The Torn Wing (4 page)

Rieker nodded. “He also knew of Kieran—told me things Kieran had mentioned before he died.”

“So this Sean also told you of Larkin’s escape?” Tiki wasn’t sure why Rieker’s honesty was so unsettling. Was it that he’d been in contact with the fey? That he actually
trusted
one of them? Or maybe it was that he reminded her of the old Rieker—the one with secrets.

Rieker nodded. “I came to find you as soon as I learned the news.”

“And you believe him?” Tiki pressed again. “Trust what he’s told you?”

A sigh of exasperation escaped Rieker’s lips. “I don’t know that I’d trust any faerie completely, but the Seelie fey are the ones who brokered the truce with us. They want to see the ring protected and to maintain peace between our worlds as much as we do.”

Tiki was silent as she considered Rieker’s answer. It made sense the Seelie fey would want to protect Rieker—someone who carried the bloodline of Eridanus, king of the Summer Court for a millennium before being murdered. It was that same bloodline which allowed Rieker to now protect the ring of the truce. Perhaps it was that she was just learning of this fey liaison now, as disaster was striking, that made the information seem so dangerous.

She brushed a strand of her long hair over her shoulder and peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. He sat in profile to her, gazing out the window, the fine muscles in his jaw flexing with his thoughts. His shoulders were back and he looked prepared for battle. So fierce, so wild, so handsome—he was everything she wasn’t: rich, titled, powerful. In that moment, he seemed a stranger again.

“Does Sean think Larkin will return to London?” Tiki asked.

Rieker turned from the window and leaned his elbows on his knees. He braced his fingers together and stared at the steeple they formed. His response was terse. “As you know, Larkin is unpredictable, but I think we have to assume she’ll return to London straightaway.”

“But she was caught here before,” Tiki protested. The faerie’s pleading screams as she’d been captured by her own kind still echoed in Tiki’s ears with a disturbing resonance. “Wouldn’t London be the first place Donegal and his men will look for her?”

Rieker stared at his fingers with such concentration Tiki wondered what memories moved before his eyes. “I have no idea what the UnSeelie King will do first, Teek, but I know what we have to do.” In a sign of frustration Tiki had come to recognize, Rieker ran a hand through his hair, mussing the dark strands.

She spoke before he could say something she didn’t want to hear. “Well, all I know is that I don’t want anything to do with them. I wish you could return the ring to the royals and let them deal with the bloody fey.”

Rieker lifted his head, a look of disbelief on his face. “This situation is deadly serious, Tiki. Larkin has alluded to the fact your birthmark is important to the Otherworld. You can’t pretend you’re not part of this.”

Tiki crossed her arms and pressed her lips together in anger. “I’m not—”

Rieker spoke over her, his eyes dark and serious. “Listen to me, Tiki—we know Larkin and the UnSeelie fey will murder to get what they want. We know they’ll steal children. Old Kieran told me many things about the world of the fey, but in a veiled way that didn’t always make sense.” His voice became more urgent. “But there is one thing I do know.” He pointed at her wrist. “Whether you like it or not, your mark links you to the Otherworld and we need to know what it means.”

A chill crept through Tiki as the carriage jolted onto Grosvenor Lane, the uneven clopping of the horse’s hooves against the cobble-stones keeping time with her heart. She didn’t want to know what her birthmark meant.

THE DRIVER STEERED the carriage through the back alley into the coach house that adjoined the upscale townhome. Tension crackled in the air between them as Rieker assisted Tiki down the steps and led the way inside.

“Hello Charles.” He nodded at the tall, robust butler who was silently approaching. “Once again you somehow magically know of my arrival.”

“Welcome home, Master William.” The man dipped his head in a bow. His black cravat and jacket were a sharp contrast to the crisp white shirt and gray vest he wore. A moustache had been greased to fine points below his rather bulbous nose. “I heard Geoffrey’s arrival with the carriage.”

“Please see to my bags.” Rieker shrugged out of his long black overcoat and handed it to the older man who already held Tiki’s cloak over one arm. Rieker reached back and took Tiki’s hand, leading her down the hallway. “We’ll be in the study.” Lowering his voice he leaned closer to her. “I want to talk to you about what we tell the others.”

Stiffly, Tiki followed him down the grand hall and through one side of an ornately carved pair of doors. Of all the rooms in the elegant home, the study reminded her most of Rieker: a mixture of strength, elegance and a touch of mystery.

Being in this room was like sneaking a peek into William Richmond’s world of secrets. For a moment she imagined that she really lived here with him, rather than as a guest who needed temporary lodging. A longing pulled in her chest at the thought.

“Wills!” Bare feet pattered down the wood floor of the hallway as Clara raced toward the study. The four year-old ran into the room and threw herself into Rieker’s arms. “Where ‘ave you been? We’ve been waiting for you to come home for
ever
!”

“Have you now?” Rieker hugged the little girl close and raised his eyebrows at Tiki over her shoulder.

Clara leaned back to look him in the face. Pale blond ringlets wreathed her face. “Especially Tiki.” Tiki’s cheeks began to warm and she busied herself using the poker to reposition the wood in the grate.

Rieker chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”

“Hallo, Master William.” Mrs. Bosworth huffed, as she hurried into the room, smoothing the folds of the white apron she wore over her black dress. The middle-aged housekeeper smiled with unconcealed pleasure at the young man sitting with Clara in his arms. “I couldn’t stop her when she’d found you’d arrived. Now, come along, Clara.” Mrs. Bosworth clapped her hands together and made a shooing motion toward the door. “We’ve got cookin’ to do.”

Clara looked from Rieker to Mrs. Bosworth as if deciding. Finally, she slid off Rieker’s knee and paused to lean close. “I’ll make you somethin’ good to eat,” she whispered.

His eyes lit up with delight. “Brown frogs and worms?”

Clara jerked her head back with a horrified expression then burst into giggles. “No, you silly. Brown frogs and
slugs.”
Then she turned and pattered from the room, her laughter drifting behind like notes from a musical instrument.

Mrs. Bosworth rolled her eyes at Rieker. “Thank you, young sir, for the lovely suggestion. Next thing I know, she’ll be diggin’ up me garden.” She left the room shaking her head.

Tiki smiled at their antics. Mrs. Bosworth had cared for Rieker most of his life. Their familiar teasing set her nerves at ease. “Toots will be especially glad you’ve returned. I think he wants you to teach him how to ride a horse.”

“To ride?” Rieker looked at her in surprise. “Has he ever been on a horse before?”

“No.” Tiki smiled. “But he loves them. I think he fancies himself to be a gentleman like you.”

Rieker barked out a laugh. “I’ll have to be careful to set a good example. I could easily teach him the wrong things.”

“No doubt about that,” Tiki murmured. She pressed her lips together to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Rieker narrowed his eyes in a playful scowl. “I believe we’ve a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” He pushed out of the chair to close the door to the study and his grin faded as he returned to his seat.

“We’ve got to make a plan, Tiki—to understand what your mark means, to be prepared for the worst.”

Tiki smoothed the forest green folds of her dress, running her fingers across the fabric. She agreed they needed a plan, but she wasn’t sure it needed to include knowing what her mark meant. She’d lived just fine for sixteen years without knowing. Would it really make that much difference now? What they needed to do was obvious: stay away from faeries. She let out a slow breath, trying to be patient. “What do you have in mind?”

“There are two people I can think of who might have some answers for us.” Rieker tilted his head so he could see her eyes. “The first is Sean.” He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Tiki didn’t speak. “The other is Mamie, the woman who has tended Queen Victoria all these years. You heard Leo and Arthur today—they often get information regarding the Otherworld from her. She lives in the Birdkeeper’s Cottage at the end of St. James Park. We could pay her a visit and see what she might know of your birthmark.”

Tiki lifted her chin. Better to be clear now, rather than let Rieker think she was in agreement with him on their course of action. “What if I don’t want to know what my birthmark means?”

Rieker’s mouth opened in a startled expression. “
What?”
His dark eyebrows drew down until they were two slashes across his forehead. “You’re joking, right?”

Tiki crossed her arms. “Not really.” A conversation she’d had with Larkin when the faerie bargained for the ring of the truce echoed in her ears.
‘An fáinne sí is a birthmark of Finn MacLochlan—a high king of Tara— the ancient Irish faerie court. That mark on your arm practically makes you royalty.’
Larkin’s face had twisted with jealousy.
‘That’s why Adasara hid you in London.’

Even now, the words made Tiki squirm in her chair. She tapped her finger on her arm and worked hard at keeping her voice level. “I don’t really see how it will help, anyway. It’s not like we’re going to go do battle with them. We just need to stay as far away from the bloody fey as we can get.”

For a moment, Rieker seemed at a loss for words. “But, it’s not that simple—”

“Why not?” Tiki snapped. She didn’t want to argue about this. After being attacked by Marcus last December and Larkin stealing little Clara when the child was deathly ill—of all people, Rieker should understand why she didn’t want anything to do with faeries.

The rap of knuckles sounded on the door.

A growl of frustration erupted from Rieker’s throat and through gritted teeth he called, “Come.”

The door swung open and Charles, the butler, stood there. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. A Miss Isabelle Cavendish has arrived to see you.”

Rieker frowned. “Isabelle?” He blew out a long sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “Thank you. Please show her in, Charles.”

Tiki pushed herself out of the chair intending to leave the room.

Rieker stood as though to stop her, then seemed to think better of it and slid his hands into his pockets instead. “Will you stay, Tiki? I can’t imagine Izzy will be here long and you and I have more to talk about.”

Tiki’s heart squeezed at the familiar way he addressed his visitor. Isabelle had grown up in the same wealthy circles as Rieker—a world almost as alien to Tiki as the Otherworld. She’d met the other girl at the Masked Ball held at Buckingham Palace last December and could still envision Isabelle’s beautiful features. Her magnetic eyes and regal posture were hard to forget, as was her obvious attraction to William Richmond.

“Certainly—if you’d like.” Tiki’s words came out sounding stiff and formal. It wasn’t often that she had difficulty making a decision, but how she fit into William Richmond’s life was a puzzle she couldn’t seem to piece together. Her middle-class upbringing, before becoming a pickpocket to survive, was a far cry from the privileged world of London’s upper class in which Rieker had been raised. Tiki feared the day was coming that Rieker would reach the same conclusion. Lately, she’d been thinking it was time to find another home for her family of orphans.

“Hello William.” A silky voice purred from the doorway.

Tiki turned with a gasp. She would recognize Larkin’s voice anywhere.

Chapter Five

I
sabelle Cavendish stood in the doorway, a coy smile twisting her lips. She was clad in an elegant midnight blue dress with matching jacket, her brown hair pulled away from her face to cascade down her back. Her features were the same chiseled perfection Tiki remembered, but the enigmatic blue-green eyes that stared back were unmistakably Larkin’s. It only took Tiki a second to realize Larkin was wearing a glamour to look like Isabelle Cavendish.

“Larkin,” Tiki said in a shocked tone, fear beating a rapid tattoo inside her chest. “Why are you here?”

A frown flickered across the girl’s face as she glanced at Tiki. “Just who I was hoping to find—the thief.” Her glamoured features tightened in distaste.

Rieker stared from one to the other in obvious confusion. “Larkin?” he echoed, swiveling to look at Tiki. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, William, she’s right.” Larkin sniffed as though a bad smell wafted beneath her nostrils. “Don’t tell me she lives with you now—and no doubt, the rest of her little band of pickpockets.” The faerie’s words rang with a bitterness that was palpable. “Such a disgustingly sweet little family.”