As William Richmond, he had grown up with Leo and Arthur and had often played in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. It wasn’t until after his family had been murdered that he’d run away to the streets where he lived as Rieker, a pickpocket who helped the street children find food without getting arrested.

“Hello William.” The warmth in the Queen’s voice was unmistakable. “So nice to see you again.” She tilted her head. “You look well. No troubles to report, I take it?”

“All is well at the moment, Madam.” Rieker’s lips curved in a confident smile and Tiki was filled with pride. Rieker was like a chameleon, changing colors to adapt to his environment. One minute he could be rubbing elbows with the worst of the lot who lived among London’s underbelly in places like Seven Dials—the next, shifting seamlessly into the role of a young lord, chatting with the Queen like old friends. Tiki wondered what else she didn’t know about the young man.