by AJ Lancaster
Her heart squeezed so tight she thought it would burst. The door to the kitchens was shredded, and she clambered through to find a stomach-turning mess of blood and spices and an enormous fae creature dead and glittering between ruined shelves. There was no sign of Wyn.
Wyn had given her one of his old white feathers, months ago, as a Wintersol gift, and Hetta often carried it with her, not liking the idea of it falling into someone else’s possession. She pulled it out now and gripped the nib so tightly it dug into skin as she stared down at the fae monster. It looked something like a giant, armour-plated snake with two forelegs. Its eyeless head bristled with kitchen knives, and rivulets of blood dripped sluggishly onto the floor from each wound. Well, Meridon will have to believe in fae now.
But where was Wyn?
26
The Queen Is Not Amused
Hetta faced a rigidly displeased monarch shortly after finishing her covert explorations and re-entering the palace officially, to a different receiving room this time. This one was, if possible, even less friendly than the first, or perhaps it was just the way the queen’s blue eyes flashed when they saw her, cold and hard. The Duke of Callasham—Lord Greymark—accompanied her this time, and he looked at Hetta like she was something the cat had dragged in.
“And where is Prince Hallowyn, Lord Valstar?” the queen demanded.
“I was hoping you could tell me, Your Majesty, since last time I saw him was in this palace,” Hetta said. “I assume he fled in fear of his life.” That had to be why he’d run, and she couldn’t blame him, not after seeing the size of the dead fae monster in the kitchens. There was no Stariel to keep out monsters here, and whoever had sent that creature might send another—and Wyn had no magic to defend himself, thanks to those cuffs.
“Fear of a dead monster? We warned you both that if Prince Hallowyn chose not to remain in our custody, we would consider him a hostile agent.”
“You cannot blame him for not wanting to be a sitting duck if the Spires send another monster! For that’s what your cuffs have made him!”
“And why, exactly, is his home court sending monsters after him?”
Because his psychopathic sister Aroset has inherited the Spires? Wyn’s other siblings probably wouldn’t send murderous fae creatures to assassinate him if they’d inherited. And if Aroset hadn’t inherited, why would she bother sending creatures after a sibling who’d opted out of the Spires’ succession war?
But the queen wasn’t a fool. “We assume it has something to do with this ‘as-yet unsettled succession’ that he mentioned?”
“It could do, Your Majesty,” Hetta temporised. What would Wyn say in this situation? “Not all fae are equally keen to broker peace between the fae realms and mortal,” she said carefully. “And I think it’s likely that the fae who sent that monster is one of those who holds decidedly anti-human views. You should—”
The queen’s eyes sparked a warning. Right. Don’t tell the queen what to do. Hetta shut her mouth hastily.
“The destruction of large sections of this palace has not endeared the fae to us, Lord Valstar. We do not like the idea that there may be further attacks.”
“Well, you should be thankful that Wyn has left the palace in order to spare you then!” Hetta snapped before she could stop herself.
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “And how do my two enchanted palace guards fit into your narrative of noble self-sacrifice, Lord Valstar?” She told Hetta, in clipped tones, that two guards on the nightshift outside the Treasury had been found unconscious. “The Treasury is where the keys to the dismae are kept,” she added.
The only reason Hetta could think of for Wyn to go seeking the keys to the dismae was if he’d had some warning of the fae monster’s attack and knew he’d need his magic. He could’ve made guards sleep—Hetta had seen him do it once before, with Gwendelfear. It made her feel slightly better, thinking that he might’ve freed himself from the cuffs before he’d escaped.
The queen continued: “My guards tell me the men were found some time before the appearance of the monster, in an enchanted sleep from which they could not be woken. They were on their way to question him when it arrived. Which suggests Prince Hallowyn may have either summoned the creature as vengeance after having secured his freedom from the dismae, or that he knew of its pending arrival and intended to flee and leave us to its mercy.”
“Both of those are ridiculous suggestions,” Hetta said flatly. “Wyn would never—”
The duke puffed up. “Remember who you speak to, Lord Valstar. Besides, you’re defending a criminal; they found his feathers at the scene.” He wrinkled his nose in faint revulsion. “We know the man’s not human in his other shape.”
Hetta swallowed down a hot response. It wouldn’t do Wyn any good. “What did the guards say when they woke up?”
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “They do not remember what happened.”
“Then this is all speculation!” Hetta tried to keep her tone even, reasonable. “Doesn’t he deserve some benefit of the doubt? He put on those dismae just to reassure you he meant no harm—that’s the sort of person he is! And when we find him, he’ll have a very good explanation for all of this that will probably be because he was trying to protect you all from that creature!”
Queen Matilda didn’t look convinced. “We have only your word for this, Lord Valstar. And against that, two enchanted guards, a missing fae prince, and an alarming sum in property damages.”
“The property damages weren’t his fault. He’s not responsible for the actions of other fae.” Please don’t let her hold Stariel responsible for damages either.
“Hmmm.” Queen Matilda pursed her lips. “Do not leave town, Lord Valstar,” she said after a moment. “And if Prince Hallowyn’s whereabouts should be made known to you, I expect you to waste no time in informing us.”
Hetta curtseyed, despite her simmering anger. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“And perhaps while we wait for Prince Hallowyn to reappear, you can sign the necessary paperwork ratifying Stariel’s agreements with the Crown.”
Hetta smiled through gritted teeth and said sweetly: “Oh, I cannot sign anything without my steward to advise me. I’m sure you’ll forgive me for the delay.”
Queen Matilda’s eyes flashed. “Four days, Lord Valstar,” she said after a pause. “We shall set the appointment for Monday morning. If, as you say, your ‘steward’ is merely temporarily absent, that should be plenty of time for him to clear his name, shouldn’t it?”
Hetta had yet to leave the palace in a good mood, and today was no different. Obviously she’d no intention of leaving Meridon without Wyn, but it was quite another thing to be commanded not to. The maid’s words about Wyn bleeding everywhere went round and round like a stuck phonograph. He heals very quickly, she tried to reassure herself. The fact that she knew this was in and of itself depressing. How many times now had she seen him clawed up by some new and horrible fae monster?
At the palace entrance, the newspaper reporters had multiplied like flies buzzing around a corpse. Hetta took the precaution of adopting a demure manner and illusing herself to appear as a middle-aged blonde Southerner, and they didn’t tag her as anyone worth notice. Long may that last. Sooner or later, someone would make the connection between Stariel, Wyn, and the damaged palace. Or perhaps the news that the fae were real might overshadow that?
She traipsed back to the hotel, both hoping and fearing to find a bloodied Wyn there, but all she got was an anxious sister and irate aunt.
“Wyn wouldn’t just run away!” Alexandra flared up when Hetta had explained the situation. “Not without reason!”
“Yes, I know,” Hetta said. She felt utterly unable to reassure her sister; her own emotions were too tumultuous.
She focused on taking care of small necessities, such as ringing Stariel’s gatehouse and telling the gatekeeper to pass on a message to Jack. It will be so much more convenient when there’s a direct line to the house. Worry kept
intruding. Why hadn’t Wyn contacted her, somehow, if he insisted on staying in hiding? He must know she’d want reassurance after seeing that fae creature. He wouldn’t simply run, would he, in a misguided attempt to try to protect her from the political fallout?
She slammed the phone back into its rest, not comforted by the thought. It would be far too like Wyn to think that was a sensible course of action. I’ll set his feathers on fire if that’s the case. But better that than the alternative; that he was lying bleeding in a ditch somewhere. Though probably not a literal ditch, since we’re in the capital. An alley, rather. Her heart squeezed tight, and her hand went automatically to the ring.
“He’s not at Stariel, is he?” Alexandra asked. Hetta stared at her, feeling unusually dim-witted. “Wyn.” Alexandra bit her lip. “I mean, he could fly there, couldn’t he?”
Hetta blinked. “He could, I suppose.” Though not if he’s injured. “I’m sure someone will tell us if he drops from the sky up there.”
She had to believe Wyn was all right and that he would communicate his whereabouts in a timely fashion. In the meantime, think, she told herself sternly. When—not if—she found Wyn, they would need to deal with the queen.
Feathers and enchanted guards… The more Hetta thought about it, the less sense it made. If Wyn had known the monster was coming, he would’ve wanted to protect people from it. Which, in fairness, might’ve included him attempting to get the keys to the dismae. She knew how uneasy he’d been about using compulsion, of late, but the monster might’ve outweighed that consideration. But even so, he wouldn’t have left guards still unconscious and thus vulnerable behind him, especially in such a deep sleep that other people hadn’t been able to wake them. And why hadn’t he tried to get people to evacuate or attempted to lead the monster away rather than into the interior of the palace?
The fact that he’d done neither of those suggested he hadn’t known the monster was coming—in which case, why had he wanted to rid himself of the dismae badly enough to enchant guards? She brooded at the coffee table, trying to pull the threads together. The bloodied wreckage in the kitchen rose in her mind’s eye. Broken cabinets. The knives sticking out of the monster’s dead head. Glass shards. A fine dust of spices lying over everything.
Wait. Literal spice—that’s what the smell had been. Not Wyn’s magic, as she’d assumed. Had anywhere in the destruction actually smelled like storms? Horror welled up as she realised it hadn’t and what that might mean if Wyn was still wearing the dismae, still cut off from his magic.
But if he’d still been wearing the dismae, that would mean he couldn’t have compelled the guards… Which takes me right back to square one.
A knock startled her from the tangled chain of thoughts. It was the bellboy, with both a telegram and an envelope. The envelope had Brad’s name scrawled across it: tickets to opening night, no doubt.
Hetta thanked the bellboy and frowned at the telegram. It was from Marius, its contents short and to the point. Prince Rakken and Princess Catsmere had popped out of a portal in Knoxbridge, Wyn was in danger, and the three of them were arriving by train this afternoon. Oh good, she thought faintly. They can answer some questions.
27
The Train Station
Hetta waited at Pickering Station alone. As she’d told Alexandra when she’d objected to staying behind—what if Wyn turned up at the hotel in her absence? She shut her eyes briefly. Please let him be at the hotel when I return. Then he could be responsible for figuring out how to re-introduce Prince Rakken to Aunt Sybil with a minimum of fuss. He’d previously masqueraded as Lord Featherstone, the son of Aunt Sybil’s old friend, and that deception was bound to create awkwardness. And when Wyn returns, I’m sure we can sort out this business with the queen. Somehow. Even if they couldn’t untangle the knots, he would still be here and alive. She was having difficulty caring much about scandal and politics in comparison.
She shook her head to clear it. Fretting wasn’t going to help. She glanced up at the large station clock: two minutes till the train was due. How often had she waited on this platform during her six years in Meridon, counting down the minutes until her brother’s arrival? Admittedly, never with quite this degree of anxiety, but the sharp pang of familiarity was there all the same. Knoxbridge was only an hour’s journey from Meridon, and Marius had studied at the university there until Father had decreed his academic career must come to an end.
One minute. She hopped impatiently from foot to foot. Hopefully Marius was all right after dealing with the two fae alone. She didn’t know Princess Catsmere at all, but Prince Rakken had been sharp-tongued enough to easily bruise a much less sensitive soul than Marius.
The train finally came into sight and pulled into Pickering Station with a slow grind of brakes, and the station attendant began to briskly walk the length of the train, opening doors to release a modest stream of passengers. Hetta craned her neck, though it probably wasn’t necessary. Both her brother and Prince Rakken were tall and would be visible above the crowd.
Marius emerged first, looking irritable rather than anxious. The two royal fae followed him, both in human form and wearing well-cut suits. Their features held echoes of Wyn’s, and her heart gave a tight, painful pulse at the sight.
Hetta’s wasn’t the only head turning towards the tall, sleek pair. It was something more than beauty that drew the eye, something that put her in mind of the brightly scaled snakes she’d seen once in the Meridon Zoological Gardens. The way the deadly animals had moved had held the same sinuous, mesmerising fascination.
Neither of the twins appeared aware of the attention, but Marius definitely was, because by the time the group reached Hetta, his face was flushed, his shoulders hunched defensively as he carted his battered valise. The royal twins apparently did not come with their own luggage.
“Don’t call them by their names,” he blurted out before she could utter a greeting. “It’s some magic thing, apparently, that allows their sister to find them. You can call them Cat and…Rake.” He grinned at the last, to Hetta’s amazement. Apparently she’d significantly underestimated her brother’s ability to cope with intimidating fae if he was actively provoking them.
“Your Highness is also appropriate, as I have previously explained,” Prince Rakken said dryly. “Good afternoon, Lord Valstar. We meet again.”
If she hadn’t known Wyn so well, known the signs of him under strain, she would’ve thought Prince Rakken coolly composed. As it was, she could tell he was ill at ease. The iron, she realised abruptly. All the iron in the station was affecting him as it had Wyn. Princess Catsmere also seemed to be strung tight, greeting Hetta with a clipped nod. She was a very tall, willowy woman with short dark hair and the same vivid green eyes as her twin.
“Lord Valstar,” she said. “This mortal tells us you know our brother’s location?”
“I don’t, unfortunately. You, me, and half of Meridon are currently searching for him,” Hetta said. “Also, good afternoon, ah, Cat. It’s nice to meet you properly.”
Catsmere blinked. “I have seen you before, Lord Valstar, though I accept you were preoccupied at the time,” she said with significant understatement, as this referred to the scene in the throne room at ThousandSpire, when King Aeros had been taunting Wyn. “Why is half of Meridon currently searching for our brother?”
“Why are you two suddenly in Meridon, looking for him?” Hetta returned.
“We were fleeing our sister’s wrath. And armies. She controls the Spires.” The bluntness of the answer threw Hetta off balance. How refreshing, to meet a fae who didn’t talk in circles.
“At present,” Rakken added sharply. Anger flashed across his face, there and gone in a second.
“The Spires wants Wyn as its new king so their sister whose name starts with A is trying to kill him to stop that happening,” Marius summarised, watching her carefully.
She sucked in a deep breath, not surprise but despair threatening to overwhelm her. Of course. It made sen
se that Aroset would try to kill Wyn if she thought he stood in her way. She’d been deliberately not thinking about how the Spires had reached out for Wyn a week ago, about what that might mean. She’d even hoped, deep down, that Aroset had bonded with the faeland, because it would make it safely not Wyn’s destiny once and for all.
“She sent that creature after him at the palace.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe the maid had been wrong about how injured Wyn had been. But the creature had been so very enormous.
Catsmere’s head snapped to her. “What creature?”
Hetta described the armoured creature from the palace, and the ruin it had left in its wake. “That’s why half the city is looking for Wyn—he hasn’t been seen since the attack.” She swallowed. “You’d—you’d know if he were…” dead, she tried to say, but it stuck on her tongue, as if saying it would somehow make it so.
Rakken gave a dismissive shrug. “He’s not dead. We would know.”
She could suddenly breathe again. Marius looked similarly relieved. “Gods, Hetta,” he said.
“What you describe is called a nightwyrm.” Catsmere’s expression was grim. “It is indeed a creature from the Spires.”
“If Set is already sending creatures to this city, then why are we standing idly on this platform?” Rakken asked, waving irritably at the thinning stream of people on the narrow strip as the rest of the passengers found their way into the station proper.
Hetta was tempted to tell him that his attitude wasn’t fooling her; she knew he just wanted to get away from the iron, but instead she said flatly: “We’re going to stand here until I know whether you two want to kill Wyn too.” After all, if the Court of Ten Thousand Spires truly wanted Wyn as its ruler—and she’d be dashed if she let that happen—then he also stood between the twins and the throne.