Blackbird Rising (The Witch King's Crown Book 1)

by Keri Arthur

  After wrapping the crown up again and tucking it safely into the backpack, I sipped my tea and made inroads into the pile of sandwiches. Though we didn’t drive for all that long, it was dark by the time Mo pulled onto a graveled drive. After a few seconds, the headlights picked out a little, whitewashed thatched cottage. Mo stopped under the cover of some trees and we both got out. The air was cold and silent. Nothing stirred; even the rumble of traffic from the nearby highway was inaudible.

  Mo grabbed a duffel bag from the back of the car, then walked over to the red-painted door, lifted the mat, and grabbed the key.

  “Well, that’s a totally secure place to hide a key, isn’t it?”

  Her smile flashed. “We’re in the country, darling girl. Folks tend to be more honest than not.”

  She stepped into the cottage and turned on the lights. I followed her in and looked around. The place was small but cozy, consisting of little more than a combined kitchen-living area, a bedroom to the right, and a bathroom to the left. A small fireplace dominated the rear wall.

  “How’d you get onto this place?” I dumped the backpack on a nearby chair—there were only two—and walked across to the fire. It had been already set with kindling, and there were matches sitting on the mantelpiece.

  “It belonged to a former lover.”

  I struck the match, shoved it under the paper, and then glanced at her. “Then let’s hope the dark ones don’t know much about you or your lovers—”

  “He’s long dead, and his granddaughter only ever uses the place in summer. No one will think to look here.”

  She pulled several vials out of the duffel bag, dumped them in the bathroom, and then said, “Right, let’s get you patched up, and then you can soak the remaining aches away.”

  I sat on the chair and let her work her magic. Once she’d healed the worst of my wounds, I filled the bath and shook in her various salts and oils. After I’d soaked in it long enough for the water to be on the cool side, I made us both another cup of tea and then headed to bed.

  A too-loud ringing woke me who knew how many hours later.

  “Grab that, will you?” Mo rolled over, taking half the bedcovers with her.

  I groped for the phone, then realized there was no table on my side of the bed and the phone was charging in the other room.

  I swore, climbed out of bed, and padded, shivering in my T-shirt, into the other room.

  I swore again when I saw the time.

  I hit the answer button and said, “It’s four in the goddamn morning, Luc—why the fuck are you ringing at this hour?”

  “You were supposed to call me. You didn’t. I was worried.”

  It was a statement that mollified some of the annoyance. “Could you not have worried a little bit longer? I mean, seriously, four a.m.? Who gets up at that hour?”

  “The man who has been up most of the night looking for you.”

  “So why didn’t you ring earlier?”

  “I did. I kept getting a ‘this number is not available’ message.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, the phone was flat.” I cleared my throat. “You obviously got away from the bad guys okay.”

  “Yes. Where are you? I checked the bookstore, but you’re not there.”

  “No, but we’re safe. Are you going to get into trouble for beheading that guy?”

  “No. Where’s the crown?”

  “Still with me.”

  I could practically feel the exasperation rolling down the line. “And where might that be?”

  “I’m actually not sure—it was dark when Mo picked me up, so I have no idea where we landed, other than it’s a little cottage out in the middle of nowhere.”

  He grunted. It was not a happy sound. “Well, when she wakes, find out where you are and let me know. We need to discuss what we’re going to do with the crown.”

  “We’re going to hide it.”

  “Yes, but we need—”

  “No, I mean Mo and I are going to hide it.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “She doesn’t trust us?”

  “She believes we have a leak, and it doesn’t matter if it’s within your lot, the Preternatural team, or someone close to us. If only she and I know where it’s hidden, it limits leakage possibilities.”

  “And makes you both targets.”

  “Only if they realize we found the crown.” I paused. “You didn’t tell Jason, did you? Or your people?”

  “No.”

  Relief spun through me. “Then don’t. I’ll contact you as soon as the crown is hidden.”

  He made an aggravated sound. “Fine. I’ll head up to headquarters and see what we can do about tracking down the controlling oath ring.”

  “Just be careful. They’ll guess we have it and may use it to entrap.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Gwen.”

  “Okay then.” I hesitated. “Talk to you later.”

  “You will.” He still sounded rather annoyed, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. But his sensibilities were a whole lot less important than protecting the crown. Generations of De Montfort women had dedicated their lives to protecting the damn sword; we could do no less for the crown now that we had it. Especially when only the crowned king could draw the sword.

  “That Luc?” Mo said from the other room.

  “Yeah. He’s not happy.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected. We have the crown and they, the defenders of said crown, do not.”

  “You sound overly happy about it.”

  “They had it once. They obviously lost it, given where it ended up. Now it’s our turn.” She appeared in the doorway. “Do you want to make the thermos up? We might as well get going, seeing we’re both up. If we can get to the lakes by dawn, it’ll make things easier.”

  “Who exactly are we entrusting the crown to?”

  “The woman from whom the sword came.”

  I frowned. “Didn’t the Lady of the Lake give the sword to the Aquitaines?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re giving the crown to the Lady of the Lake?”

  She frowned at me. “Did I not just say that?”

  “Yes, but I had no idea she actually still existed.”

  “Well, of course she exists. Just because humans no longer believe in the old gods doesn’t make them any less real.”

  “I guess—”

  She patted my arm. “Vivienne has been quiet for many a century, I’ll grant you that. But that doesn’t make her any less real or any less powerful. Make that tea while I go freshen up.”

  We were on the road ten minutes later. The predawn darkness was still and calm, and the storm that had threatened yesterday evening had blown past without a huge amount of rain, meaning the roads weren’t dangerously slick. The little Leaf ate away the miles with surprising speed, and Mo’s old rock playlist kept us both awake.

  Dawn was just beginning to stain the clouds with various shades of pink by the time we arrived in Windermere. Mo wound her way through the empty streets, then turned onto a secondary road that basically followed the shoreline.

  “Well, this place has certainly built up since I was last here,” she commented.

  “When was that?”

  She shrugged. “Well before you were born.”

  “Were you here for a holiday or was it business?”

  She glanced at me, amusement evident. “Both.”

  “Did it involve the Lady Vivienne?”

  “No. One does not bother a water goddess unless absolutely necessary. Here we are.”

  The “here” was the parking area of what a sign said was the Windermere Jetty and Museum. “Here? We’re going to call on a goddess from a jetty?”

  “Not the jetty itself, but the shoreline just up from it. It’s close enough to the center of the lake and gives us the best call coverage. Now stop your fussing, grab the backpack, and follow me.”

  We climbed out of the car. The morning was crisp, and fog clung to the dark water, hiding the end of the jet
ty and all but the masts of the sailing boats moored nearby. Mo walked over a bridge that spanned a concrete water channel, then through the treed park beyond, heading for the shore of a U-shaped inlet.

  Stones crunched under our feet, but the fog drifting across the water’s surface dulled the sound. Despite the fact there were multiple houses not that far away, it very much felt as if we were alone is this place.

  Mo bent and pressed her fingers into the water lapping at the shore. As tiny waves rose around her hand, she said, “Lady of the Lake, I beseech thee, heed my call.”

  Her voice was soft and yet filled with a power that echoed across the fog-caressed lake. Nothing stirred. Nothing happened.

  “Lady of the Lake,” Mo repeated. “Your presence and your help are requested. Please, heed my call.”

  Still no response. My gaze swept the fog-shrouded lake; there was nothing out there but those barely visible boat masts. “Perhaps—”

  Mo held up a finger, silencing me. I bit my lip and waited. After another minute, the fog stirred, sluggishly at first and then gaining traction and power as it rolled toward us. As the wave of white rolled over us and the world disappeared from sight, a voice that was both otherworldly and powerful said, “What is it you wish of me, Moscelyne?”

  “Darkness has risen and the true king has not.”

  “This is not something I can change.”

  “No, but we have found the crown of the king; it needs to be held safe until the time of rising arrives.”

  “That time is not now.”

  “No,” Mo repeated. “The sword remains unclaimed.”

  “That will not be the case for very long.”

  Mo’s uncertainty spun through a wall of white, sending little whirls skittering away. “The sword cannot be claimed without a coronation.”

  “Your knowledge is not as complete as you think, Moscelyne, if that is what you truly believe. Bring forth the crown.”

  “Gwen?”

  I stepped up to the edge of the water. “It’s here.”

  “Throw it to me.”

  I glanced down at Mo, though I could barely see more than the ring of gold around her eyes. A ring that glowed as fiercely as the crown itself.

  “Do it,” she said softly.

  I pulled the crown free from the pack and, with all my might, tossed it across the water. Blue light pulsed from the gem at its heart, clearing a path through the mist in front of it. A hand rose from the water—a hand that was as pale as ice, with nails that were as red as blood—to catch it. It was held aloft for several seconds and then pulled back into the water.

  “I will keep it safe until the time of the king has truly risen.”

  “Thank you, Lady of the Lake.”

  The mist stirred, and a sense of amusement swirled around us. “I am not used to such formality, Moscelyne. Not from you.”

  “It has been a long time, Vivienne. Formality is a prerequisite until advised otherwise.”

  “Then consider yourself so advised. Until we next meet.”

  The fog rolled back, and waves retreated from Mo’s fingers. She washed the mud from them and then rose. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “Indeed. I had no damn idea you were on first-name terms with an ancient goddess.”

  “There are few enough of us left these days who do have the capacity to call on the ancient gods. It’s natural she would know the names of those who do.”

  “A perfectly reasonable answer, and one I do not for a second believe.”

  Mo clucked her tongue. “It is a sad state of affairs when your granddaughter mistrusts your explanations.”

  “That’s because your explanations rarely actually explain anything.” I crossed my arms and studied her for a second. “How many other mages are there?”

  She grimaced. “Technically, only two others remain. Gwendydd resides in Europe, and Mryddin has yet to leave the cave in which he was trapped quite some time ago.”

  “If he was trapped in a cave, why did no one rescue him?”

  “Because he didn’t deserve to be rescued. He fell in love with the wrong woman, despite frequent warnings. It’s his penance.” She shrugged. “Of course, it’s also possible the old fool simply considers the entrapment an extended holiday—a nice break from the troubles of kings.”

  “There haven’t been any kings to worry about for eons. Not witch kings, at any rate.”

  “Ah, but trapped in his cave, how would he know that?”

  I blinked. “That suggests he was alive during Uhtric’s time, but that’s impossible, surely?”

  She shrugged again. “Mages tend to live a very long time. And before you ask, he’s the oldest of us. I’m the youngest.”

  I stared at her, and then swallowed heavily. “Does that mean you’ll outlive me? Or even any children I might have?”

  “Outlive you? Possibly not, given my blood runs in your veins.”

  “So just how old are you?”

  Amusement twitched her lips. “Old enough.”

  “Gran!”

  She sighed. “It’ll do your head in if I actually answer that particular question.”

  “It’ll do my head in if you don’t.”

  “Well, then, given the results will be the same either way, I might as well not.”

  “Seriously? Just answer this one question for me. Please.”

  “Fine. I am not your grandmother. I’m not your mother’s grandmother. I’m older even than that.”

  I sucked in a breath. “No—”

  Her eyes twinkled. “What is the point of me answering if you’re not going to believe me?”

  “But that’s—”

  “Impossible, yes, I know. But here we are.”

  “But …” I swallowed. “How?”

  She shrugged. “It is said mages come from a union of gods and witches. Or, in Mryddin’s case, an incubus and a human. It gifted offspring with long lives and great power.”

  “So you’re basically immortal?”

  She smiled. “No. I can be killed just the same as any witch or human. I just age at a fraction of the speed of either.”

  “Which means—given I’ve aged rather normally—that you will outlive me.”

  She patted my arm comfortingly. “The whole ageless thing doesn’t kick in immediately. It happened to me only after I had my three children.”

  I stared at her. “Three? Why have you never mentioned them?”

  Something shone in her eyes—something that was sadness and pain, even if it disappeared all too quickly. “Because none inherited the god gene. I have buried children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, just as I buried your mother.”

  And would bury me, if that was necessary. She didn’t say that, but it was nevertheless in the brief wash of sorrow emanating from her.

  I gripped her arm. “I’m sorry, Mo. I didn’t mean to stir old hurts.”

  “I know.” She patted my hand comfortingly. “There is one bright spot for you, at least, if you have inherited the gene.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Gwendydd’s bloodline runs through the Blackbirds; it is possible that Luc is a bearer.”

  “Luc is committed to his work,” I said, voice dry. “It won’t matter one way or another whether that’s true or not.”

  She motioned me forward. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you—”

  “That look is lust, Mo, and his ethics aren’t going to allow anything too exciting to happen.”

  “Then you’ll just have to spin your wiles a bit harder.”

  “Mo, you’ve seen me spin my wiles many a time in the past. You know just how successful that’s been over the years.”

  “Sadly, yes. But I am hoping my genes will eventually kick in.” She pressed the remote, and the car’s lights flashed in response. “Let’s go.”

  “Where? Home?”

  “Yes. Barney’s nephew was able to enlarge and enhance the image you took of the writing on the back of the throne. Barney
said he’d bring it over this morning.”

  “It’ll take us a few hours to get back there.”

  “Barney’s idea of morning is closer to midday than dawn.”

  I grinned. “I do often wonder how he manages to keep his job.”

  “Easy. He sets his own hours.”

  I laughed and climbed into her car. We made our way back to the M6, and though the traffic was fairly light, it still took us over three hours to get home, thanks to a couple of lavatory pit stops.

  Once Mo had parked, I grabbed my pack and the now-empty thermos and then climbed out. The street was surprisingly busy considering it was winter, but maybe they were bargain hunters here for the winter sales. I waited for several cars to move past, then crossed the road. But as I got my keys out and went to open the door, I stopped, the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

  Something was inside.

  Something that felt a whole lot like a demon.

  Twelve

  I backed away from the door and then glanced at Mo as she joined me on the pavement. “There’s a demon inside.”

  She studied the building, her gaze narrowed. “Feels like there’s at least one up on the first floor, but that shouldn’t be possible given the time of day.”

  I looked up at the front windows. The blinds in the living area had been drawn—not something we normally did. “Could they be half-breeds?”

  “Maybe.” She glanced at me, her expression grim. “If they are, we have a bigger problem than I’d thought.”

  I frowned. “Why would halflings be a worse problem than full demons?”

  “Because it suggests they’ve enough to be wasting them on a suicide mission such as this.”

  “Or they simply have no respect for either of us.” I glanced up at the windows again. “What are we going to do?”

  “Did you lock Max’s window?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not open again. They seem to have an uncanny knack for getting around your protection spells.”

  “Yes, and it makes me wonder why. But let’s worry about our intruders first. I’ll head in through the window if it’s open—”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “I’ll open it.”

  “Any sort of magic will warn them—”

  “Which means they’ll either fight or run, and the two of us can cope with either.” She paused. “Do you have your daggers with you?”