Larkin spoke softly, though her sarcasm was still easy to hear. “You do know what I’ve been these many years, correct?”
Tiki gave a hesitant nod. “A spy.”
“And you’re not possibly naïve enough to think I was able to infiltrate the UnSeelie Court successfully for decades by using the same identity throughout that entire time?”
Tiki slowly shook her head.
“Exactly. In this glamour I’m known as Fachtna among the UnSeelie. A witch from the—”
“You are Fachtna?” Dain stared at Larkin with a stricken expression.
She tilted her head at him, looking pleased. “You’ve heard of me?”
“We’ve all heard of Fachtna. She’s practically a legend—”
“An evil legend, no doubt,” Rieker muttered.
“Are the rumours true?” Dain whispered. “Do you make soup with the bones of mortal children?”
Tiki’s jaw sagged. “What?”
Larkin scoffed. “Dain, you, of all people, know how it works. To make people believe you are UnSeelie you must be perceived as UnSeelie. I have simply played my part over the years.”
A familiar twinge twisted Tiki’s stomach as she noted Larkin had not answered the question. Where did the truth stop and start with the enigmatic faerie? Would she ever know?
“That’s true,” Dain said, “but Fachtna? Even I would never have guessed. You would have had to create that cover—” he paused to think.
“Before you were born,” Larkin said dryly. “As I’ve said before, I have committed my life to this Court, though at times, I wonder if the sacrifice has been worth it.” She looked up at the outcropping of rock that jutted into dark clouds overhead. “When we get inside the Palace we’ll split up. That’s the only way we’ll be able to find the Jester. Somebody has to know something.”
“If you are this Fachtna, who are we?” Rieker asked.
Larkin’s expression was inscrutable as she gazed upward. “My servants, of course.”
THE CLIMB UP to the peak of the Tor was less arduous than Tiki expected. Instead of the secret, practically vertical trail that Dain had taken her down when they’d escaped from the Winter King before, this time they followed a well-worn road that wove back and forth up the sloping side of the mountain.
The higher they climbed, the darker it became. Black clouds, heavy as though weighted with ink, pushed down on the mountain, encasing the top in a dark mist. Lightning forked in the near distance, followed by the rumbling boom of thunder, causing Tiki’s arms to crawl with goose flesh. The storm seemed an inescapable omen. She tried to push away the sensation that she was marching to her own death.
THE NIGHT GARDEN of the UnSeelie Court had grown even more macabre since Tiki’s last visit. The brambles and thorns were as razor-sharp as ever, but now, it appeared shreds of flesh dangled from their murderous tips, as if scraped from their prey’s bones in the plant’s hurry to consume their victims. The flowers that flourished among the skeletal branches were glorious—brilliantly vibrant—reds, oranges, yellows, blues and greens—softly glowing and enticingly fragrant—so alluring it took great will power not to lean close and absorb their magnificence. A lovely melody wafted through the garden, cajoling them to come closer, yet beneath the sweet scent lay a bitter stench of blood and death.
“Of course you remember the garden sings to its prey,” Larkin said over her shoulder as she led the way across broken stones that had once been a path. “Don’t touch, don’t look, don’t smell. The flowers want only for you to become their next meal.”
Tiki tried to reconcile the darkness and evil that surrounded her with the sunlit, bountiful sight this same garden became when the Seelies were in control of Faerie. There was such a dichotomy between the two images that she couldn’t superimpose one over the other. It was impossible to imagine that the space she stood in now could be anything other than evil, dark and deadly.
She heaved a sigh of relief when they were past the garden and stood before the entry to the Palace of Mirrors. She stopped next to Larkin and stared at the sight before them. Guards lined the entire front of the Palace, armed and watching. Bonfires were lit on each corner of the building, their flames crackling and throwing sparks into the air like hungry jaws snapping to be fed.
“Donegal is expecting something to happen,” Larkin said. “Look there.” She pointed to an area past the palace where black-suited guards trained in various formations.
“Is he expecting an attack?” Rieker asked.
“It appears that way.”
Dain frowned. “From the Macanna?”
“Who else would dare to attack him in the Palace?” Larkin moved forward. “He knows we’re plotting. Let’s see what we can find out.”
“Stay close to me,” Rieker murmured in Tiki’s ear as they followed Larkin.
With every step, Tiki’s heart reverberated a little harder in her chest, like the strike of a bell clanging from side to side. She silently counted the guards who stretched from one end of the columned portico to the other. Seventeen. Even if they found the Jester, how would they possibly get him out of the building alive?
As they approached, the guards closest to their group dropped their spears to block any passage.
“Halt,” barked the tallest of the four who had taken a defensive position. “Name your business.”
Larkin stepped ahead of the others. “Donegal seeks my counsel. Tell him Fachtna has arrived.”
One of the guards dashed into the palace while the others remained frozen, blocking their way. Tiki could feel the weight of their dark eyes boring through her as surely as if their claws touched her flesh. A flash among the blackness that engulfed the palace caught her eye but as she shifted her gaze to look, the flutter of white disappeared amid the dark smoke.
The runner returned and whispered into the foremost guard’s ear. The burly man raised his hand and as one the spears snapped upright and the guards shifted to the side to allow entrance.
“Donegal awaits your arrival in the Great Hall.”
“Come,” Larkin said as she swept through the line toward the entrance to the Palace.
The building was intimately familiar to Tiki, having just lived within its walls for the last six months, yet in its present state, the space looked distinctly different. What had once been light was now dark. Black had replaced white, night had replaced day, evil had replaced goodness. It was as though they strode into the depths of hell.
Larkin went directly toward the hall where Donegal liked to command from the golden Dragon Throne. The towering pair of doors lay open and as before when Tiki had visited the Palace of Mirrors during Donegal’s reign, the room was filled with party-goers in a wide array of opulent dress. Now, however, there were also black-suited soldiers armed with a variety of weapons—somber and menacing.
Larkin paused in the hallway. “We part here. Split up and see what you can learn. The Jester will be guarded so watch for soldiers who appear to have no purpose. And remember—” she held up a finger— “Fial is extremely ingenious. If he is still alive he will find a way to give us a sign.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Jester lay on his side in the dark cell, the cold stone absorbing what little warmth remained in his body. There were no windows in his prison, save for the barred viewing slot in the door and the small pass-through for food at the bottom. He’d overheard the guards discussing his fate: to be fed alive to the hounds at the full moon, less than a week away. The cruelty of his punishment didn’t surprise him—his brother had always been cruel—that had never changed over the centuries.
Fial’s gaze swept what he could see of the small cell without moving. It hurt too much to move. They had beaten him half-unconscious before dragging his limp body to the hidden dungeon. He doubted that word would get to Larkin of his fate, but he had to try, just in case. She was his only hope.
He ground his teeth together against the pain to raise his battered, shaking hands toward his mo
uth, trying to ignore the burn of the iron against his wrists. He started to inhale but his breath caught as a knife-like pain stabbed him between his ribs. He tried again, barely opening his mouth and attempting to resist any movement of his ribcage. When he had sufficient breath gathered, he blew into his dirty, cupped palms and slowly rubbed them together. A snow white dove emerged from his fingers, one wing broken and dangling at its side. Fial cursed under his breath as the bird attempted flight but awkwardly fell to the floor where it dissolved in a puff of smoke.
The Jester’s body sagged against the unyielding stones. Every breath he took hurt. He brought his shaking hands to his mouth again and closed his eyes against the pain. Ever so slowly, he inhaled deeper this time then blew flame into his fingers. As the fire diminished, a small, but perfect, white dove perched there.
“Find the dove with the heart of a fox so that she may find me,” he whispered.
The bird flew around the room in one great circle before it flapped through the slot in the door and disappeared.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tiki, Rieker and Dain watched as Larkin marched into the Great Hall, her glamoured hair fluttering behind her.
“We need to split up, too,” Dain said. “I’ll go on my own since I know the UnSeelie palace better than either of you. The two of you need to stick together. If you find something, make the cry of the raven—I should be able to hear you.”
Tiki frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”
Dain’s gaze shifted to Tiki’s. “Don’t worry. I know my way around here, but your kind heart is always a pleasant surprise and reminds me that I do have a family now. For that reason, I will take great care.” With a nod, he strode away toward a motley contingent of guards who stood near a short stairway that led down to an area where weapons were cleaned and stored. As he approached, Dain raised his hand and called out. Whatever he said made several of them laugh and they willingly cleared a path for him.
“He seems to be blessed with the tongue of an Irishman,” Rieker said, staring after his brother.
“He is charming,” Tiki agreed. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”
“He lived a double life for many years. He doesn’t seem afraid.”
“As you should well know,” Tiki said in a dry tone, “lack of fear does not equate to good sense.”
Rieker grinned, his sallow, pock-marked face stretching in a fearsome expression. “Ah, but a good adventure outweighs good sense or fear any day.”
Tiki rolled her eyes. “Where do you think we should look?” She peered through the open doors into the Great Hall. The discordant strains of an out-of-tune fiddle floated out the door, making her teeth grate. A raw smell permeated the air—a strange combination that reminded her of charred meat and fresh blood. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “There are a lot of people in there, but an almost equal number of soldiers. I doubt they’ll tell us anything.”
“I think we need to go explore while Lar—” Rieker caught himself— “Fachtna keeps Donegal distracted.” He pulled Tiki away from the grand room as the screech and howl of other instruments joined in the cacophony of noise. They walked down a spacious hallway lined with doors on one wall. “What areas of the palace could Donegal keep a prisoner out of sight for days and weeks or even months?”
“I don’t know. The palace is large but I’ve never seen anything that looks like a prison. The Tor is solid rock, there’s nothing below the palace. That’s why the kitchens, stables and housing for the slaves are built to one side.”
Rieker nodded. “And the barracks for the soldiers couldn’t possibly hide a prisoner.”
“No. Definitely not. Considering how many soldiers Donegal has forced into service I doubt half of them could fit into those buildings.” She pointed straight ahead. “As you know, that way leads to the ruler of Faerie’s chambers and beyond that are mostly offices and drawing rooms.” She pointed the other direction. “The High Chamber of Lords and Ladies is that way.” She gazed one way and then the other with a look of dismay. “I’m not sure where to even start.”
“Where do these doors go?” Rieker pointed at the long row of doors that stretched down the hallway.
“I know one leads outside to the Night Garden. Dain took me that way when we escaped from Donegal my first visit. I don’t know about the others. Do you think one leads to a prison?”
Rieker walked over and yanked the closest door open to view the moonlit shadows of the Night Garden. “Not that one.” He walked down the hallway to the next door and pulled it open. Again, the barren, gnarled branches of the Night Garden were lit by a waxing moon and could be seen swaying to the muted sound of music emitting from the flowers. “Not that one.” He strode down the hall opening door after door, but they all led to the same place. “Clearly, this hallway won’t lead us to where we want to go.”
They began to walk again, their heads bent together. “Did the Jester have rooms of his own?” Rieker asked.
“I don’t know—it never came up in conversation. I only saw him in the Great Hall or the High Chamber.”
Rieker jerked his head up. “What about the High Chamber? Maybe they’re keeping the Jester hidden there.”
Tiki imagined the room where the Lords and Ladies of the Seelie Court met to discuss the business of the realm. Many of the rooms in the palace dripped with gilded opulence—soaring columns and elaborate decoration—but the High Chamber was like stepping into the shaded comfort of a wooded glen. Spongy moss coated the floor and the babbling voice of a nearby brook trickled over stones. Lilting birdsong floated among the branches that stretched overhead. It was as far from the normal sense of the word ‘room’ as one could get. Though Tiki had never explored the chamber beyond the large plank table where she met with the Lords and Ladies, the wooded space appeared to go on forever.
“Do you think there could be a prison hidden within the High Chamber?”
Rieker shrugged. “Why not? It seems large enough.”
“William, you’re brilliant,” Tiki breathed. “I wonder if there are guards watching the doors.”
“Only one way to find out.”
TIKI HURRIED AFTER Rieker as he strode down the hallway toward the High Chamber. Squeaks from a flute pierced the air with knife-like stabs as cellos, fiddles and harps strummed in a frenzied pace as if to keep up. Tiki could just imagine the harried dance that might accompany such music and gave silent thanks she wasn’t in the Great Hall with Donegal and his UnSeelie Court.
She hurried after Rieker, anxious to hide within the High Chamber. She felt too exposed out in the open passageway. They were barely a third of the way down the immense corridor when an odd sound caught Tiki’s ear. She cocked her head, trying to differentiate what she’d heard from the musical din that crashed down the hallway behind them but it was impossible.
The sound came again and this time she knew immediately what she’d heard: the low growl of a dog with deadly intent. Tiki jerked around just as two hellhounds, teeth barred and jaws snapping, broke into a gallop, headed directly toward them.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tiki didn’t have time to scream. She reacted purely by instinct. She clamped a hand around Rieker’s wrist and tugged him across the hallway. She yanked open the nearest door and dove into the dark space, pulling Rieker along behind her. Using her foot as they fell forward, Tiki slammed the door shut just as the first dog reached them. The door rattled upon impact as the dog crashed into the wood, followed by a loud yip.
Instead of falling into the Night Garden as she had expected, they collided much more abruptly with a set of stone steps.
“Umpf!” Tiki cried as her head cracked against the hard surface. Rieker landed next to her, his breath forced out in a sharp exhale.
“Ouch,” Rieker said, rubbing his ribs as he pushed off the stairs to stand up. He held a hand out for Tiki. “Are you all right?”
Outside the door, the dogs could be heard sniffing and one ha
d begun to howl. Before them a set of stone steps stretched up in a circle above their heads and disappeared out of sight. A wavering light from above cast enough light to navigate the stairwell.
“Where in bloody hell did those dogs come from?” Rieker said. “And why are they after us?”
“Let’s keep moving,” Tiki replied in a low voice, starting up the stairs. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Tiki climbed as fast as she could, keeping one hand on the curving wall of the stairwell.
“Where are we going?”
“I have no idea but those dogs are Bearach’s hellhounds. Dain thinks Donegal has set them after me—they first showed up in Grosvenor Square just after you’d left for Scotland. They must be able to smell my scent through the glamour. We’ll need to divert them somehow.”
“That much seems obvious,” Rieker muttered as he followed her up the stairs. “Unless you have a spare leg you can offer up in sacrifice.”
Tiki smiled despite the tension that crackled inside her. “I’ll get back to you about that one.” By the time they neared the top of the stairs her breath came in short gasps. They stepped onto a small landing that led to another door.
“Where do you suppose that goes?” Rieker whispered as he looked around. “And where are we? We opened every one of the doors in that hallway and they all led to the Night Garden. Where did these stairs come from?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t go back, so I guess that means there’s only one direction for us to go.” Tiki stepped forward and put her ear to the door, but she could hear nothing. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and took a deep breath. “I am the queen,” she muttered under her breath, “I can protect us…” but she didn’t believe it for a second. Not in the palace while Donegal ruled.
With a quick movement she twisted the handle and tugged on the door, but it was locked. She pulled again, harder this time, but the sturdy wooden portal wouldn’t budge.
The Faerie Queen (The Faerie Ring #4) Page 11