The Torn Wing

by Kiki Hamilton

Rieker stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”

  She fluttered the fan before her face, her eyes glittering like blue opals behind hooded lids, reminding Tiki of an exotic snake waiting to strike. “I’m quite sure you would find some of my secrets fascinating.”

  “Were you involved in the murder of the Seelie king?”

  The faerie blinked in surprise. “So you already know.” A fleeting smile flitted across her face. “That’s what I like about you, William—always one step ahead of the rest of the lot. I’ve always said you would do well in my world.”

  Rieker didn’t return her smile. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Larkin’s smile faded. “No, I wasn’t involved in the Summer king’s murder. In the span of four years—less than a blink of time in the faerie world—two Seelie kings have been murdered— O’Riagáin and Eridanus. Both at the hand of one man: Donegal.”

  A low snarl emitted from her throat. “Now he sits on the Dragon Throne as we speak, claiming to rule all of Faerie. He is a madman, thirsting for power, surrounded by his minions—” she threw out an arm and flinched as though in pain— “mindless warriors who follow his commands.” Her voice lowered. “But he won’t stop with the death of O’Riagáin. Oh, no. He has bigger plans than that. He’s coming after the Queen, the royal family and—” her words fell, diamond sharp— “he’s learned there is someone marked with an fáinne sí hiding in London.” Larkin raised her eyebrows. With an arrogant twist of her head she nodded at Tiki. “He’s coming after her.”

  Chapter Six

  Tiki gripped the back of a nearby chair. Surely she couldn’t have heard Larkin correctly.

  Rieker took a step forward, his hands clenched in fists. His voice rang with accusation. “How did he find out about Tiki’s mark?”

  “Donegal is after anyone who will further his power,” Larkin replied. “Especially now, when he’s found a way around the truce and believes he’s invincible.” She slapped the fan against her hand, a calculating look creasing her beautiful features. “He doesn’t know who is marked or where they might be yet, but trust me, he is relentless.” Her lips twisted in a smug smile. “Lucky for you, I know how to stop him. That’s why you’ll help me.”

  Tiki stood stunned. “But I thought you were part of the UnSeelie court. I thought—”

  “You thought what?” The faerie cut her off with a snarl. “That I would forever live my life in the shadows and gloom? That I was bred from the monstrosities who make up the dark court?” Her upper lip curled with derision. “I was a spy!” She spat the word out like a gauntlet thrown to the ground. “I sacrificed myself to that miserable life for Eridanus, for Finn—” she stopped, a rare play of emotions blowing across her face. “But they didn’t live to see my success and I will do what I think is right now.”

  “And that is what, exactly?” Rieker’s voice was low, ragged with emotion.

  “There’s only one way to stop Donegal at this point. He has grown too strong. We need to put her—” she stabbed her long finger in Tiki’s direction— “and the Cloch na Teamhrach together.”

  Tiki stepped back. She didn’t understand what Larkin had said, but she knew better than to trust the faerie. Nothing Larkin had planned could be good for Tiki or her family.

  Rieker spoke the foreign words with a surprising ease. “What is Cloch na Teamhrach?”

  “The Stone of Tara.”

  At the sound of her name, dread trickled down Tiki’s back like the icy brown water of the Thames, chilling her. She clenched her hands. “Tara?”

  “Yes,” Larkin said. “The stone is carved from the rock found beneath the Hill of Tara in Ireland, where the Seelie court originated. It is sacred to our world.” The faerie’s eyes narrowed, her expression becoming hard. “Legend says the rock will cry out when touched by a true high king or queen. All in Faerie, Seelie and UnSeelie alike, must bow to a sovereign named by Cloch na Teamhrach.”

  “So where is this sacred stone?” Rieker asked, his curiosity clearly aroused, “and what does it have to do with Tiki?”

  Larkin lowered her voice. “The location of the Tara Stone is one of the Otherworld’s greatest secrets, but it is whispered that the stone is in the Palace of Mirrors.”

  “The Palace of Mirrors?” Tiki asked, despite herself. “What’s that?”

  A smile quirked Larkin’s mouth at Tiki’s interest. “The Palace of Mirrors is a fortress located on Wydryn Tor high above the Wychwood Forest. It stands on neutral ground between the Plain of Sunlight that the Seelie’s inhabit and the Plain of Starlight where the UnSeelies live.”

  “The Wychwood Forest?” Rieker interrupted. “But that’s over in Oxfordshire.”

  Larkin tapped her fan along the back of a chair as she moved toward the window. She stopped in a spill of sunlight, which turned her glamoured brown hair to the blond color Tiki remembered from past encounters. She swiveled toward Rieker.

  “You’re exactly right, William. The Royal Forest of Wychwood is an ancient parcel of land that was set aside as a place for the British sovereigns to hunt deer and stags. A place of magic your royals have long known about. The stone quarried for one of your world’s most important royal buildings, St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle, comes from a town within the forest. Protected by enchantments, even now.” She snapped her fan open and fluttered the delicate blue silk before her face. “The Wychwood Forest is a grand place of immeasurable beauty—” her tone sharpened— “and terrible danger for those who don’t know their way. The Wychwood is one of the true intersections between the mortal world and the Otherworld.”

  An intersection with the Otherworld? Tiki fought back a shudder. Was it possible such places existed? Where one could start walking in one world and end up in another?

  “A..Are there,” Tiki faltered, “other…intersections?”

  “Of course,” Larkin said. “For instance, Wydryn Tor is a crossroads with what you mortals call Glastonbury Tor, though time and space are measured differently in our world. But I was telling you about the Palace.” Larkin snapped her fan closed against the palm of her hand. “The Palace of Mirrors provides the same function as your Queen’s Buckingham Palace. It is where the ruler of Faerie resides.”

  She moved to the desk, drawing a long finger along the edge of the walnut wood. “In our world, control shifts during the year. The Seelies, also known as the Summer Court, rule from Beltane, which is the first of May, to Samhain, at the end of October. The UnSeelie’s, the Winter Court, rule during the dark months from Samhain to Beltane.”

  Rieker stood with his hands on his hips. “I thought Donegal sat on the Seelie throne now?”

  Larkin gave a sharp jerk of her head. “Which is the reason I’m here. Donegal has killed the Summer king just weeks before Beltane—the day when control of the courts should shift back to the Seelie’s again. But he doesn’t intend to relinquish control on the first of May.” She held her long, delicate finger up. “We have one chance to take the throne back.”

  “And what’s that?” Rieker asked.

  The glamoured faerie stepped away from the desk to walk back toward Tiki and Rieker. As she moved a cloud covered the sun and the shaft of light suddenly disappeared like the snuffed flame of a candle.

  “Donegal controls the courts through brute force rather than destiny. The stone did not speak for him, because he is not the true heir,” Larkin said. “The last time the stone cried out was during the reign of Finvarra, the first high king of the Daoine Sidhe.” She gave Tiki a pointed look. “He was Finn MacLochlan’s father.”

  Tiki blinked at the familiar name. Larkin had mentioned Finn MacLochlan before—that the mark on her arm was also the birthmark of Finn MacLochlan—whoever he was. Tiki’s heart pounded like a train racing down the tracks at full steam. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “Should the stone roar, then all in Faerie, even Donegal, would be forced to acknowledge the Seelie Court has a new, true high king —” through slitted eye
s Larkin’s gaze locked on Tiki— “or queen.” The faerie took a step closer. “I need your help because you, Tara Kathleen Dunbar MacLochlan, despicable little orphan girl, are Finn MacLochlan’s daughter and therefore, Finvarra’s, last true heir.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tiki stood frozen, her mouth ajar. Nothing Larkin could have said would have been more shocking. Even Rieker seemed stunned by the faerie’s announcement. When he finally spoke, it was in a tone of disbelief. “Larkin, what nonsense are you spewing now?”

  The faerie moved, as if balanced on air, the silky folds of her dark blue dress billowing around her. “Really, it can’t be that much of a shock.” She sounded as if she were bored by their confusion. “You must have realized by now.”

  At their blank stares, her expression shifted. “Fine. Pretend you don’t know. I’ll explain it to you.” She frowned at Tiki. “But repeating the facts won’t change what is necessary at the end of the day.”

  “I’m afraid we have no idea what the ‘facts’ might be,” Rieker said in an even tone. His eyes were bright with curiosity. “Are you saying Tiki is descended from a faerie king?”

  “William.” Larkin snapped. “Why do you sound surprised? You’re descended from Eridanus, one of the greatest faeries who ever lived. Why should the news that Tiki has faerie blood be any different?”

  “I have a thread of faerie blood in me,” Rieker protested, “passed down over centuries. You’re suggesting Tiki has significantly more.”

  “For the love of Ériu she is marked with an fáinne sí, after all,” Larkin said. “It’s obvious she’s Finn MacLochlan’s daughter.”

  Tiki capped her hand over her arm where the thin black lines of her birthmark twisted around her wrist. An fáinne sí: The faerie ring. A rare and undeniable connection to the fey, she’d been told. Yet she had denied it. She had not allowed herself to believe she had any connection to that unseen world, even though her mother had hinted many times that another world intersected with their own.

  “But I’d never even heard of Finn MacLochlan before you mentioned his name—” Tiki protested.

  “That doesn’t alter the facts,” Larkin said in a stony voice, “that you are his daughter.”

  Tiki clenched her teeth. “That’s not even possible. I’ve lived in London all my life and—”

  “Yes, well—” Larkin swept Tiki with a smug glance. “Where to start and how much to tell—”

  Tiki’s breath caught in her throat. Was she ready to know the truth? “Last winter you mentioned that someone named Adasara hid me in London. Why don’t you start there?”

  “Yes, my dear beautiful sister, Adasara.” Larkin’s voice sounded wistful. “I think you’re exactly right. That is the perfect place to start.”

  Tiki sucked in her breath with a hiss. “Sister?”

  A smile flitted across Larkin’s face and she looked pleased with herself. “Oh, yes. Did I forget to mention that?” She smoothed the folds of her dress, her movements effortless and graceful. “Adasara was my older sister. She was very beautiful and very kind.” Larkin flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder and tilted her head. Her eyes were bright as if she were enjoying herself immensely. “Not like me at all.”

  “Why did your sister have Tiki?” Rieker asked. “Did she steal her?”

  An expression of innocence was painted on Larkin’s features. “Adasara had Tara because she was her mother.” Her enigmatic eyes shifted to Tiki. “Which, if my calculations are correct, makes me your aunt, doesn’t it?”

  Time stood frozen, as Tiki stared at Larkin in disbelief.

  “Tiki, Tiki, Tiki.” Clara’s shrill cry echoed down the hallway. The spell broken, Tiki jerked toward the door, instantly alert to the panic in the four year-old’s voice. She turned back to warn Larkin not to reveal her true identity to the child, but Isabelle Cavendish was gone.

  “Rieker—where—”

  “Come quick,” Clara gasped as she exploded through the door. Her chest heaved as she grabbed Tiki’s hand and tugged her down the hallway.

  “Clara—” Tiki fought a rising panic of her own— “what on earth is the matter?” She pulled back against the insistent tugging of the child. “Stop and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I can’t.” Clara said. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  A sixth sense prickled along Tiki’s spine. “Clara Marie, stop this instant and tell me what’s going on.”

  Fiona appeared in the doorway, her face knitted in a worried expression. “Hello Wills.” She nodded at the young man who stood next to Tiki. “Welcome home.”

  Tiki bent at the knees and scooped Clara into her arms, balancing the frail girl on one hip. “Fi, do you know—”

  “It’s Toots.” Fiona said. “He hasn’t returned from wherever he’s got himself off to. Clara got it in her head that he’s disappeared.”

  The little girl turned frightened eyes toward Tiki. “It’s true,” she whispered. “Mrs. B. sent me outside to tell Toots to come in an’ I saw those blokes take ‘im.”

  “Take him where?” Tiki asked in a sharp voice. Tears welled up in Clara’s eyes.

  “That’s just it—I don’ know. I can’t see ‘em anymore.”

  “Clara, love, there’s no need to get so upset.” Tiki smoothed a tangle of blond hair from the little girl’s face. “He’s probably just around the corner. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “But Tiki.” Clara hiccupped. “He’s not. I was watchin’ from the horse house. They were standing there in the alley talkin’, then one of ‘em took Toots’s arm and all three of ‘em disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Tiki echoed.

  Rieker stepped closer. “Are you sure?”

  Clara gave a solemn nod, her blue eyes bright with tears.

  Tiki didn’t wait to hear more. She let Clara slide to the floor and clutched her little hand.

  “Show me where.” They hurried back toward the rear door, running out through the harness room, past where Geoffrey was brushing one of the black mares, to the large oversized carriage door that led to the alley. Clara pulled her out onto the narrow lane and pointed.

  “Down there.”

  A tall, dense hedgerow protected one side of the narrow lane that was used to access the coach houses along the back of the building. There was never much foot traffic and at this moment the alley was empty in both directions. Tiki’s heart skipped in her chest as she searched for the red-headed boy. Toots was full of energy and often wandered off. Years of surviving on the streets had made him unafraid to explore. But Clara was suggesting he hadn’t simply wandered off but that he’d been abducted—perhaps by something otherworldly. Or—knowing Toots—had he gone willingly?

  “Was he yelling for help?” Tiki smoothed Clara’s tangled curls back from her little face.

  “Oh, no, he was laughin’ and ‘avin’ a good time, and then—” Clara motioned with her hands— “gone.”

  Tiki clutched Rieker’s arm. “Do you think—”

  “I don’t know,” Rieker said. “You check inside again. I’ll look out here.” He leaned down and opened his arms to take Clara. “I’m going to walk down the way a bit and see if I can find Toots. Want to come with me?”

  “Yes.” Clara nodded with a serious expression. “I’ll be your ‘elper.”

  Rieker lifted her small body over his head, sliding her legs onto his shoulders. “You don’t have to hold onto my ears, either. I’ve got you.” A guilty giggle escaped Clara’s lips as she released her grip on Rieker’s ears. Tiki’s chest constricted with emotion.

  “Teek, you stay at the house, in case he returns. And don’t panic.” Rieker gave Tiki a gentle smile. “You know Toots. He’s tough and adventuresome. He’s all right—wherever he might be.” He lifted a tress of Tiki’s hair and tucked it behind her shoulder, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. “We’ll find him.” She tried to force a smile but fear crept through her veins and she shivered.

  Rieker walked down the street,
Clara bouncing on his broad shoulders. “Toots! Tooottssss!” They called one way and then the other, their voices carrying above the wind. Tiki took a deep breath and forced herself to consider the unthinkable. Last winter Larkin had stolen Clara, intending to trade her for the ring of the truce. If Toots had been taken by Larkin, this time Tiki had nothing to trade for his return. Except, perhaps, herself.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m concerned, Arthur. Even though mother is practically on house arrest and has guards with her at all times, I fear it’s not enough.” Leo led Diablo into the royal stables, one hand gripping the reins under the great black horse’s jaw. The shod hooves were muted against the straw strewn over the cobblestone floor.

  “I know.” Arthur walked abreast, leading his own mount. They’d just returned from a ride through the Queen’s parks. The weather had abated enough they were able to ride between downpours. “I’ve had the same worries. When we don’t know how to recognize the face of the enemy we are at a distinct disadvantage. If the weather is any indication, then things are getting worse rather than better in the Otherworld.”

  “It’s not just the weather.” Leo handed the reins over to the stable master. “There’s something else.”

  “Such as?” Arthur turned his horse over and pulled his leather gloves off as they walked the length of the stables to exit. Horses snorted and poked their heads over their stalls, hoping for attention from the brothers.

  Leo leaned close and lowered his voice. “I have this feeling I’m being watched.” He gave Arthur a sidelong glance. “Have you noticed it as well?”

  Arthur’s brows pulled down in a frown. “Are you serious? Have you noticed something out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing I can put my finger on. It’s difficult to describe.” Leo paused, searching for the right words. “It’s a bit like having someone breathe down your neck, but when you turn, there’s no one.” He forced a laugh. “Probably my imagination. All this talk of faeries and war has got me spooked.”