by Jayne Faith
“Get in,” Bryna snapped.
I blinked.
“It’s a dumbwaiter,” she said. “Get in.”
We piled inside, forced to crouch by the low height of the little elevator car. Bryna reached out and slapped the button on the wall next to the dumbwaiter. A door dropped down, plunging us into darkness, and we began to move up. The contraption groaned under our collective weight, the mechanics seeming to strain and struggle to lift us. The painfully slow, stuffy ride seemed to go on for an hour.
We finally stopped, and Bryna forced the door up. She hopped out into what looked like a small staging area. Linen-covered carts lined one wall. Pleasant music played through speakers. No one was around.
“What now?” I asked.
She pointed at one of the two doors. “We go out there, find a window to bust out, and he”—she jerked her thumb in Jasper’s direction—“makes sure Ravens will be there to catch us before we go splat down below.”
We piled out of the dumbwaiter and followed her out one of the doors to a small vestibule. A floor-to-ceiling window revealed a view of two of the three palaces of the City. Bryna reached into a pouch on her belt. On her palm she carefully balanced what looked like a steel marble. It jumped up, and a dozen inch-long spikes shot out of the surface. She winced as it landed back on her hand. Then she drew her arm back and hurled it at the window. The spiky little object exploded on impact in a burst of shattering glass and neon-yellow magic.
Jasper leaned through the opening and blasted his whistle. He stood there with his eyes on the sky.
“We’re going to have to jump,” he said. He glanced at me. I’d done this before.
I went to stand next to him and peered down. We were maybe eight stories up, putting us barely above the height of the walkways with the Daoine bowmen and women.
I shook my head. “It’s a mess out there.”
“I know,” Jasper said curtly. “We’ll need a bit of luck on our side.”
With my lips pressed into a grim line, I watched with Jasper as five Great Ravens appeared low on the horizon. The birds flew higher as they approached, and then they disappeared overhead.
“They’re circling around,” Jasper said. He beckoned to Eunice.
She looked terrified as she stepped to the edge of the broken-out window.
“Jump as far out as you can when I say the word. Feet down, knees apart. Grab on tight when you hit the bird,” he instructed.
She whimpered and nodded.
“Ready . . . now,” he said.
A large black bird swooped in from the right. She leapt and landed on the bird, who zoomed away and out of sight. I devoted a second or two to admiring her bravery.
“Oliver next.”
My father stepped up and jumped to his bird. Then Bryna. When I stepped up, Jasper squeezed my hand briefly.
“See you on the other side,” he said. “Now.”
I jumped, hit a bony body covered with slick dark feathers, which I grasped in handfuls to keep from sliding off as the bird banked hard.
My Raven pumped her wings, and we gained altitude. Something whizzed past my ear, and my blood ran cold as I realized it was a Daoine arrow that missed me by mere inches.
The bird—I recognized Mohawk—sped away from Palace City. We cruised over the tops of trees for about five minutes and then plunged into the void of the netherwhere.
We rejoined the world in a place where the night was silent and peaceful. Mohawk tipped a wing and began a descending spiral. Slanting my gaze downward, I caught sight of two other Ravens below us. And beyond, I recognized the layout of the fortress. We were home. I watched the sky above until I saw two more Great Ravens appear and then let out a relieved breath, closed my eyes, and lowered my forehead into the bird’s soft feathers.
It wasn’t until we were almost on the ground that I wondered how Jasper had decided to have the Ravens take us to the stone fortress. I didn’t have energy to devote to the thought. This was as good a place as any to come.
The birds were taking us to the fortress’s training yard, and Carraig soldiers were running in from all directions. My heart jumped. That was all we needed—make it out of the Daoine Sidhe realm alive, having killed Finvarra, only to be mistaken for the enemy by my own people. I heard Oliver’s voice calling out to the soldiers, telling them we were friendly. They halted and then approached more slowly, thank the gods.
Mohawk landed with a few light hops and then tipped a wing to let me down. I patted her neck and jogged to where my father and Eunice stood.
A loping figure in regular clothes—no armor or weapons—was coming through the soldiers. Maxen. The soldiers had begun to recognize me and bowed with mumbled greetings of “Your Highness” and “Your Majesty.”
“Stand down,” Oliver called. “There’s no threat here. All of you, return to your posts.”
The soldiers began to disperse, though they cast curious looks as Maxen joined us and the last Raven, carrying Jasper, landed.
Maxen was looking at us expectantly, hands on hips and panting lightly from his run to the yard.
“Well?” he finally said.
I waited a moment for Jasper and Bryna to join us.
“We got him,” I said. “Finvarra’s dead.”
Maxen let out a whoop, grabbed me around the waist, and twirled me around. I couldn’t help a brief grin, not just at his reaction, but also at how he’d let down his guard. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that with me.
“There’s bad news, though,” I said, catching my balance as he set me on my feet. “We didn’t recover the Stone of Fal. It may be in Periclase’s hands now.”
That sobered him up. He nodded. “Okay. You’d better tell me everything. Let’s go where we can have some privacy.”
“My apartment?” I suggested.
We trooped quietly through the corridors of the fortress—empty except for workers with late-night duties and patrolling soldiers. It had to be late, probably closer to dawn than midnight.
Once we were behind closed doors, we recounted the entire adventure to Maxen. Eunice’s head began to nod toward the end, and I called a page to escort her to her quarters.
I knew Maxen was concerned about the Stone, but he kept asking questions about what Darion had said. He seemed troubled.
“What is it?” I asked.
He gave a couple of slow shakes of his head. “I truly didn’t see this coming. I wouldn’t have guessed Periclase would try such a thing, no matter that he wouldn’t have succeeded in killing Finvarra on his own. The mere fact that he planned the assassination has caught me seriously off guard. I don’t like these kinds of surprises.”
We were all quiet for a moment, and then Bryna’s mouth stretched into a jaw-cracking yawn.
“You’re welcome to stay the night here,” I said. “We’ll find quarters for you.”
She nodded. “That’d be good.”
I picked up my house phone and asked for another page. When he arrived, I stood and went with Bryna to the door.
“You were invaluable in getting us in and out,” I said.
“Just doing my part for the betterment of the realm,” she replied lightly.
“But you’re Unseelie,” I said. “In principle, you shouldn’t have wanted to help us.”
“I’m Unseelie like Jasper is Unseelie. I don’t want to see Faerie destroyed.”
I quirked a half-smile at her, which she returned before slipping out.
Not long after, Oliver and Maxen departed as well, leaving me and Jasper alone.
I went to him and took his hands in mine. “Stay with me?”
His golden eyes sparked. “You don’t need to ask twice.” Then he glanced down at himself. His clothes were torn, dirty, and blood-spattered. I wasn’t in much better shape.
I turned toward the doorway leading deeper into my quarters and then twisted and beckoned to him. “I have an idea.”
He followed me into the master suite, where I went to t
he bathroom and began filling the giant tub. Fifteen minutes later, I sat in the deliciously hot water with my back against his chest and steam rising around us.
“I can’t stay long,” he whispered, his lips at my ear. He threaded the fingers of one hand through mine. His other hand began to rove my body, starting just beneath my earlobe and working downward.
I sighed. “I know.”
I shifted in the water, turning to face him, and pressed a kiss to his lips. I started to draw back, but he pulled me in, closing his arms around my waist as I straddled his muscled thighs.
“We’ll just have to make the best of the time we have,” he said, a hungry, growly edge to his voice that sent shivers spilling down my back.
We spent the next hour lost in each other, and then I fell asleep with my head on his chest, the beat of his heart like a lullaby.
I woke only a few hours later, but he was already gone.
I’d barely dressed when the house phone began ringing. I answered, expecting one of my attendants on the other end, perhaps announcing when breakfast would arrive. But it was Maxen.
“I need you to come to the foyer right away,” he said, his voice strained.
My chest tightened. “What’s wrong?”
“The hidden ones have begun to return.”
I blinked, silent for a beat as I tried to process the news. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 24
I SLUNG AURORA onto my back and hurried from my quarters. A couple of guards followed behind me. I wanted to shoo them away, but I was too concerned about the tone of Maxen’s voice to bother.
By the time I arrived in the foyer, a crowd of curious onlookers had already started to gather around the edges. But the middle of the expansive space was crowded—no, packed—with unfamiliar faces. Maybe eighty of them, by a quick visual estimate. Maxen was speaking with one of the men, a tall muscular guy about Oliver’s age and with nearly my father’s wingspan. The strangers were peering around, about half of them looking confused and the other half varying flavors of upset. All of them looked dazed. The space filled with the loud murmur of many conversations running together.
One of my guards jogged ahead of me. “Make way for the queen!” he barked.
People scooted aside and began to bow and curtsy as I passed.
I strode through the throng and halted next to Maxen. He bent in a hasty bow. The man Maxen had been talking to shot me a tight-lipped, suspicious glare.
“You’re not Marisol Lothlorien,” he said, his tone accusing.
“No, I’m not. Are you all New Gargs?” I’d nearly said Carraig Sidhe but used the old terminology instead. If these people were all stone bloods who’d been hiding themselves in the Earthly realm, they might not even know we’d been given kingdomhood and an official name.
“Aye,” the big man said. “I demand to see Marisol.”
I groaned internally. I recognized the way he said Marisol’s name. It was the same tone Oliver used to have when speaking of our former leader while I was growing up. My thoughts spun as I quickly did the mental math. This man and Marisol had been close. Probably very close. He’d made a grave sacrifice at her request, abandoning his homeland and everyone he knew to conceal himself, to help Marisol hide our true numbers. Last he’d known, she was the New Gargoyle sovereign who was going to lead us to independence. Everything he’d done, all of his suffering for the past many years, had been for Marisol Lothlorien.
And I’d killed her and taken her place.
“Angus, we should go somewhere to speak in private,” Maxen said, using his most reasonable diplomat voice.
Angus peered at him. “I can tell you’re her boy, even if you hadn’t said your name. You have her eyes.”
Maxen reached up to steer the big man’s shoulder. “Let’s just go—”
He shrugged away from Maxen’s grasp. “I’m not going anywhere until someone explains just what in the name of Maeve is going on here.”
Maxen and I exchanged a look. I supposed I could have called in guards to forcibly escort Angus to a less public place. But that probably wouldn’t have improved his mood or his reception of me.
I leveled my chin and gave him a hard look. “Marisol Lothlorien is dead. My name is Petra Maguire, Champion of the Summer Court, wielder of Aurora. And Queen of the people formerly known as New Gargoyles, now the Carraig Sidhe.”
He peered at me dumbly. Then his eyes narrowed. “Marisol was supposed to rule. You’re not my queen,” he growled.
In the corner of my eye, I saw someone threading through the crowd. Oliver joined us, facing me and bowing. Angus glanced at him, back at me, and then did a double-take, his eyes widening as he took in my father.
“Angus,” Oliver said. “It’s been a very long time.” He stuck out his hand.
Angus blinked several times and then grasped my father’s hand and shook it firmly. “Oliver Maguire. She is a relation of yours?” His gaze flicked to me.
Oliver leveled his chin, his gaze direct. “Yes, Petra’s my daughter. And though she may look more fighter than monarch, she is indeed our queen.”
For a moment, Angus seemed to have warmed at the sight of Oliver, but his face hardened again. “I need to know what happened to Marisol,” he said, his voice low and pained.
Oliver nodded. “We’ll talk about that. There’s much to discuss.”
“Indeed,” I said. I faced the crowd of newcomers. “We’ll start finding places for all of you immediately. This is your home now, and you’re welcome here.”
My words didn’t seem to warm the crowd much.
Amalie had arrived just after my father and was standing at a respectful distance. I went to her and we had a quick, whispered conversation about finding quarters for everyone.
When I rejoined the men, Oliver and Angus were deep in conversation. I watched them for a moment and quietly blew out a long, slow breath. If my father hadn’t appeared in the foyer, I might have ended up in a replay of my confrontation with Raleigh. Thank the gods there’d been no fight.
But I couldn’t relax. Angus didn’t yet know I’d killed Marisol.
I looked over the crowd behind Angus. There were dozens of men and women, mostly my father’s age or older, and a handful of teenagers and younger children. The adults all had the same sunken-eyed, haggard look to their faces, borne of too many years away from Faerie that had affected them like a wasting disease. As much as I’d wanted to get away from the fortress when I was a kid, I couldn’t imagine a continuous exile of decades. It would have felt like a slow, excruciating starvation, cut off from the source of Fae power, vitality, and magic. And all of these people had voluntarily subjected themselves to the torment of it for Marisol Lothlorien, because one of her visions had demanded it.
Part of me wanted badly to hand off the leadership duties to Maxen. He’d already been appointed a role that gave him as much power as I had, and the new additions to the fortress would probably be more receptive to him, as Marisol’s son. But I couldn’t just be an empty figurehead and walk away from these people, leaving them for Maxen to deal with. Not after what they’d sacrificed. They deserved more from me.
Emmaline arrived, coming to me and curtsying, offering something she held in both hands. She’d brought me my crown.
“Your Majesty,” she said. “You left in such haste, you forgot this.”
As much as I didn’t want to, I knew she was right—I needed to wear it. Without a word, I bent so she could position it onto my head. The weight of it seemed to settle over me.
As we began to make arrangements for the newcomers, my mind was jumping ahead to the conversations and possible confrontations I’d have to face. It would only be a matter of time before these people—our people—discovered that Marisol Lothlorien had died by my sword.
I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “Angus, won’t you join me, my father, and Maxen in the Ruby Room? As Oliver said, we have much to discuss.”
His eyes hardened as h
e regarded me for a long moment. Then he nodded. “That we do.”
Maxen and I turned to walk through the foyer, giving Angus and the others a full view of Aurora on my back. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder but heard Oliver and Angus in conversation behind us.
“Petra,” Maxen whispered, leaning toward me. “Word came from the Summerlands that Finvarra’s death hasn’t slowed the Unseelie attack at all. If anything, Periclase seems to have held back before, and now he’s really unleashing the full force of his weapons. Oberon thinks he’s trying to make a show of his might to erase any Unseelie doubts about who should be Finvarra’s successor.”
My pulse thumped uneasily. “Damn,” I muttered.
“That’s not the worst of it,” he said. “There is a rumor that the Dullahan were spotted in a remote region of Faerie. Oberon is working on confirming it. And . . .”
When he trailed off, I cut a swift look up at him. “What?”
“The Giants’ Causeway has started to tremor.”
I squinted at him. “The Tuatha?”
Maxen’s gaze met mine, his eyes strained and his face pale. “Oberon believes so.”
My mouth went dry, and a cold shiver swept over me. “We’ve got to get our hands on the Chalice of Dagda. And even more important, we need to figure out how to tap into the power of the Fomoire blood that runs through our veins. Our so-called god blood may be the only true weapon we have against Tuatha De Danann.”
Maxen gave me a tight nod, but we couldn’t speak of it further. We’d reached the Ruby Room.
I turned to face Angus, and my thoughts were a torrent. I felt pulled in half a dozen different directions. There was so much work to do in the fortress to unite the Carraig and get our kingdom running smoothly. But with Periclase closing in on the Summerlands and the Tuatha awakening under the mountain of the Causeway, kingdom business almost seemed a luxury. All I knew was that I’d have to do everything in my power to make sure the Carraig Sidhe and everyone in Faerie had a future to look forward to.
Look for War of the Fae Gods,
the next book in