The Seven Year King (The Faerie Ring #3) (36 page)

“Thank you again for taking the time to visit. I’ll look forward to seeing you next spring. Take good care of yourself in the meantime and make sure you get enough to eat.”

“Yes, Majesty, but there’s been no food at the camp for weeks.”

“No food?” Tiki shot a questioning look at Rieker who raised his hands and shrugged.

Ailléna gave her a guilty look. “We thought maybe we’d eaten too much in the summer.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Tiki said, but as she spoke, she recalled Gestle telling them that Donegal had burned the hobgoblin’s fields. “Of course, you didn’t eat too much. I asked that food be set out for the hungry each day, but I’ll look into it and make sure there is enough for all.”

“It’s all right, Majesty. We’re used to getting by. We can always beg.” Ailléna bowed. “Blessings and good health on you.”

AFTER AILLÉNA’S DEPARTURE, Tiki sank into one of the elegant chairs in the sitting area and put her head in hands. She was so tired and there was so much yet to do, beyond freeing Dain. If only she could rest for a few minutes, then maybe she could think more clearly about what to do next. The mouth-watering aroma had dissipated and Tiki wondered if they’d just imagined the delicious smell.

Rieker sat in the chair next to hers, dark circles shadowed the skin under his eyes. The bruises around his throat were more prominent now as if he wore some ghastly purple necklace.

“Teek—I don’t know what to do.”

The despair in his voice twisted Tiki’s heart.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the chair, covering his face with his hands. “I’ve got to do
something
—but I don’t know what. It’s just like losing Jimmy and Tommy all over again, except this time I’ve known it’s coming.”

Tiki reached over and put her hand on his knee. It was so unlike him to show weakness or indecision—it made her heart break to listen to the anguish in his voice.

“Wills, we’ve still got time—we’ll figure it out. Just promise you won’t ever leave me again.”

TIKI JERKED UPRIGHT. Rieker stood at the window, talking about the procedure for the Wild Hunt that night. She’d only nodded off for a few moments but in that finite space of time she’d dreamt of red garters tied to boliaun branches again.

Rieker had his hands on his hips, with his shoulders square as if preparing for battle as he stared out toward the blood red sun. “It’s only a few more hours now before they set him loose.”

Tiki jumped up, hardly able to contain her excitement. “I’ve got an idea.”

THE SUN HAD just slipped below the horizon when Larkin came to find Tiki in the Great Hall where she was surveying the preparations. Larkin had changed to black, her light hair bound in a tight bun behind her head and hidden beneath a dark head drape. Tiki wondered what she was plotting, for the mercurial faerie appeared to be planning to become invisible.

“We need to discuss the procedure tonight. As soon as power has shifted back to the UnSeelies we must return to the Plain of Sunlight and plan our counter-attack. From what I’ve learned, it sounds like we won’t have much time before Donegal pursues us. Luckily, the Macanna are well-trained.”

“What exactly is my role?” Tiki asked in a cool voice. She wasn’t going to tell Larkin of their plan. She didn’t want to take the chance that someone might reveal what they were up to, before it was time.

“The Wild Hunt is launched from the Night Garden. As the moon crests the horizon the UnSeelies will give the prey a thirty minute head start. After that, they follow on foot and horseback. The goal is to bring back the sacrifice—dead or alive.”

“Prey?
Sacrifice?
Is that how you refer to Dain now? He told me he’d known you all his life.” Tiki curled her lip. “Is it so easy for you to dismiss him as lost?”

Larkin pointed a long finger at Tiki and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t presume to know what I think or feel. The Seven Year King is a long-held tradition within the Courts, started by Seelie royalty. You seem to want to blame me personally, for a crime
your
heritage began.” Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps if you find these traditions distasteful, it would be best if you gave up the throne for someone more suited for the position?”

“Who?” Tiki snapped. “You?”

The Court Jester danced up to them at that moment. Gold glitter spiraled out from his eyes matching the combination of gold and black stripes, checks and triangles that marked his garments tonight. He raised his hands and revealed nails that had been painted a bright red. Tiki couldn’t help but imagine they’d been dipped in blood.

“Majesty—” he bowed low over his knee toward Tiki before straightening to nod at Larkin— “and the Queen’s Advisor. I come to bid you adieu for the season.” With a flourish, he snapped his fingers and suddenly held a square, razor thin card. The edges of the card were lined with gilt that glittered in the torchlight. He flicked the card into the air and it fluttered toward his cupped hands like a leaf blown by the wind. It landed face down on his fingers with only the black back exposed.

He proffered the card to Tiki, his black eyes locked on hers. “When the clock strikes twelve, Majesty, may the winds of change blow you in your true direction.”

Tiki had no idea what he was talking about. “Thank you, Jester.” She took the card and tucked it into her pocket without glancing at the image drawn on the other side. “May you be well during the dark season so that you might light our days with your wit and wisdom upon my return in the spring.”

The Jester placed his hand over his heart and bowed. “I am your servant, Majesty,” he said softly. Then he flung his arm out and whirled away.

“How strange,” Larkin murmured, watching the man’s departure through slitted eyes. “I’ve never heard the Fool pledge himself to a sovereign before.” She turned to face Tiki. “Have you promised him something?”

“What?” Tiki frowned. “Of course not. Now back to the topic. Where do I have to be at midnight to accept this ghastly offering and transfer the court?”

Larkin waved her arm in an airy gesture. “On the throne, of course.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

T
iki stood on the steps of the palace and looked out over the Night Garden. Fluffy snowflakes drifted down from the sky. Already the grounds were coated in a layer of white. As a result of the snow, the world was washed in light at a time when darkness should have made the grounds impenetrable. The branches of the trees that had blossomed so beautifully during the summer months were leafless now and seemed to be retracting into gnarled, grotesque, misshapen creatures.

Rieker stood next to Tiki with his hands on his hips, his lip curled in disgust. “Of all the rotten luck. It’s as light as day out here.”

“A snow sky,” Tiki murmured. In the past, she’d always considered snow a sign of luck, but tonight, it seemed a sign of doom, for it would make the hunt for Dain significantly easier with the world lit by the reflection of white light.

On one side of the Tor, a thick knot of UnSeelies mingled. They were a variety of shapes and sizes, a mix of different creatures from what Tiki could tell, all of them dressed in an array of black garments—some gaudy and decorative, others deadly efficient and designed to hunt, with swords, spears, spiked mallets and knives attached to their apparel. The most disconcerting group, however, stood apart and formed a tight circle in the distance.

Larkin had pointed them out earlier: Donegal’s inner circle: Sullivan, Cruinn, and Scáthach—only three with the disappearance of Bearach. The Winter King had not yet been seen.

“If only we could have told Dain of our plan,” Rieker said in a low voice. “It would make things infinitely easier.”

Tiki clutched his fingers. “You’ll have time. Are you ready?”

Rieker nodded. “Callan has Aeveen waiting on the far side of the garden. If you’re right—that Dain will take the trail down the side of the Tor—then I’ll intercept him at the bottom and we’ll ride through the Wychwood to freedom.”

Tiki turned and slid her arms around Rieker’s neck, uncaring who might see them. “I know you can do this, William,” she said softly. “You are brave and kind and clever—if anyone can save your brother—it’s you.”

“I could never do it without your help.” Rieker wrapped his arms around Tiki’s waist and pulled her close against his chest. “Teek, if I don’t make it out, I need you to know something…”

“Shh,” Tiki pressed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t talk like that. You’ve got to make it out because I need you.”

“But if I don’t—I want you to know I love you, Tiki, more than anything—” he ran his fingers along the contours of her face, as if memorizing her image— “or anyone in my life. You are my life and breath. The reason I’m here. Whichever world we might end up in—I want to be there with you.”

“William—”

The blare of trumpets split the night.

“Wait, Teek—” Rieker reached inside his collar and pulled a braided gold chain free. His hand cupped around what dangled from the end and he quickly pulled it over his head. “You need to guard this now. In case I don’t make it back—there’s more you need to do.”

“No—” Tiki tried to stop him, but in one deft movement he slid the chain over her head and slipped the Ring of
Ériu
down the front of her dress. “You should keep it—it might bring you luck—”

“You’re all the luck I need,” Rieker said in a husky voice. “Kiss me for all time and I’ll be protected for just as long.”

Panic made Tiki’s heart run wild in her chest. He was leaving her—saying goodbye—had he seen an omen that he wouldn’t return? A hot pressure burned behind her eyes at the thought of never seeing his handsome face smile at her again.

“No, that’s not enough,” she whispered. With trembling fingers she snatched a piece of her raven black hair and wove three strands into a tight braid. Plucking the small knife from her belt, she sawed the braid off and kissed the strands before offering them to Rieker. “Take part of me and know you’ll never be alone. I’ll always be with you, William.”

Rieker took the small braid and kissed the strands in the same spot Tiki had. “I’ll wear this next to my heart.” He slipped his hand inside his vest and tucked the strands into an inner pocket. Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. When Tiki opened her eyes—he was gone.

With a triumphant fanfare, the trumpets stopped and silence echoed across the night air. Tiki crossed her arms over her chest, fighting back tears at the sense of loss that filled her. Everything depended on what happened in the next few hours. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.

Torches, perched on tall posts, stretched in two long rows away from the palace steps. There was movement at the far end and Tiki spied Dain, still trapped behind the chilling mask, standing at the far end of the colonnade.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Larkin’s voice boomed across the garden. She stood several steps away from Tiki, no longer dressed in black, but shining instead in a gown of gold. “Samhain is upon us and it is the seventh year—the year in which the UnSeelies must pay a tithe to the Seelie Queen to retain their right to act as a separate Court. At the Winter King’s decree, the Wild Hunt will be for the Seven Year King this year. The man or woman who kills or captures the sacrifice will be made an honorary advisor to Donegal’s Court. As per our ancient tradition, the sacrifice must be presented before midnight on Samhain. Should the Seven Year King not be presented by that time, another sacrifice must be provided—” her voice rose— “the selection to be at the Seelie Queen’s discretion.”

“Majesty.” A low voice spoke next to Tiki.

She turned to find Callan. “He’s safely on his way?”

“Yes. And the other package you requested is wrapped and concealed in your chambers.”

“Good. Thank you Callan.” Tiki turned back to the row of lighted torches and pressed her hands together in prayer. She pointed them toward Dain and nodded in his direction. To her surprise, Dain put his hand over his heart then held his open palm out to her.

Tears rushed to Tiki’s eyes. In response, she crossed both hands over her own heart.

Larkin’s voice silenced any conversation. “The sacrifice shall have a thirty minute lead starting NOW.” For a split second, everyone froze, as Dain slipped sideways into the crowd. A buzz of conversation set flight above their heads like a flock of birds, before someone called out, “He’s gone.”