The Seven Year King (The Faerie Ring #3) (4 page)

His life had been a lonely one.

Believing he was an only child, Dain had been told his mother, Breanna, had died in childbirth, leaving him with a weighty guilt he’d tried to escape by pretending he didn’t care—about anything or anyone. No one had spoken of his father, leading him to conclude the man had done something shameful that was best left buried and forgotten.

He’d been a beautiful child and had grown into a handsome young man—his looks and sharp wit giving him confidence and charm. Many sought his favor, but there were none who he’d allowed himself to care about.

Kieran, the old faerie who had raised him, had been kind and had tried to show Dain the love he craved, yet Kieran was a man of few words and had little experience in raising a child, especially one as smart and willful as Dain had been. Larkin had been a surprising ally in his younger years, but then she’d disappeared. It was only later that he’d learned she was risking her life as a spy in the UnSeelie Court.

As Dain grew older he sensed Kieran had secrets, which slowly created an ever-widening gap between them. When he’d gathered the courage to ask, the old man had said the time wasn’t right yet to share what he knew.

Then one day, without a word, Kieran had disappeared. Even now, the loss was like a sharp pain in Dain’s side, making his breath catch. The guilt that perhaps he hadn’t shown the old man how much he’d loved him, was ever-present, even now.

He’d searched everywhere—had Kieran become ill? Been attacked? Taken prisoner by the UnSeelies? It was that quest that had given him the courage to become a spy—to risk his own life hiding among the UnSeelies, pretending to be one of them—in the hope of finding and saving the old man.

But he’d been unsuccessful.

He’d never known if Kieran had been taken against his will or if he’d simply become tired of caring for an unruly child and had decided to leave. The one fear Dain had never voiced out loud was that it had been something he had done—something that had made Kieran stop loving him—that had caused the old man to abandon him without a word.

It was only in the last few months, upon Larkin’s dramatic escape from Donegal, that she’d revealed part of the truth—that Breanna had died giving birth to twins—that he had a brother who lived in London and that Dain himself was half mortal. She’d told him that his brother was equally unaware of their relationship, but had learned he had some connection to the world of Faerie.

Dain’s curiosity had won out over common sense and he’d learned to cross over to the mortal world—a potentially deadly game that he began to crave as much as the danger of being a spy.

In the beginning, he’d only watched from afar. His brother, Lord William Richmond, was easy to recognize—their physical build was similar, as were their features. But soon, watching wasn’t enough. He needed to know more—for the first time in his life he had a family—he
had
to know his brother.

He’d approached William while glamoured as Sean ó’Broin—tall, thin, with raven black hair and deep scars on his face—so there would be no way the young man could draw a connection between them. William’s reaction had been wary until Dain had mentioned Larkin and had told him of her escape. In return, William had revealed a sordid tale of Larkin’s manipulations in an attempt to wrest an unnamed prize from him and his friend, Tiki. From that point on, Sean and William had begun a semblance of a friendship.

When he’d first become aware of Tiki’s existence, he’d had no idea she was part of his world, let alone a true-born queen. He’d simply known her as an acquaintance of the brother he’d only just discovered.

Dain let out a slow breath, savoring the memory of seeing her for the first time—playing in the park with a little girl, a young boy and another girl about her own age. She was beautiful, without a doubt, long dark hair swept behind her head and brilliant green eyes, but it was her kindness and the obvious love she had for the others, that had touched him most.

He’d watched as she’d laid out a picnic lunch and read to them from a book as they sat around her, enraptured. Though he hadn’t thought he’d been visible to the mortal eye, the youngest girl had shot a curious glance his direction more than once. That day he’d heard that the boy, whose name was Thomas but they called Toots for some reason, wanted to learn to ride. It was then the crazy idea had taken root and he’d begun to visit the children as Dain, unbeknownst to Tiki or William.

For the first time in his life, he’d allowed himself to care about someone other than Kieran. He’d allowed himself to be vulnerable, knowing he could lose them, just as he’d lost the old faerie. Yet, the desire to be part of their lives was greater than his fear. Through Clara and Toots he’d learned more of Tiki and his curiosity grew. When he’d saved Tiki from Donegal’s wrath in the Palace of Mirrors recently and they’d traveled through the Wychwood Forest together, he’d experienced emotions he’d never felt before—that he was afraid to admit to himself—respect, desire and something that felt like…

A shout echoed through the hall forcing Dain back to the present. The Court Jester, dressed in a gaudy array of colorful clothes, stood before the throne and juggled three balls of black flame. One by one, he threw the balls into the air, where they transformed into black birds with flame-colored beaks and eyes. The birds swooped in ever-widening circles above the crowd, growing in size with each sweep of their dark wings. Cries of delight and alarm rose from the crowd, who craned their necks to watch.

When the birds turned and headed toward the throne in a menacing dive, the guards let loose three arrows, which sizzled through the air to land in each black breast. As the birds plummeted toward the floor, they dissolved into balls of black flame and disappeared, leaving only the charred wooden arrows to clatter on the marble floor.

Dain watched the Jester as he pranced to the king’s side, clearly pleased with himself. It was quite a feat of magic to produce birds from fire and he wondered again at the Jester’s abilities, as well as his intent.

Donegal stood and clapped enthusiastically along with the crowd.

“Well done!” he cried. “Perhaps, Fool, you will create the fire-birds for the Seelie queen and her guards will not be smart enough to shoot them down.” His evil laughter filled the hall until it echoed from wall to wall.

Chapter Five

T
iki’s arrival with Larkin and Rieker in the Night Garden, the area surrounding the Palace of Mirrors, was similar to the first time she had visited. Darkness stretched like spider webs from twisted barren trees. Shadows shifted and lingered, nebulous beasts measuring their prey. A luminescence glowed from a number of magnificent flowers, their colorful petals the only bright spot within the garden, beckoning. Music wafted on the night air, beguiling and seductive, creating a longing in Tiki’s chest, despite the dark and unsettling atmosphere.

In the distance stood the palace, perched on the rocky pinnacle of Wydryn Tor. To the right, sunlight radiated from the horizon—the Plain of Sunlight where the Seelies lived when they weren’t ruling Faerie. Tiki couldn’t stop herself from glancing left, where darkness, as thick and impenetrable as an inkwell, colored the sky of the Plain of Starlight. It was there that the UnSeelies lived in their madness and depravity during the summer months from May through October.

“Remember, these plants are predators who sing to call their prey.” Larkin pointed to the saw-toothed edges of a nearby bloom. “That’s someone’s blood. Don’t walk close enough to become their next victim.” A corner of her mouth quirked. “They don’t differentiate in their taste between royal flesh or peasant—mortal or fey.”

Tiki shuddered and stepped closer to Rieker.

Larkin led the way down an uneven path, littered with broken stones. As they walked, Tiki could see glowing eyes watching their passage through the barbed underbrush. The bushes shook and rattled as creatures scuttled away.

Up ahead, Tiki recognized the statue of Danu, the original goddess of Faerie. As before, the stone woman reached towards the heavens as if in supplication, her face frozen in permanent agony. One great wing arched from her back, while the other lay broken on the ground next to her. Larkin had told Tiki a human had torn Danu’s wing off to keep the faerie in the mortal world. Tiki shivered as she passed through the winged statue’s shadow, as if chilled by her eternal sadness.

“It’s important when we enter the Great Hall that you
command
Donegal to relinquish the throne,” Larkin said softly over her shoulder. “He cannot deny the cry of the
Cloch na Teamhrach
identifying a true high queen of the Seelie Court. He is obligated to turn the power of the Courts over to you—for now. But you can leave no doubt that you are the true high Queen—just as you can never let your guard down, for he has murdered O’Riagáin already in his quest for total control and I’ve no doubt he will murder again.”

Tiki concentrated on the path before her, as if by keeping the writhing vines snaking along the side of the walkway from wrapping around her ankles she could also keep the Winter King at a safe distance.

Larkin jerked around. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” Tiki snapped in a low voice, the tension getting the best of her. “I heard you.”

“Keep going, Larkin,” Rieker said in a soothing tone. “We know what to do.” He reached back for Tiki’s hand.

She slid her cold, shaking fingers into his warm grip, unconvinced she knew what to do. She hadn’t been the one who grew up around royals. She’d only known a middle-class upbringing before becoming a pickpocket. What did she know about
anything?

Her heart began to pound erratically in her chest as they approached the steps. The Palace of Mirrors in the Otherworld was the equivalent of Buckingham Palace in London—the only difference was that control shifted in the Otherworld. The Seelies ruled during the summer months from May first—Beltane—to October thirty-first, known as Samhain. As summer gave way to winter, the UnSeelies took over and ruled during the dark months of the year until May first again.

Great columns lined the entry to the palace and Larkin stopped on the top step. “Remove your glamour.”

Tiki whispered the words and the smell of clover hung rich in the air as her features melted into a different shape. Next to her, Rieker sucked in his breath with a low hiss and his fingers tightened on hers.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Tiki was surprised by the ravage of emotions she saw in his usually unreadable eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze.

“Focus, William,” Larkin said, a hint of annoyance coloring her tone. “Tara needs to remain undistracted until we get Donegal off the throne.” She leaned close, her words becoming more urgent. “The stone has roared for you and you alone. You are the rightful heir to the Seelie Throne. Demand what is yours.”

Tiki stared at Larkin. The faerie was always so sure of herself—so powerful. If only she could borrow that confidence long enough to confront the Winter King.

“Are you ready?”

Tiki gave a hesitant nod, looking uncertainly at Rieker.

Rieker squeezed her hand. “She’s ready.”

“Then follow me.” Larkin whirled and marched toward the lofty entry doors with her shoulders back and her head held high.

Tiki mimicked her posture. “I am the true queen,” she whispered to herself. “The stone roared for me. The Seelie throne is mine.” But deep inside, she remained unconvinced. Who would possibly believe she was a queen?

Larkin swept past the guards and down the main hallway into the Great Hall, her gown flowing behind her. It was as Tiki remembered. Vast black and gold fluted columns soared above their heads to support a ceiling filled with macabre paintings. This time Tiki didn’t look at the disturbing contents of the ceiling. Instead, she focused on the black-haired man sitting on a great golden throne in the shape of a dragon at the end of the room. The Winter King. Donegal.

Black smoke belched from torches that lined the walls, filling the room with the acrid smell of fire and decay. Tiki’s nose curled at the odor. The hall was full of well-dressed people, dancing and cavorting, drinking and celebrating, the sound of bagpipes and reedy flutes filling the air.

Larkin took a winding path toward the throne, blending with the party-goers. She paused among the last group gathered before the open space that fronted the throne. Guards stood on the four corners around Donegal, their bladed spears held at their sides, razor-sharp daggers hanging from their belts, black eyes scanning the crowd.